The band of crazies

Early 2014, I was in the process of planning an epic backpacking trip that started at the end of February. Thankfully I got all the visas I needed - and it was a wonderful 2 months in South America. Life as a Kenyan traveler is not always easy:-) 

As I planned this epic 2 month adventure, it reminded me that I need to document all that happened on another backpacking trip I did with friends in end of 2012. It was overambitious, it was hectic, it was fun! We went to 12 European countries in 6 weeks. The funny thing is that we actually cut out some countries a few hours before we left Kenya because most of us only had single-entry Schengen visas - meaning if we left the Schengen area we would not be able to get back in. We bid a sad farewell to Romania, Bulgaria and Croatia. The countries that remained in our itinerary were as follows - Germany, Czech Republic, Austria, Hungary, Slovakia, Slovenia, Denmark, France, Spain, Switzerland, Italy and Netherlands. 

Obviously when planning such a trip - one thing is key - you have to go with the right people. I love all my friends and family, but I am sure there are some people I would throw off a cliff in Hungary if I had to spend 6 weeks traveling with. 6 weeks of intense travel, close living quarters and communal tasks can either bring out the best or the worst in people. I have to say that the team we had was perfect!

For the sake of anonymity, I will give everyone in merry band of travelers a pseudonym. In total there was 6 of us. The first traveler, we will call "The Reluctant". The girl is reluctant at first, but when push comes to shove, she will get into the game. She is the type of girl who really wants to take that shot, but worries that she might get drunk and act silly. Thankfully by the end of the trip "The Reluctant" was cured of such worries that polite society places on us. The second traveler we will refer to as "The BARacuda". This name suits her best given her ability to always find the best bar wherever we were. She would sniff a bit, lick her finger and stick it out in the air and say "There! That basement. I can tell there is a fun club there." Her formula worked everywhere including in a random street in Bratislava, different parts of Budapest, quieter streets of Munich. This girl has a club radar! The third member of our merry band will henceforth be known as "The Little Toe." My cousin always tells us this story of how you are walking, and all your toes are apparently meant to be attentive to what the plan is - just keep moving forward - follow the rest of the toes. Somehow your little toe always goes against this plan. It is as if someone says, "Hey! Hey! Little Toe! Look here! Turn round!" Little Toe turns round and the next thing you know, you are writhing in pain on the ground. Your little toe somehow hit the corner of the couch! The Little Toe in our group usually seems to be going in a different direction from where the rest of the toes are going. It is never her fault, but she always seems to be following instructions that the rest of the band has not heard about. 

Ok. Almost there. Now you know half of the people. The other three are myself (not really sure what my code name would be - The Frat Boy? The Bunjee Jumper?). Who knows? The other two people were "The Lady" and "The Safety Cord." The lady was the one person in our group we were never really sure would survive the backpacking trip. She was the person who wanted fresh croissants in Paris while the rest of us were content eating our bread and cheese on the train. She was the one who looked petrified every time we got to a hostel and she realized that "hostel" is not synonymous with "hotel." By the end of this trip, The Lady had undergone a transformation though. We would get into a train and she would be the first to say "Little Toe, hand me the bread! The Reluctant, pass me that salami! BARacuda, do you still have that plastic knife from the other day? Ok, gang! I am making us some sandwiches!" The last member of the group was "The Safety Cord." If it wasn't for The Safety Cord, we would most likely still be in Europe - lost in some remote town or in a club where time would stand still, and we would only notice one day when we looked into a pool of murky water on the ground and saw the grey hairs on our heads. The Safety Cord is amazingly fun but always rational (at least almost always:-). She lets you go bunjee jumping, but ensures you don't end up hitting the ground. She is the voice of reason that would say, "I know you are having fun. Yes, yes, I know you think he looks like Eric Northman. In reality, he is a troll. He is saying him and his friends will make sure we get home after the club, but have you realized they can't even stand upright? They don't even have shoes on! It is time to go home! We have an early morning train." Despite our protestations, we always had her to thank many a headachy morning. 

Together with these lovely band of crazies, we went to take over Europe!

Vetting of the items in my backpack (police commissioners?)

At the end of 2013, Kenya witnessed an intense vetting process of police commissioners. Whether one believes the process was successful or flawed, we all collectively agree it was quite intense, difficult questions were raised and in certain instances, several skeletons came crashing out of the various closets we chose to look in.

As I prepare to leave on any backpacking trip, I toy with the idea of applying an equally rigorous vetting process for all the clothes and other items that I will be lugging on my back for those 1-2 months....and so it goes....

The Kenyan Explorer: White shirt, can you explain why you think you are the perfect candidate to make it to the short list of tops in the backpack

White shirt: (clearing throat)..Well, The Kenyan Explorer, I have 10 years of relevant experience in a similar field

The Kenyan Explorer: Please elaborate....

White shirt: Well, there was that one time you wore me to climb Mt. Longonot, and I did not disappoint

The Kenyan Explorer: Would you have me believe that based on that one experience you are fit to take on a 2 month trip? The Andes is not Mt. Longonot. Is it not also true that on that same day you proceeded to get soaked in sweat and did not have the decency to hide it?

