It's definite. I love London. It's got lots of things to love - history for historians, old buildings for old building lovers, cutesy little green spaces all hedgerow and flowers, large green commons for walking the dog or playing team sport, young people dashing about going places dressed in their business suit best and many of those same young people overflowing out of pubs on to pavements at the end of a hectic day, cyclists merging with the rushing noisy traffic, the underground rumbling commuters from place to place, theaters with musicals, plays and orchestras. It's just a happening place. And I love it. Now.
My first visit to London wasn't what I would call inspiring. But that may be because we were travelling on a budget. We arrived into Victoria Station all those years ago at rush hour with our overlarge bags (we weren't experienced budget travelers at that point) and were overwhelmed by the numbers of people hurrying down escalators, that we learnt quickly to stand to the side of, crushing onto the trains, that we found ourselves sweltering in, and racing through turnstiles, that we learnt just as quickly couldn't fit large bags. Knowing I was holding up the hurrying, scurrying masses was an unpleasant feeling.
We stumbled out of the station thinking, 'What the hell was that!' After catching our breath and regrouping we headed off to find our lodgings. A boarding house. A dirty, grimey, yukky place it turned out to be - much worse than what I expected from the word 'budget'.
We had a small room up a number of flights of stairs (not good with big luggage), with two single wire wove beds and flat, well used looking mattresses barely covered by old, thin scratchy looking bedding. They were the sort of beds that made you lift up the sheets with the tips of two nervous fingers while holding your breathe to look for giant, scuttling bed bugs.
Having just arrived and in need of the loo I got my first look at the bathroom and went 'EEWWwwww'. It was the size of a closet, smelled of something indescribable coming off the damp floor (having obviously recently been used), with soft, rotting springy floor boards that looked like, at any moment, you could fall through them. And mold was climbing up the walls and literally hanging down from the ceiling. Peeing was put on hold as we decided the nearest pub would be a better place to find relief and refocus ourselves with a good beer or two.
We had a grand old time at the pub and felt like a bit of a stroll to get familiar with our surrounds before returning to our divey digs for a warm cardi (as the air was beginning to cool) and heading out for dinner. Yellow police tape surrounded the property. Fellow lodgers were sitting on neighbouring steps looking slightly shocked and bemused. Apparently there had been an altercation in one of the rooms in our lodgings (possibly over the crappy state of the place) and one disputant had thrown the other out the window from the top floor. Yep, we had picked a real doozy budget place to stay!
It was decided by the step dwellers, ably supported by The Husband, that we should head to the pub because no one in authoritative looking uniforms could determine how long we would be kept out of our rooms. So we spent a good deal more of a grand old time down at the pub with the people we had just met on the steps who hailed from around the world and who, like us, were on a budget, were only in London for a short while and were somewhat shocked by the state of the lodge and disturbed by recent events.
The next day while out sightseeing a group of men who were, I was told later by someone who was presumably well informed, likely gypsies from Europe, attempted to surround my husband and take his money while we were on a train. He did not take kindly to that at all and they underestimated his athleticism. After a push and a shove and a bit of attention attracting noise, they moved off while he kept a hold on our money.
Like I said, my first trip to London town did not exactly endear this city to me.
But I have come back since that first short visit, a few times and it has grown me. I think it is much easier to appreciate the vibrancy of this city when you have a little more disposable cash on hand, are prepared for the multitude of bodies you will encounter as they go about their daily lives and you have whanau who don't mind a relative or two crashing at their place for a week or so when you're in town. Or maybe I just appreciate the place and what it has to offer, warts and all, when I am on a break out of Saudi Arabia.
Kia ora people and Welcome to the middle of February 2016. Hasn't the New Year marched on already. It's been a while since I posted, largely, I have to admit, because of a slump on my mojo. That can happen to you here every now and then. But a lengthy planned holiday home to New Zealand, where the Hubster came to understand my less than optimal, somewhat fragile mental state, and an unplanned stay in Dubai have perked me up somewhat. So, I guess you can call this a long catch up post. It's full of arguments, celebrations, family photos and drama!
So, here we go....