White shirt: (stuttering)....Well, it wasn't my fault. I am a white shirt after all. I don't absorb heat as much as the black shirt, but of course I will get dirty and sweat will be noticeable

The Kenyan Explorer: Hush! Are you trying to cast blame on your fellow contenders?

The Kenyan Explorer: Moving on! I am done with you white shirt! Brown socks, it states here that you have a thread count of 1000. Could you explain to all those present, how you came to amass such a high thread count?

Brown socks: Well, I got it from my previous position

The Kenyan Explorer: Really? It states here that you started out at your previous position with a thread count of 100. 

Brown socks: (nervous giggle), well, I also had some side hustles

The Kenyan Explorer: Can you elaborate

Brown socks: I did some odd jobs at my previous station and I was able to earn additional thread count

The Kenyan Explorer: So, the rumors are true. Did you or did you not earn your wealth by sabotaging cream and black socks?

Brown socks: (Clearing his throat): That is not true. I earned it fair and square

The Kenyan Explorer: From what we have heard, you made a job out of destroying your peers and taking on their thread count! You are a traitor!

Brown socks: Please, please let me explain

The Kenyan Explorer: No, your time is done. Let me move on to the next candidate - "super pretty bra with the metal wire that occasionally pokes the wearer." "Super pretty bra with the metal wire that occasionally pokes the wearer", what are you doing here today? I believe we kicked you out at the previous round

"Super pretty bra with the metal wire that occasionally pokes the wearer": Well,, I am here to defend my case. I feel that my name has been muddied by evil elements in the closet

The Kenyan Explorer: Please elaborate

"Super pretty bra with the metal wire that occasionally pokes the wearer": I have served for decades in this position and there has never been any issues raised against me. In the past years, though seeds of discontent have been sown by my enemies. In particular I will point out "Super ugly bra that offers maximum support", "Super pretty bra that offers no support" and "push up bra of unknown comfort levels". These newcomers have come in to usurp my position. They know I have served well. 

(Screams in the background from the named bras): Haki yetu! Haki yetu! Down with the old, in with the new. Kazi kwa vijana, pesa kwa wazee! (We demand our rights, Down with the old, in with the new. Work for the young, while money goes to the old?)

The Kenyan Explorer: We do not need this drama. Moving on to the next. "Holey sock", what are you doing here?

Holey sock: A lot of negative things have been said about me, but I want to let you know that this wardrobe was built on my sweat. I was here when the closet was full of threadbare shirts. I have earned these holes.

The Kenyan Explorer: This job requires a sock that can stand both high and low temperatures and effectively protect the wearer. Are we to believe that you are up to this job?

Holey sock: I believe I have. My years of experience make me perfect for this job. My holes also do not prevent me from doing a great job. At the last review, there were only two major holes, and they are at the unimportant toes. I also represent an under-represented group. Red mid-calf socks with my type of experience are in short supply.

The Kenyan Explorer: Oh, look who we have here. "Pretty silk top" what is your value proposition for this job

Pretty silk top: (sashaying to the table): I am extremely unique in that I combine functionality and class. In this new territory, you will need an item that helps you in certain types of classy situations

(Angry voices from the crowd): Did you hear her? She thinks we are not classy? She thinks us we are for being worn at the bar, and she is the one for dinners?

The Kenyan Explorer: Quiet! Quiet! Let "pretty silk top" finish talking

Pretty silk top: Yes, as I was saying before this riff raff jumped in, I am the perfect item to carry with you for those lovely dinners, exquisite parties and so on.

The Kenyan Explorer: Would you have us believe that the stories are not true? Is it not true that you do not really work well with the other commissioners? That you are always demanding more? Did you not once say, "I cannot go to work without being ironed?"

Pretty silk top: That was taken out of context. I was just saying that I need different terms to work well. 

(Angry voices from the crowd): Drama queen! Drama queen!

Pretty silk top: (shouting): Can you bunch of torn, tattered, wrinkled clothes shut up!

The Kenyan Explorer: We cannot have this. Whoever comes on this trip has to be a team player. We cannot have items that need preferential treatment. On this trip, "all clothes are created equal and none is more equal than the others." 

The Kenyan Explorer: Yes, lipstick and nail polish, I see you have come in a bit late. Tell us why you should make it into the backpack

Lipstick and nail polish: I think we speak for our fellow comrades - the other lipsticks and nail polishes - when we say that we are the single most important item for this trip.

The Kenyan Explorer: I agree with you. Let me put you in the backpack right now. 

How I almost gave up the ghost, gorilla trekking in the mountains

Definitely longer blog posts coming up, but quick highlights on gorilla trekking a few months back in Bwindi impenetrable forest in Southern Uganda  - I would likely not have gone if I had known just how tough it was going to be:-)

I still remember a naive Thekenyanexplorer asking the guide in the beginning "How steep can it get?" Haaaaaa! Jokes! We spent the first hour hiking up a major steep path that can only be described as Mount Longonot. Turns out this was the path that was to eventually bring us into "the impenetrable forest." Yaaaaani, this was not even the real trek yet. Having panted my life away I imagined that the gorillas would be so kind as to avail themselves to a nearby part of the forest - you know.....kind of meet us halfway....Nothing....We then spent the next hour in the forest mostly uphill with some few blessed moments of going downhill (I might not have considered the downhill parts a blessing if I had realized that we would be using the same exact path going back i.e. this would be an uphill path on our way back.) After an hour of trudging through the forest (which was muddy and slippery as it had rained the previous night,) I imagined that we must be really close to the gorillas. One of my colleagues asked how much longer and the guard said "In the next hour, we will be with the gorillas." I almost flung myself on the ground and started crying. An hour?? I can barely put one foot in front of the other....Can I just stay here and wait for you guys? And photoshop myself into your pics with the gorillas?

Then our guide talked to the tracker again and he said that we would have to cut our way through the forest to get to where the gorillas were. Armed with a sickle, our guards started cutting down vegetation in the "impenetrable forest" to get us to the gorillas. Maybe it's just me, but I always thought forests have a ground - yes, the trees might be close together, but there will surely be a ground, right? No. We were walking on air, on trees, on fallen branches, over streams, on nothingness, on everything - I fell down a minimum of 5 times - once into a hole of my height, another time I slipped on a muddy rock and was just so glad that this was saving me some effort, that I just let myself slide down 5 or 6 more muddy rocks - like I was on a water slide at Splash or something - I could not even be bothered to stand up and would have gladly slid down the mountain if there was a way to...

Finally, oh, finally that sweet moment arrived - when we got to the gorillas. The family we were tracking was amazing - 26 in total, 3 silverbacks (the male leaders), 5 or so blackbacks (younger males), 10 or so females and the rest were babies. This sounds silly, but I didn't realize how huge gorillas are. The first one we met was 225 kgs, so human in action, just stunning. To think that there are only 840 mountain gorillas remaining in the world - all of them in Rwanda, Uganda and DRC - just amazing work that the parks have done in keeping this magnificent, beautiful creatures alive for future generations to enjoy. It was so exhilarating just standing in the middle of the forest with the largest primates known to man. 

There were some hilarious/frightening moments, with 2 of the silverbacks charging at us twice and having to be stopped by the trackers who are able to mimic their sounds. We also heard the screams of a gorilla baby and saw how quickly the silverbacks went to check what was happening. One of the silverbacks also started pounding his chest as he retreated from us - to make sure we knew who was boss. It was really out of the world.

The next day with my aching bones, I could genuinely say that it was worth every bit of physical pain to see the mountain gorillas. I thank the Kahungye gorilla family for letting us take a sneak peek into their lives, the great wardens and trackers for loving and caring for these treasures of the world, my travel companions for pushing me forward and encouraging me when all I wanted to do was give up during that journey. 

I encourage every one who can to go see the lovely mountain gorillas. East Africans, the deal is sweet for you - USD 90/person vs. USD 600 that foreigners pay:-)

Steak, music and theater in Buenos Aires

Lunch at Don Julio was amazing - one of the top steak restaurants in Argentina and in the world. What was most impressive was the fair price for the meal. Sometimes I forget just how expensive Nairobi has become. Here I was eating the most delicious steak I have ever eaten, for USD 20 in this amazing restaurant in Buenos Aires, and it made me think of all the mediocre meals that one can eat in some Nairobi restaurants for more than that. There is a good reason why I went to Don Julio three times during my 1.5 week stay in Buenos Aires. 

In the evening a few of us congregated at the hostel lounge. My Scottish friend brought out his guitar, and the next thing I know was that we had started a little singing troupe - me as the lead singer, my Scottish friend as the lead guitarist and a few spectators. It was wonderful - we did a bit of Bob Marley, a bit of Lucky Dube, a bit of Madonna ("Don't cry for me Argentina") etc.

In the evening we went to an amazing gay theater/club. It was quite fascinating - something like moulin rouge - an interesting combination of theater, singing, popular club music. Our merry troupe left the club at 7:30am and went back to the hostel rooftop to watch the sunrise. It was a wonderful morning of laughter fits, fun conversations and selfies. 

Tigre island, Buenos Aires

After the little shower incident highlighted in my previous blog post, I had exactly 3 hours to sleep/sober up and head to a little town called Tigre in Buenos Aires. 

Tigre (Tiger) is a town to the North of Argentina. It lies on the Parana Delta and is a tourist attraction. The island was created by several small streams and rivers and was founded in the early 1800s.  The name comes from the jaguars that were hunted there in the past centuries. In modern times Tigre is best known for the celebrities who have homes there including Madonna. 

The idea to go to Tigre had been hatched the night before at the hostel - before my night of partying till 6am...As such, when I woke up I really debated with myself if I wanted to go. I was suffering - suffering. In addition, there was one person in this group who I had a serious aversion to. I generally like most people, but there was this one girl who I just did not like. The trip turned out to be ok. It wasn't the most beautiful island I have been to or anything. As such I would advise anyone going to Buenos Aires to skip it - nothing much to see. Buenos Aires itself had many more beautiful sites than Tigre.