On December 16th 2015, I was out of here, and I was looking forward to it. This was the first holiday that the entire family would be back in NZ at the same time. The first stop once on home turf was our sons place to catch up with his growing and gorgeous flock....
In my mind I had planned taking the kids to parks, playgrounds, movies and maybe a couple of shopping trips to buy them a few 'spoilt by the grandparents' things and had been mentioning such for quite some time before our trip. Hubby had different ideas. In his mind we were going to renovate the house and he had been emailing such to builders and painters and our son and not mentioning these plans at all to me. Needless to say quite early in our holiday we came to loggerheads on our different perceptions of what we would be doing during this trip home. I'm not very good at loggerheads. I cry and shout a lot. I cried and shouted a lot during this 'discussion'. What came out of it, in a nutshell, was this....I have issues. Here, briefly, is a summary of my tiny expat wife meltdown early on our holiday. (Feel free to add extra expletives where you think they fit nicely - lord knows I did! There were quite a few in the original of this post, but I was asked to remove a few terms - specifically those that related to my view of absolutely anything to do with Hubsters work!)
Hubby thought that my living the past six years in Saudi was a testament to how fabulously I was coping with being away from family while he works constantly, all the time.
The fact that he is working constantly all the time, even when on supposed holidays, even on this holiday, means we don't talk much. In fact, his daily routine in Riyadh of 'go to work, come home, eat, sit on computer working till all hours, go to bed, repeat', has meant that, for quite some time, I've been living with a sense of being, not exactly ignored but, pointless.
What did you bring me to Saudi for, I wonder? Am I just the tax break? (If you are a kiwi or ozzie planning to move here, check out how our tax laws will affect you). Am I here just to make soup that you can eat at your computer? (He eats at his computer).
I have asked these questions before when being ignored gets on my goat. I was asking similar questions again because I could see the holiday routine was going to be 'work at renovations all day, come home, eat, sit on computer working till all hours at night, go to bed, repeat'.
It is a gripe of mine that all our holidays of late are simply a continuation of the pattern in Saudi and I can't say I particularly approve and tend to let Hubster know because, basically, I'm not very good at keeping quiet.
Of course, he thinks I'm over-reacting and that I'm being silly. The next day any issues I may have are apparently forgiven and forgotten. They aren't really. They're just packed away under a face that says, 'Fine. Whatever'.
What I'd really appreciate is if he'd put down the f'n computer so we can talk to each other. We don't, I have concluded, talk much anymore.
It irks me that he'll put down the computer when his work colleagues, who also live on the compound, drop by. And they'll typically rabbit on about repetitive stuff like work. work, more work and more crappy work, and less than optimal support from head office, blah, blah blah...
But he won't talk to me. Nope . His head goes straight into the computer sending emails and doing whatever it is he does.
Him grunting in response to my attempts at conversation is, quite frankly, annoying. But if I push the 'why don't you talk to me' issue or if I suggest 'why don't log off your computer early cos I'm sure your clients don't have to hear from you at midnight' or, should I get really peed off and say something like, 'If you die tomorrow your clients wouldn't give a shit', I get, 'You don't understand my job', 'you don't understand the demands, the stress', you have no idea'...
Really? Is that what you think?
I might actually have some idea. I'm not exactly thick. I've got ears...I hear you talking with your mates about the same thing all the bloody time. And I live in Riyadh too, you know!
And maybe if you talked to me we could discuss how difficult your work life is. (Or how difficult you like to make it which, I think, is part of his problem).
And maybe, just maybe, I'd like to tell you how being eye raped while doing something normal like walking to the shop is disturbing, how being dismissed from a major telecom retail shop with the wave of the hand and shouted 'No Woman' is flaming irritating, how getting into a taxi and have the driver lock the doors brought out the nasty in me. Maybe I'd like to exchange my everyday shitty news with you. Or maybe I'd like to talk about the photo's I take in the morning when I go out on my bike rides, alone, without you. Or pass on news from our daughter who called.
Maybe, no definitely, I'd like you to close the computer because your work gets to have you since 8.30am every morning.... at 10 pm at night, I'd like a little us time.