We eventually got back to our hostel at 7pm and I went straight to bed. 2.5 hours of sleep after a long night out is no longer what it used to be:-)

The aftermath of wine country

                                   One of the reasons Thekenyanexplorer needed to reflect on her life

After my fun day in Mendoza - going out to the park, making friends over free wine, going out clubbing and discovering what I believe is the worst drink known to humans - Fernet, getting home at 6am....I woke up at 12:30pm.....Suffering. This was to be the day of the vineyard tour. I had already paid for it and I was not about to lose my money. I showered, drank lots of water and tried to look as functional as I could given my poor state. Around 1:15pm we were picked up from the hostel for the vineyard tour. On the itinerary were two vineyards and one olive farm. The van spent the next 45 or so minutes picking people from various hostels. I was already starting to feel unwell but thought I would survive the day.

Our first stop was the olive oil farm. We were escorted to a lovely room with all sorts of  hors d'oeuvres that either had olives or were to be dipped into different types of exotic olive oil - ginger, garlic, pepper flavoured....everything that would normally entice my senses. I felt a gag reflex. I promptly fled from the room, went and ordered a taxi (that cost me a pretty penny) to get me back to the hostel. I blame fernet. I spent the rest of the day so so sick. At the hostel I was advised to take some flavoured soda water to at least fill my stomach. I couldn't eat anything all day. I bought the soda water, went to a little park opposite the hostel and reflected on my life. My reflections were as follows: "Silly silly girl! You should know better! What is wrong with you? Why did you have to take so much wine, beer and fernet yesterday?" Having self-flagellated to an acceptable extent, I went back to the hostel. I joined people on the patio for free wine at 7pm, but sat there drinking my flavoured soda water. That day we were determined to find the buffet place, which we finally did. By that time (around 9pm) I was ready for my first meal of the day. I stuffed my face at that nice buffet place on Lazarus street. Haiya! I just realized how ironic that is. I felt like I was brought back to life from the dark place I had been during the day...on Lazarus street of all places. 

All of us went back to the hostel and watched "Taxi driver" followed by "The others." That reminds me I need to watch "The others" again. I love horrors!

Heading to Santiago, Chile

My last day in San Pedro de Atacama was spent doing nothing. I had not realized how exhausted I was from all my crazy traveling in Brazil and Bolivia. I had a 4:45pm bus to Santiago. It was going to be a 24 hour bus ride and I was looking forward to sleeping through most of it. I had paid for a "cama" seat which I assumed would be fully reclined, but was disappointed to find out it was only halfway reclined. I realized that the next 24 hours were probably not going to be the most comfortable. A few minutes after getting on the bus I realized just how pressed I was. I was so annoyed with myself, "Why would you drink so much water before getting on a bus?" I had been forewarned about how buses generally left passengers who got off the bus at restpoints and didn't get back quickly enough. I had already vowed that I was never going to be one of these passengers - who got off the bus, were left by the bus and had to figure out how to get their luggage from halfway across the country and also find another bus to your chosen destination - I had zero interest in being one of those people.

I tried to think dry thoughts to ignore my bladder - think of dry bread, ok, now think of deserts. No, not the oasis! Just the dry dry desert. By the time the bus made it's first stop, I realized I was going to need the washroom - my dry thoughts had only made me more and more pressed. The bus stopped and I was the first person at the door. The conductor drily announced that they were only going to stop for 10 minutes. I had thought of asking the person sitting next to me to make sure the bus didn't depart without me, but I did not know enough Spanish to say this. I thus opted for running really quickly to the washroom and back. The building we had stopped at had 2 floors. I ran to the first shop I saw and asked about the washrooms. The person behind the counter must have had some sort of speech impediment that made him speak reaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllly reaaaaaaaaaalllly slowly. I wanted to cry. "You are wasting my 10 minutes!" Finally he finished explaining where the washroom was. I ran there only to realize that you had to put coins into a machine, that opened swinging doors, that let you into the toilet. I had no coins! I ran back to the shop to get change. The guy who spoke reaaaaallly reallllllly slowly also worked reeeeeeeeeaaaaaaallly reaaaaaaaallly slowly. I wanted to scream as he slowly opened the till, slowly counted the coins, slowly handed them to me. I ran back to the loo and I was in and out in under a minute!

I ran back to the bus platform and was happy to see my bus (or at least a bus that looked like mine) still at the platform. I got in, went to "my chair", sat down and turned to "my neighbour" only to realize I had never seen this person before in my life. "Oh shit! I am on the wrong bus." I ran towards the exit and the bus had already started moving. I told the conductor (who I also didn't recognize) that I was on the wrong bus. He slowly looked at my ticket instead of letting me get off to figure out where my bus was! I was getting irritated. He assured me that I was on the right bus and told me that my neighbour had alighted at this particular location and that was the reason why there was someone new next to me. 

Phewks! I sat down. Despite not drinking anything for the next 24 hours to avoid a repeat performance, my bladder still felt it was only proper to spontaneously fill every few hours. As such the scene narrated above was repeated at least 3 or 4 more times during the trip until we got to Santiago - the capital of Chile. 

It was only when I got to Santiago that I learnt the buses had loos! Sigh......