It is one thing to feel like a second class citizen due to local attitudes, it is another to feel irrelevant to your spouse because that's how his current work demands and his own insistence on being so damn good at what he does, make me feel. Why can't you be like the locals and chill, relax, cruise, don't give a hoot....?
Although I have met some lovely ladies in Riyadh who have become good friends, they are not the best friend I married but who seems to have wandered off into 'Home But Never Here Land' in the short space of time we have been in Saudi. And I am extremely upset that on this holiday, this return home holiday, you are going to continue to put me on the back burner because you have decided you have more important things to think about. I am important! And I refuse to be brushed off by you any more!
It turns out that he thinks that working all the time while in Saudi is what I expect from him so we can pay off our mortgage and go home. He also insists that we both agreed to renovating this house ourselves.
He has this habit of having imaginary conversations with me in his head. He does it all the time. It pisses me off because he'll come out with these grand statements of 'we talked about this' when we didn't. I know we didn't. That, after all, would require a conversation. (In fact, one night in Saudi at the coffee shop with friends I asked everybody's orders and duly went to place the order. When the drinks came he says "Where's my diet coke". "You didn't order anything, I say." "Yes I did", he insists. "I'm sorry habibtii", says our friend who is sitting at the table with us, "you might have imagined ordering, but you didn't actually say anything." "Thank, thank you, thank you", I said, because that, right there, is what he does all the time.)
And why he thinks I like him working constantly is a joke. Many is the time I've begged with him to stop working!!! I actually intensely dislike him working all the time. Totally, intensely, can't stand it!
In fact, I wish that once out of the office, and especially on weekends, he would stuff work and tell his overly demanding clients to go to hell. It's the weekend. Rack off! Your work is not 'Urgent, Urgent', but he answers the emails anyway.
And I couldn't give a rats arse if we sold the bloody house if we had to. (In case you hadn't noticed, as well as crying, I swear a lot in loggerhead type interactions).
As emotional, potty-mouthed female meltdowns do little more than distract him temporarily from his work, I do try not to have them all the time (though sometimes they can't be helped) and, while in Saudi I have worked out a strategy for coping with his hours of head down bum up, give everything to the office, work ethic. I surf the internet.
It's purely a distraction strategy and not the least bit fulfilling, though I'm sure he tends to think I'm having a blast, mainly, presumably, because I'm quiet and not interrupting him.
Admittedly internet surfing does provide the opportunity to learn lots of unnecessary stuff like 'What are vulture funds?', recipes for Paleo bread or avocado chocolate mousse, 'The complexities of bank lending and Corporate Social Responsibility',' how to take apart your vacuum cleaner, how to cope with a workaholic husband (completely useless strategies I have to say) and who won the latest BGT or X-factor. What surfing the internet cannot do is take away the feeling of loneliness. And that, it turns out after all the frustrated crying in the converted shed behind our sons house, is what I really feel.
Lonely.
And fragile.
I don't know how much longer I can go on in this unreal life in Saudi with its ridiculous demands on both of us.
I miss talking with him about life, living, kids, home, family, future plans, sport teams, motorbikes, planning our weekend bike rides, playing cards, playing scrabble, watching movies together, learning Spanish and figuring out how to raise bees and grow vanilla beans. I'm tired of having to cajole him out of the house to do things together.
I might have coffee mornings I can go to every day of the week, but they do not fill the void of loneliness. He might be right there in the house with his computer, but I miss my man.
And he had no idea.
He thought I had simply adjusted fabulously to life in Saudi. I think he was trying to talk himself into believing that because how can you think such a thing after one of my expat wife meltdowns?
This little discussion did clear the air of a lot of my built up issues.
He has attempted to be more present lately and actually closes his computer.
I agreed we could spend the first week doing up the house.
(And what better way to do it than as a family working bee!)
It is safe to say that the rest of our time was spent happily, together, at (or near) a beach surrounded by the whanau.
Over the next few days the rest of the family arrived from distant shores (namely Ozzie and the UK) and it was so nice to have everyone in the same place for Christmas and New Year. A good reason to be dancing I reckon. (This is the kids latest cool song - Note the adults quite liked it too)
Naturally, being Christmas, the kids scored big time at each of the whanau gatherings for feasting and present giving. First up was Christmas Eve morning at home. I love watching kids reactions to getting long awaited for, hoped for, fingers crossed for, and just glad to get, gifts.