Gulliver's Travels part 8 (The End): Almost becoming a hobo in Rome

In the summer of 2006, I worked in Munich and hungered to see the world. I was able to get 8 days off my summer internship and decided to go to Austria (Vienna) and Italy (Rome, Pisa and Sicily). After that chaotic trip, I wrote an email to my family and friends chronicling my adventures and these are the tales I have shared with you over the past few weeks - ending with this post today. 

****

My plans once I got to Rome was to spend the day at the Vatican . My train would arrive at 0611 and I would begin my great trek to the Vatican (1 hour walk.) I would be there by 0711 and hopefully get in line for two or more hours and be in the Vatican hopefully at 1011. The lines at the Vatican are legendary, and people get there before 6am . Someone told me the line is soooo long that you can’t see the Vatican when in line. The line stretches for miles. Hmmm then it dawned on me that finances were dangerously low…..That is an understatement. I had exactly 5 euros and 13 cents to my name in Rome if I didn't count the 6euros Salvadore owed me. There are  four trains leaving Rome for Munich daily, and I realized pretty late that the only ones that weren't speed trains ie sort of cheaper and would cost me 5 euros instead of 15 euros (which I didn't have anyway…) were the ones leaving at 0742 and the one leaving at 2100. Unfortunately the one leaving at 2100 was leaving from a different station, and I would have to take the subway to get there. I was pretty sure there was no subway that would cost me only 13 cents. So financially it only made sense to take the 0742 train to Munich . Besides I was now too broke to buy water which I would definitely need lots of for my pilgrimage to the Vatican . I was also really exhausted after two nights of sleeping on  the train. I just wanted my nice bed in Munich , my inextinguishable water supply and food in Munich and a nice long long long hot shower.  My little energy would not be enough to stand in the line under these scorching heat. The Vatican also has a dress code that restricts showing shoulders, thighs etc and these would mean I would have to sauna in my jacket. Common sense prevailed and I decided to go home. So yes I did not get to see the 16th chapel and Michaelangelo’s famous mural, but at least I got to sleep on a bed that evening.

*****NOT WITHOUT MY CHILDREN/BAGS ******

            My train got to Rome late ie 0630 and my Munich train was to leave at 0742. I had 1 hour and 12 minutes to reserve a ticket and get my bags and be back. I went to reserve my ticket, and luckily the line wasn't too long due to the early hour. I got my ticket i.e. parted with my 5euros, and ran to get my bags. I got to the hostel, and rang the bell. No answer!! I rang  the bell more frantically!!!!! Still no answer!!! This just could not happen to me. I was absolutely broke now, and absolutely needed to catch that train I had just paid for. It was past 7am right now. I banged on the door!!! I banged on the window!! No answer!! I was now really beginning to panic. I started screaming out “SALVADORE!!!! SALVADORE!!!!!” in the middle of the street. Then I decided to scale the wall, and scream his name through the window. There I am looking like a real criminal and screaming “SALVADORE!!!!! SALVADORE!!!!!! While hanging from a window pane. I was just thinking “my bags!!!! my bags!!!! I need my bags!!” Finally I hear someone come and open the door. I was sooooooo soooooo happy. He had red eyes and looked like he wanted to kill me. I apologized, but told him I really had to catch my train. I got my bags, and my money from him. I ran to the train station and jumped into my train. I put my bags in the luggage storage overhead, and sat down. I breathed a sigh of relief having made it just by a hair’s breath.

The train starts to move and I am dreamily staring out of the window saying goodbye to Rome, goodbye to Venice, goodbye to Sicily, goodbye to Italy and having the feeling that this is not really ‘goodbye” but “till we meet again.’ The announcer starts to speak in Italian……blah blah blah…..welcome to this Trenitalia train……blah blah blah…..destination Monaco!!!!! Monaco !!!!! What!!!!!! Monaco !!!!! I jump up not really sure what I am going to do now that we are already in motion! Jump out the window with my bags and run across the train tracks to catch my train to Munich.!! I frantically ask the guy next to me who luckily speaks English “Is this train going to Monaco ?” He tells me “yes.” I start looking for the train official or something now really believing I must have the strangest luck. The guy asks me where I want to go. I tell him Munich , and he tells me the train is going to Monaco , Germany .  Can you imagine that!!!! In Italian Munich is called Monaco and Monaco is also called Monaco ….only with a different emphasis on the “o.” I actually had to laugh at myself. I laughed and laughed till I was in tears. My cabin mates looked at me like I am insane. I really didn’t mind anyway. Maybe I am indeed insane.

The floating lagoon, Atacama desert

The morning after experiencing my first earthquake in life in the heart of the Atacama desert in Chile , I woke up extremely well rested at 9:30am. I spent the day running very unlikely errands for the desert, but important ones given all the technological drama I had in the Uyuni salt flats and the Siloli desert in Bolivia. My dear phone had crashed, and now I needed to either get it fixed or get a new one. It had been serving as my camera, but now I needed to use my camera and it turned out the Chinese memory chips I had bought at a great price near Bus station in town (Nairobi) were not working. I needed therefore to also buy a new one. I also needed to find a place to get my laundry done. I had almost no clean clothes after my cross country journey across Bolivia. I walked to the city center and it was like something from a Texan cowboy movie. The city center was a collection of little shops. It was really hot too. I kept on expecting to see a horse or cow carcass on the dirt road. 