Then we headed down to my brothers place at the beach near the Coromandel for Christmas Day. The pile of presents placed under the tree grew and grew after the kids went to bed, ready for them to receive the next morning...
There were gifts for the young and the slightly more mature. There were fun gifts, homemade gifts and special gifts.
Everyone seemed quite happy with the gifts that they got.
The whole morning was a bit much for the old boy who needed a nap midway through proceedings.
And there was the food. Loads and loads of food. And laughs. And general good times.
As all the family were together it seemed a good idea to take a few family group photo's with my parents as the center pieces.
There was the grandchildren photo...
... the great-grandchildren photo...
...and the all in photo.
We even attempted a recreation photo. From this over twenty years ago...
To this...
Christmas Day was a great day, and so were the days that followed. The beach was spectacular and we enjoyed it, even on the days it rained.
We eventually left the coast and headed up North, to visit the farm. The kids got to run around the bush and paddocks, to visit the old homestead where their great-grandfather grew up, (now in need of major TLC), and to swim in the river.
Our next stop was the Manukau Heads, just outside of Auckland, to a beach house with its glorious views over the bay from a deck perfect for a New Years Eve party.
Of course, it wasn't all fun and games at the house. The gardens needed a trim and the deck needed a spot of paint. (The husband actually discussed both of these in real time, out loud).
But really, mostly, it was time to chill'ax.
We went to the beach every day. Hubby took the truck over the hill and we walked around the point. The kids dressed in rubbish bags the day we went over to the coast to go sliding down sand dunes. We basically had a great family time.
Then it was time to say our farewells and head back to Saudi. We landed in Riyadh and said hello to the nice bloke at the customs counter. He said hello back and then said to me, 'You can go'. But to Hubster he said, 'Your visa expired.'
What?
Your visa expired
It can't be.
It expired.
How? It should be the same as my wife's!
(Shrug). (Tense silence)
What do I do now?, Hubster said.
Go to office.
What do I do now?, I said.
You can go in, [to baggage collection] your husband go to office.
How long will this take?, Hubster said.
Maybe one hour.
So it was decided I would pick up the suitcases and wait in the taxi. What happens next is how Hubster described it to me later...
...Hubster went to the office where the men were drinking qahwa. After an introduction and description of the issue, they offered him qahwah and then one of the blokes went to check the visa on the computer. Expired by 15 days it said which is not what was printed on the piece of paper in Hubsters hand.
Sorry, they said.
The computer says expired. It's expired.
What now?, says husband.
Where you come from?, they said.
Dubai.
You go back Dubai.
What if I don't want to go back to Dubai?, he asks.
The blokes looked rather perplexed at that statement and said, 'Why not?'
Hubster was thinking he might do a stint in the airport cells. (When he told me this my first thought was, what awesome blog fodder. Bad wifey, I know).
You have credit card?, they ask
Yes.
You go Dubai.
Given that he not only had a credit card but also cash and his computer, all of which he thought may go missing while he was in the cells, he opted for a return trip to Dubai.
So he calls me and says he's being put back on the plane.
OK, I say, how long will this take.
Hopefully a day or so he says.
So I go home. He goes to Dubai.
Apparently he was considered a deportee so had to be escorted to the plane and handed over to the flight staff. Once in Dubai he had to wait to alight until someone from Foreign Affairs came to collect him. He wasn't allowed to simply walk out through Dubai customs because there is quite a bit of process and paperwork that goes with being deported. The Foreign Affairs Ministry (FAM) needs forms filled and the Dubai CID (aka Police) need to give him clearance. The FAM guy told him it is up to the discretion of the CID whether or not they would let him leave. Not to mention he had to pay for his return ticket to Dubai. Once the fare had been paid, the forms filled and the CID were happy his deportation was for fairly innocent reasons, he was escorted to the CID passport area and released.
All quite painless really, though time consuming, and the everyone he dealt with was very pleasant.
This all happened on a Saturday.