For a little town, San Pedro de Atacama had some nice restaurants. I went into one and had a hearty meal. I then hurried back to the hotel where I was to be picked around 3:45pm to go to the floating lagoon. This is a world famous lagoon whose salt concentration is so high that everyone floats. As much as you try to force yourself underwater, you can't. I hopped on the tour bus and we had a tour guide who kept on pointing out things in our drive, but I could not understand a word of it even though it was in English. He had the strongest Spanish accent I have ever heard. Every English word sounded like a Spanish word. I gave up on understanding him and just enjoyed the view. 

The lagoon was amazing though very cold. There were hundreds of people in it, but it was large enough to not feel crowded. I spent close to half an hour floating around in it, and it was wonderful seeing how gleeful all the people in it were. Some things in life turn all of us into little kids - who get easily excited. When I got out of the floating lagoon, I was white - completely white - even Whitenicious could not have done a more extreme job:-) That is when I realized just how salty the lagoon was. Even my dreadlocks had salt crystals on them.

We were taken to a freshwater lagoon to wash off the salt. That lagoon was made of melting icecubes. It was FREEEEEZING. I did a 30 second dip in the lagoon, and tried to get off as much salt as I could off my body with my fingers that were quickly turning into popsicles. The day ended with us having pisco sour cocktails and snacks in the middle of the desert as the sun set. It was such a beautiful sight. I had originally planned to go on a San Pedro de Atacama pub crawl on getting back to the hostel, but I was in bed by 9pm. Traveling is hard work, but someone has to do it;-)

The king's quarters

After a few days at Estrella Andina, I remembered I was meant to be on a tight budget. I moved to Hostal Republica (which was the home of one of Bolivia's former presidents.) I loved how such things were possible in Bolivia - staying in a presidential home for a few dollars. The place was comfortable and built in that Spanish way where the rooms were mostly upstairs overlooking a courtyard from which I could imagine a lovestruck lad would sing "Fiiiiiigaro, figaro, figaro!" as the object of his affection peers from her window and sighs, "If only I could leave this room, but my evil stepmother has put a spell on the door. If I touch it I will surely die.....sigh!" 

I always have the random luck of getting to places on people's birthdays. It was the birthday of one of the ladies who worked at the hostel. As soon as I arrived there was cake and snacks. I indulged and joined in the festivities. I instantly liked this hostel and the people working there who made me feel like family. Having eaten, I was told that there was going to be free beer tasting at the hostel all day. "Ati atya??" I instantly knew I was home. I noticed a very beautiful black girl in the group when we were singing happy birthday. She was the first black person I had seen in Bolivia (other than myself:-) and we instantly started chatting. She was great. She was Haitian, a lawyer doing her Masters in Bolivia and working part time at the hostel restaurant. 

The hostel had a tour company across the road. I crossed over and booked a trip for the next day to Copacabana, Isla del Sol and Lake Titicaca (http://www.thekenyanexplorer.com/blog/2014/7/19/miscarried-baby-llamas-and-ancient-godspart-1-of-3). I spent a few hours in the afternoon napping then woke up later to eat what I believe has to be one of the tastiest (and cheapest) steaks I have ever eaten. Hostal republica had a lot of great things to offer. 

As I ate my steak I met some other friendly tourists - an Italian guy and a German girl. I was telling them about my bad luck trying to go to Peru and they almost convinced me to try get there on road...."They don't really check documents at the border when you are on a bus..." I almost got tempted, until I had a vision of myself sitting in a Bolivian or Peruvian jail waiting for the non-existent Kenyan embassy to bail me out. It is never that serious.

The italian guy told us the most humorous story about this one Swedish backpacker he met during his South America journeys. They traveled together for a few days and the guy only had a small bag with him (despite the fact that he had been backpacking for months.) He did not have a change of clothes either. Every time they got to a river or lake, he would take off his clothes, wash them and walk around naked waiting for them to dry. One day they went to the beach and out of his little bag, he took out a shovel to build a sandcastle. The guy didn't have a change of clothes, but he had a shovel? Misplaced priorities anyone?

I slept well that night.

Day one of Carnival in Rio - partying is a very hard job

I know it's been a few days since I blogged, so I will jump straight into Carnival stories and update you later about what I was doing before that. The night before Carnival started, my friend informed me, "We need to be up at 6am to go for the first Carnival party." My heart almost stopped. Anyone who knows me, knows that early mornings are to me, what Kryptonite is to superman. I wondered to myself, "What type of party starts that early?" He said one of the best troops would be starting to perform in another part of town at 7am and they were among the best. I slept and was promptly awake at 6am. It took us a while to get into costume - mine wasn't too complicated. I had a kitenge crop top that I got made by my amazing tailor in Nairobi and I was wearing some tiny shorts that I bought on the beach the previous day. My friend was going as the devil and his costume was pretty low maintenance (a speedo, horns, a cape and a tail), but he needed to be covered in red paint to really look the part. His girlfriend was not wearing a specific costume as she had not had time to buy one before Carnival.

We left the house by 6:45am. We hopped on the bus and that's when I realized I was hungry. We couldn't stop to eat, but thankfully we had carried quite a few beers. So I had a few for breakfast....on the bus. We made friends on the bus and the 30 minute bus ride felt short. My friend had warned me not to carry any bag. Anything we needed had to be discreetly stored on your body. It kind of felt like we were going to a reggae concert in Kenya....except the performers actually showed up (Tarrus Riley, anyone:-) We got to the carnival party and it was all sorts of chaos. Our first bus got us to the bottom of a hill (mountain?) and the carnival troupe was at the very top. A second bus got us to the next one. The waiting point at the bottom of the hill was full of very many, very happy and very drunk and very loud people (I really wish I spoke Portuguese..I am sure I missed some amazing stories.) We got to the top and there were thousands of people all lined up on a very narrow street. We were all moving forward very slowly to the source of music, but never quite made it.

By around 9am, my friend, his girlfriend and I had finished the few beers we had brought with us and started buying some off the street peddlers. At some point we also had little cools of caipirinha - very much like the cools we used to have when we were kids except for the fact that instead of sugar, color and ice, they had rum and sugar. By around 10am, I began to feel overwhelmed by the heat, the drinks, the crowd, the drumbeats. I remember taking lots of pictures and getting anxious because my camera started acting up (and I didn't want to use my phone and have it die on me.)

At 10:30am, my friend said there was another carnival party close to our house that we needed to go to. We went there and it was amazing! This one was less crowded so we could see the musicians and hear the drum beats. The music felt very African. Even though I didn't understand a word, I knew how to dance to it. We stayed there for an hour and danced to our heart's content. Around noon, my friend said we should go to the beach. I couldn't imagine dealing with any more heat. Rio is hot on a completely different level. Temperatures can rise up to 40 degrees celcius and the humidity is even crazier than Mombasa or Boston in the summer. My friend and his girlfriend went to the beach and I came home to recuperate.

I got home and fiddled with my camera for an hour or more before finally getting it to work. Just when I was about to take a nap, my friend and his girlfriend came home. We chatted a bit, and again just as I was about to take a nap, our new roommates from Sao Paolo got in. They had lots of energy and we took some drinks to welcome them. Around 4pm I finally took a nap. My friend and his girlfriend had tickets to an official carnival procession that was taking place in the evening. I planned to party with our new roommates. Around 7pm one of them woke me up to say they were leaving. I told them I would meet them in an hour. I set my alarm but didn't hear it at all. I woke up around 12:30am when my new roommates were staggering back into the house.

Partying is a really really hard job:-) Especially when it starts at 6am. I have no idea how anyone manages to party from 6am to past midnight, but that is quite common here during carnival. I need to build my stamina.

Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer)

I had only one main plan yesterday - to get to the Iconic Rio monument of Christ - Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer). Most people have seen this monument when watching football games based in Rio, watching documentaries, Brazilian movies and soaps etc. You see Cristo Redentor and you know it is Rio. Kind of the same way you see the Taj Mahal and you know it's India. Cristo Redentor is the world's largest art deco statue and was completed in 1931 after 9 years of construction. Funding for it was mostly obtained from the local Catholic community. There had been plans to build some sort of monument on Mt. Corcovado from as early as the 1850s and requests had been made at the time to Princess Isabel of Brazil (known as Isabel the redemptress for signing the Golden law in 1888 that abolished slavery in Brazil), but none had been fruitful. Finally in 1931, Rio got the monument it had long wished for on the peak of Mt. Corcovado. 

Cristo Redentor is primarily built of reinforced concrete inside and soapstone on the outside (I see all the Kisiis here thinking about building their own statue:-) I was not quite sure what the easiest way to get there was. I spent some time googling it and I found a bus that left from close to my apartment in Gavea, and took me to Largo Do Machado. From there it seemed I would be able to buy a $20 ticket from the base of Mt. Corcovado, and then take a train straight up to Cristo Redentor. With my limited (non-existent) Portuguese and unlimited hand symbols, I asked the conductor to let me know when we got to Largo Do Machado. A sweet old lady came and sat next to me on the bus and said "something.....something....photo." I thought she was asking me to take a photo of her, but instead she took out her phone and took a photo of me - then put her phone away. Quite similar to Kenya, a guy got on the bus and started selling sweets, biscuits and chewing gum. He was speaking in Portuguese and started giving out candy. I couldn't tell it it was free samples or some Hare Krishnaesque type of trade (now that I gave you that flower which you stupidly thought was a gift, give me money!) I chose to error on the side of caution and declined the candy offer. 

But candy would not let me be. The kind old lady who had taken my picture, opened her handbag, took out some candy and gave it to me. I need to confess that I am generally very trusting. During this trip I have promised to put on my skeptic hat to make sure I don't end up in any tricky situations. My first thought was "aaaah. Sweet lady giving me candy. Such hospitable people, these Brazilians." My second thought was, "Do you remember that documentary you watched with your cousin? The one about the South American drug that takes away free will? The one you find yourself taking someone to the ATM and withdrawing all your money? Then taking them to your house and helping them pack your stuff? Why did she take your picture? Is it part of some identification process? Yes, this is the one I drugged on the bus to Largo Do Machado. We will call her "number 4." 