On Tuesday we decided that if he didn't have his visa in the next couple of days I would go over to Dubai for the weekend and to take him some clothes - (Remember I had all the suitcases, he had his computer bag. He needed a change of clothes).
I got to spend 10 days in Dubai before he got his visa extension.
He wasn't particularly happy with this delay as he had to cancel meetings.
Personally, I thought the extra holiday was ace.
In order to get his visa his office had to write a letter to the Saudi Ministry of Interior explaining the situation and asking for a visa. The MOI, after getting the office to send a few extra bits and pieces to prove they are a properly registered company, then sent a form back to the office that had to go to the Saudi Consulate in Dubai. Once Hubby had that form he had to engage an agent to liaise with the consulate. (You can't just rock up at the consulate with your form - something he discovered after he rocked up). It took a while to get the visa to the consulate because the systems were down, but once the visa extension was issued, it was only valid for seven days. Given we were told late on a Thursday that it was ready, and the agency is shut on weekends, by the time we got it three days had already expired.
So we had to head back to Riyadh. However, once back at Riyadh customs we find that a visa extension requires a different type of processing. So, once again, I was told I could go through while Hubby was directed toward the office to get his visa photocopied. Then he had to wait for the only guy who could process his visa to come back from lunch. Once said man was back at his desk I could see he and the Hubster both through the perspex class having a good old laugh. Obviously now that the whole process was coming to an end Hubster appeared quite relaxed.
And that folks, was my holiday and eventual return to Riyadh.
Stunning stuff, don't you think?
I'm just hoping his new found ability to close his laptop at night doesn't hit a rocky patch.
A few weeks back we suggested to Mr Finland that we visit him in Kenya for the Eid break because we discovered, via his Instagram, that he is now living in Nairobi. Naturally he was so excited to hear from us that he said, 'Of course, come. Would love to have you here'. (He's very polite). So tickets were booked and a week out from our arrival I did a perusal of Things to To in Kenya via Google (as you do).
A number of activities I had to take off the list immediately because The Husbands idea of an Eid break is to do as little as possible and not travel far. So Masai Mara will have to wait for our Kenyan return. However, I did find a couple of ideas he liked the sound of, and a few others he was doubtful about but I knew he'd come around. He always does.
Mr Finland, bless his heart, decided that riding of motorbikes was a must, so he arranged a rental bike for us. It was a 180cc bike (the best Mr Finland could find for motorcycle renting in Nairobi) and I have to say, we probably looked like a couple of elephants on a pimple riding the thing, and it did struggle a bit on the hills, but we loved it!
Our first day we walked to a local place for breakfast. The walk required crossing a brown colored stream while balancing on a sewage pipe (granted, it was a short pipe but at my age still rather challenging!). I was thankful that gymnastics was a sport I did in my youth and with arms outstretched imagined walking along a balancing beam (minus somersault at the end). The action was also helped by the thought that landing in that water would be ikky!
Breakfast was pancakes and coffee while Mr Finland and his lovely lady, Miss Milly, filled us in on life in Kenya. It sounded both interesting and frightening. The idea that white people do not go to the city center because it was unsafe, that nobody walked anywhere after sunset for the same reason and that car doors should be locked and windows kept up to prevent thieving while you are traveling in the vehicle were the frightening parts. Everything else was interesting.
That afternoon our motorbike was dropped off, so we donned bright reflective gear (regulation riding gear in Kenya apparently) and followed Mr Finland and Miss Milly through the busy outer city streets for our first experience of Nairobi sight seeing. The roads are rough as but the driving is much more orderly than that in Saudi. The scenery cannot be described as picturesque. Some areas are extremely poor with shacks housing either people or businesses. Roadside stalls are massed along the main roads atop the red Nairobi dirt selling furniture, clothes, plants, food, car washes and doctor services.
You could be disheartened by the ramshackle look of the place. Or you can be amazed at the beehive of activity, the skills on display in the open air - wood being hammered into beautiful furniture, sparks flying from grinders on metal creating everything from gates to lamp shades. The entrepreneurial spirit of Kenyans, doing what needs to be done to care for themselves and their families, is everywhere. We noted, with interest, that though obviously life was a struggle, in most areas of Nairobi there wasn't the same level of rubbish and garbage that can be found around many areas of Saudi. Kenyans, we decided, were a proud bunch. Kenya struck me as a place just waiting to take off....all it needs is a government interested in helping the people, not themselves.
Mr Finland rode us through some of the richer areas of Nairobi with their razor wire atop compound walls. The complexes seemed rather lonely looking relatives trying to be posh while surrounded by whanau (Maori word for family) from the back blocks who aren't the least bit interested in poshness because they are too busy getting through life. New construction development towers over the local housing and everywhere are tracks, worn into the dirt and through the broken concrete by locals whose main mode of travel is walking. And security is everywhere.
After a bite to eat we headed back to the apartment. Being out on bikes is not a good plan as the setting sun makes way for the mysterious activities of a Kenyan night where unsavory types, who tend to run around the streets, would relish the chance to hit up a couple of white people who've fallen off their bikes because they ran into one of the huge pot holes that are plentiful on the road.
The next morning it was raining so we waited till the afternoon to head out for more sight seeing - this time to a couple of tourist spots, namely the Giraffe Center and Karen Blixem House. We enjoyed both. It was cool seeing Giraffes up close and personal, And the tour of Karen Blixem's house was more interesting than we originally thought it would be. Hubster must have liked the tour because now he wants to watch the movie "Out Of Africa".
The following day Anthony, Mr Finlands trusted driver, picked us up early to take us to Naivasha, a couple of hours drive away. His car is one that melds nicely into the local surrounds. It's a rough, rattly old Toyata but manages to get from A to B every day. And the inside is very clean and rather comfy with it's maroon colored velvet covered seats.
We went to Naivasha to visit a school. Kitendo Children's Charity school to be exact. Marcus, a fellow Kiwi, helped to set up the place and I am teeing up the whanau to travel there one day to help out in this project. Given we were going to be in Kenya anyway, I decided to go up for some recon. Hubster, who was initially skeptical, (he gets lots of those "...I'm a millionaire living in Nairobi..." scam emails), was only coming along for the ride to humor me. After our visit, seeing the school, meeting the kids and talking with Marcus, he's decided my idea isn't such a crack pot one after all. (I told you he'd come around.) If you'd like to know more about this project visit their website www.kccprogramme.org
The next item on our Kenyan agenda was a Safari at the Nairobi National Park, just outside the city limits. It is possible to self-drive through the park and Anthony was keen to do just that but, after a spot of discussion with Hubster, it was decided to spend a few extra Kenyan shillings and hire one of the parks four wheel drive vehicles complete with driver/guide. It was, we decided part way through our three hour drive, the best way to see the park. The vehicle is high off the ground so you get a better view past the long Kenyan grass to the animals grazing.
The driver is also a guide and can answer any questions but, best of all, he is in radio contact with the other rangers so has a better chance of finding Four of the Big Five that the park houses. (The Big Five being Lions, Buffalo, Leopards, Rhino's and Elephants). On this trip we saw three of the big five - rhino's, buffalo and a lions, not to mention all the other animals that call the park home.
As an added bonus our guy was driving over the rugged terrain at pace, which made the rough and bouncy ride all the more exciting. The vehicle is open sided, and I did wonder initially how the heck we'd get away from wild things on the prowl, but brushed that thought aside to enjoy the ride and views of the wildlife seeming quite content against a city backdrop.
After our wildlife spotting ride and a dish of local lunch we decided to do the Safari Walk which is basically a walk round a Zoo like setting looking at animals that, after recovery from the orphanage (also housed in the park) cannot be put back into the wild, and met a very friendly security man, complete with automatic rifle, who told us to slow down our walk because we were missing so much. To drive home his point, he asked if we'd seen the lions in the tree.
"The what?' we said.
"In the tree. Look in the tree"
And sure enough, in the trees, near the male lying tanning himself, were two rather large females balancing on a not so large branch.
Friendly security man then took us back so he could call out the hyena's we had also missed and then he showed us the leopard and cheetahs. It's probably just as well Mr Security had been watching us and decided these tourists needed a sight seeing hand, else we would have thought there wasn't much interesting to see on this walk.