As my brain was doing all this crazy things, she opened up her sweet and ate it. That gave me peace that it was safe to eat it. All of a sudden I noticed that in the midst of all this candy drama, I had not paid attention to where we were. I suddenly saw "Cristo Redentor" off in the far distance, and I had a suspicion we overshot it. I asked the conductor and she said in Portuguese, what I believe was along the lines of "Oh snap! I forgot to tell you when we got there! Ok. Get out now, cross the road and take the bus in the opposite direction.) I hopped off and went to look for a bus heading back in that direction. I was now in the city centre and none of the bus numbers were similar to the ones I had written down. I must have asked at least 10 bus drivers, "Cristo Redentor, Cristo Redentor......" I think I must even have once said, "Cristo Dementor (hopefully no Harry Potter fans here.) It really was a tongue twister. Finally I got there around 5:30pm and it was magical.......

Ate mais!

Arrival in Rio!

Wow! That was a trip and a half. Who knew that my flight from Dubai to Rio would be 14.5 hours long? I really should know my geography better. So I left Nairobi at 11:30pm on Monday night and got to Dubai at 5:30am. It was a quick flight - around 4.5 hours. I left Dubai at 7:30am and knew I was getting to Rio at 2:30pm local time. I kind of forgot to look at the time difference:-) I got on the plane and I thought I heard them say 4.5 hours and I thought, "hmmmm, that's quick." Until I actually looked at the screen and saw 14.5 hours. 

My flight from Nairobi to Dubai was nice and quite uneventul. I decided to watch the Stephen King horror movie whose main character my Government name came from "Carrie." Heee. Heeee. Just kidding. I am named Carrie after my grandmother who was given the name by some missionaries back in the day. My stopover in Dubai was quite short. I remember getting to the gate for the Rio flight and thinking "Oh snap. Everyone here is speaking Portuguese. Maybe I really need to know some for Brazil." The only non-Portuguese language I heard at the lounge was either Punjabi or Gujirati. Not like I understood a word, but I took comfort in the fact that it was a familiar language. There was even a guy in Nigerian attire speaking in Portuguese. I later on confirmed that he was infact Nigerian when we were checking in and I saw his green passport.

There were also a lot of Chinese people on the flight. Perhaps they were going on to Buenos Aires via Rio (our flight's final destination was Buenos Aires.) I asked my hosts about the large number of Chinese travelers on the plane, and they said there isn't a significant number of Chinese people in Rio......hence my conclusion they were going on to Argentina. 

That 14.5 hour flight was the most fascinating flight ever. We left Dubai at 7:30am and for the next 14.5 hours every time I looked out of the window, the sun was still extremely bright. I am sure the directions the pilot has to Rio are "keep flying into the sun until you see the Jesus statue, then dip down and land......" It was so sunny at some point that we were all asked to pull down the blinds for at least 7 hours of the flight. Every time I peeked out of the blinds, I could imagine how vampires feel. "Oh no, the bright lights! Aaaaaaaaaaaargghhhhh, I'm melting........!"

The other strange thing about that flight was that we were only fed a real meal towards the last one hour of the flight. From the beginning we were served a light breakfast, then a light snack (veggie pizza), then some cookies.....At some point the African in me was about to cause some drama. "Just because time is standing still given our longitudinal motion, is no reason to stiff me out of a proper hot meal." Finally 12.5 hours into the flight we were served lunch. Amen.

Getting through customs in Rio was easy. The tricky part was all the stuff I needed to do at the airport after that - change money, buy a sim card, get a taxi to take me to my friend's place. Everyone spoke to me in Portuguese and I tried to do my best with hand signals. Due to language barriers, I didn't even realize there was a USD 15 commission for any currency exchange in the airport. 

I got out of the airport, saw a friendly looking cab guy and went to him with my notebook to point out my address. We negotiated a price (again with hand symbols) and off we went. On my way to Gavea, we passed the Christ the Redeemer statue. I was so excited. I got out of the taxi and took a mega-zoomed in pic:-)

The cab had one of those little DVD screens and we watched what I thought was a Brazilian soap with a Queen Latifah look alike. I kept thinking, "Wow. Queen Latifah has a Brazilian twin." Later on I realized that it was an American film once I saw Diane Keaton and Katie Holmes. I wonder if Queen Latifah knows she speaks perfect Portuguese.....

On getting to my friend's place I was warmly welcomed by his landlady and landlord with hugs, kisses and watermelon slices. Love it! Half an hour after my arrival, they asked if I wanted to go to the beach. That's a no-brainer for me. Jetlag can wait. We went to the beach then met up with my friend for dinner and drinks. It was a lovely night. 

I slept by 11:30pm and woke up today at 9:30am ready to discover Rio! I am off to the Jesus statue today then will head to the beach! Excitement!!

Ate mais!

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