That night we headed out to dinner to a restaurant similar to Terrazzo's back home in Saudi. On the skewers making the rounds were delicious lamb, various cuts of tasty beef, crocodile, pork (Hubster was hoping it was warthog...but no) and chicken. We went to bed that night rather full and happy with our day.
After a bit of sleep-in the following morning, Anthony picked us up and took us to Bomas of Kenya, a place with replica's of tribal villages from all over Kenya. On arrival we met Alice, a young lady studying tourism who was on placement at the village. She was our guide. If you ever go to this place, get a guide. Wandering aimlessly through villages can get a little ho-hum without someone there to tell you the differences between building structures, village set ups and tribal customs. Each village also smelt like smoke because the staff go around and light the fires in the homes to give the villages a realistic, smoky, lived in feel.
After our tour we bought a few things from the market and then headed in for the afternoon show. The auditorium was filling with school children and their excitement and real enjoyment of the music and dance, not to mention their excellent behavior, was a pleasure to see.
Mid-morning the next day we headed off to Karura Forest. I was determined to get some cycling in. Hubster and Mr Finland were a little nervous about that idea but I'd given the Friends of Karura a call and they confirmed cycling was possible, so cycling we were a-going. Anthony came too. He decided he may as well get n some extra training for his future as a Nairobi tour guide, a career path he decided would be quite lucrative after spending time driving us around.
We discovered there are two fees to pay for cycling, one at the entrance to the forest for the pleasure of entering and another at the bike hire stand, for the bikes. There was a little confusion initially because this hadn't been explained during the phone call or at the gate, and Jackson, the bike guy, got the brunt of our 'What? Why do we have to pay twice?', indignation. But soon enough things were explained, apologies made (and accepted), cash handed over and soon we were off on a leisurely two hour cycle through the forest. The track was very easy and there were stops to see a waterfall and Mau Mau caves as well as the odd bit of wild life.
After our ride, we headed to the National Museum for a rather late lunch . I was looking forward to trying another Kenyan dish and after opening the menu exclaimed, rather loudly apparently, 'O shit, it's all white food'. Yes, the cafe at the museum caters to the tourist palate. Not a Kenyan dish in sight. Anthony had a bit of difficulty finding something he was used to. We managed to wolf down our food with a spot of Kenyan beer (that was local), and then, as time was ticking, decided to give Museum and the nearby snake pit a miss in favour of perusing the nearby curio shop. That afternoon we took home our purchases, borrowed an extra suitcase from Mr Finland (yes, that's how much shopping we did), and spent the evening quietly at home talking about how much we like this place.
Friday was our last day. It was also the day Obama was due to arrive in Kenya. We weren't quite sure how his visit was going to affect our travel time to the airport. Over the week we had noticed roadside curbs being freshly painted and roadside stalls being removed on his travel route. Notices of roadside lock down's were being reported all over the TV. Emirates was called and informed us, to their knowledge, our departure flight would be on time.
We walked to the Mall that morning, for breakfast at Nairobi Java House (we liked their Kenyan coffee) and to spend some last minute time with Miss Milly. Mr Finland had gone to work on his bike, though I reckon he was really in search of Obama's Beast. He came back to report that the main roads were empty because most people had decided to give themselves a day off. Anthony had arranged to pick us up early and so, after packing our bags and waving our goodbyes to our wonderful hosts, our final view of Nairobi was being driven through the town center and the main streets of Eastlands, a hectic, heaving mass of humans living and working in poverty conditions held together mostly by old, rusting, corrugated iron. Even on this dry day, the smell of sewage from the stream running through Eastlands was putrid through the open car window. This, we said to each other, is what Obama should be seeing. I doubt he ever will.
As we neared the airport people were beginning to line the streets for a glimpse of The Man in his Beast. His visit is a beacon of hope for them. I hope they got to see him.
Hubster really enjoyed this trip. I know, because he bought a heap of stuff from the little stalls. Usually he doesn't buy stuff on our holidays. We bought so much I'm going to have to start an African corner at home. It should look good with my Saudi salon. Kenya is also one of the few places he has said, 'I'm going back there'.
