Serengeti: Day 3

After breakfast, we drove out of the very cold fog that surrounded us, and into the crater.  Once inside, and below the clouds we could see the crater wall all around, sometimes straining to see the wall on the opposite side.  There is a forest down there as well as a few bodies of water.  A much more appetizing place to live for an animal than the Serengeti.  We saw some wildebeests (I like to call them ugly horses), more gazelles, elephants, buffalo, and a zebra being eaten by lions!

The zebra carcass was right in the middle of the road.  Half of it already missing as the kill probably occurred the previous night.  The father lion was off in the distance between the zebra and another pride of lions farther off in the distance, protecting the kill for the family.  Two cubs were munching away on breakfast when we arrived.  There was also some older brothers and the mother nearby protecting the kill from the jackals eagerly leering around for the leftovers.  We were one of close to 20 pop-topped safari vehicles watching.  It is a wonder the animals never attack the Land Cruisers. 

Simba wins again

Not too far away was a large pack of zebras staring in the direction of the kill site.  They all looked very mournful.  I’m sure they never get used to this circle of life.  While we were on the scene the fellow zebras walked with their heads down, not talking to one another.  I guess that’s how the zebra faith honors their loved ones.

By noon, we made our way up and out of the crater to make the four hour trip back, past the circumcised Maasai, out of Ngorongoro Conservation, along the highway with the many speed bumps alerting drivers of crossing villagers, and back to Moshi where we rendez-vous’d at Maria’s house and picked up our bags.  It was such a nice comfort to have this pitstop before parting with our big bags once again.

It was time to head up to Mowa villiage with Maria, in the foothills of Kilimanjaro Mountain.

Serengeti: Day 2

I was not sure what to expect on safari.  I thought we’d off-road through the plains and come upon whatever nature had to offer.  It turned out there are dirt roads with craters-sized potholes that all vehicles must stay on.  Lucky is when the animals are right next to that road.

Frankie received a call (oh yes, cell phones work all over the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater, but in Stony Brook, Long Island you’ll be shit out of luck) from one of his buddy drivers that there are some Cheetahs.  So we went on a Cheetah hunt, turning and backtracking to try and find the right road.  At one point a rock, kicked up by a vehicle coming from the opposite direction, hit the window next to Nicole, it startled her but all was OK.  About 15 seconds later we hit a bump and pop! The window shattered.  Small glass pieces are everywhere.  All this for some cheetas?  Unable to open the door and get out in the middle of Serengeti, Frankie struggled to the back seats to wipe the glass away.  Fortunately, the glass shattered and fell straight down, so no one was scratched.  We did eventually find the cheetahs, a mother with two of her babies, relaxing under the shade of a acacia tree about 80 yards away.

Before our lunch break which was back at the campsite we got to see two lionesses hunt a hogwart…damn you Harry Potter!....a warthog.  Though very slow, the warthog got away, as the lionesses seemed to have pounced too early, maybe they were showing off for the 8 vehicles lining up to see the kill.

There was also a leopard lounging in a tree, but it was too far away to get a good look at, even with binoculars.  We were moving right along, checking off the animals in the Big Five: cheetah, lion, elephant, buffalo, rhino.

We camped on the edge of Ngorongoro crater.  It is cold up there, and so is the shower water.  The thing that was amazing was the zebras hanging around the campsite and the elephants which came around sunset to drink the water from the bathroom tanks.  That was pretty unreal, and quite frightening as elephants can cause a lot of harm.

 TIA: This is Africa

Drink it all up, Mr. Elephant

The Argentineans

We dined next to a group of three Argentineans—Father, brother-in-law, and one of their sons, fresh out of law school.  They were in the midst of a 40-day trip taking them all over Sub-Sahara Africa looking at all sorts of animals and cities.

They were a lively group who spoke very little English so I (Nicole) got to use my Spanish speaking skills and translate the animated conversations happening. It’s amazing what kind of topics we were able to cover in our respective second languages----politics, sports and Argentina’s history and the corruption (they were telling us about the thousands of people who went “missing” in the 80’s after speaking out against a corrupt government). They know all about Giuliani and his “zero tolerance” policy –as it was adopted by Argentina’s president but has, according to our friends, caused all sorts of problems and illegitimate arrests.   We exchanged email addresses---everyone wants to come to NYC---and retired to our tents to get some sleep.

Did you know that there are no fences or wire around the campsite? We didn’t. For some reason, elephants, zebras, and forest hogs know not to trample on our tents.  I’m not sure why, but at night when they are snorting and traipsing around the campsite they just stayed clear from stepping on our faces beneath the tent.  At one point, I had a dream that I was pushing an elephant leg off my body because he was trying to step on the tent we were sleeping in.  At another point that night I dreamt that our good friends Ian and Amanda were coming to Africa for 4 years, starting right after our planned departure in January.  Good ol’ Larium dreams.

I was awake half the night fearing that we would be trampled by an elephant or eaten by a lion.  I could see the headlines now…..

Serengeti National Park

We finally reach the Serengeti and it’s time to pop up the roof of our vehicle and drive around like real safarians, if there is such a thing.  Right after passing through the checkpoint with vending machines, toilets, and the registration area we see three giraffes!  What beautiful creatures with such an elegant gait.  Frankie remarks that catwalk models can learn a good lesson from these guys.  We already knew they are Nicole’s mother favorite animal, and now we know why.

Mom is right, they are beautiful

A lone zebra off in the distance proceeds a stop to watch a hyena crunch on some bones off in the distance.  Just before reaching our campsite, we come upon a mama lioness with her two cubs rolling around in the setting sun.  They weren’t more than 8 meters from the side of the road.

Relaxing after another pleasant day in the Serengeti

Serengeti means vast land, and it most certainly is.  Just as you can see the horizon when looking out at the ocean, the Serengeti is the land version of that.  Off in the distant southwest direction we see some mountains, but flat plains everywhere else. 

We make a final turn, passing some hungry hungry hippos hunkered in some waters, and arrive at our campsite when Frankie and Saidie quickly pitch the tents.  We have yet to see an African move that fast.

The campsite has two covered areas, one for the tourists to sit in, and the other for the cooks to prepare the meals at.  The food is tasty—a beef stew with rice—which we share with Frankie.  Saidie and the other cooks end up eating whatever is left from all their prepared meals.

A 3 Day Safari

The trip out to the Serengeti National Park is 5 hours.  We saw plenty of corn fields, it’s just about harvest time now and the maize will be shucked, husked, and put in storage for the year.  The road is paved but every time we go through a village there is some combination of very fat speed bump proceeded and followed by a more textured rumble strip of three bumps than we are used to seeing before a toll on the Turnpike.

The dirt is more clay then anything giving the grounds in front and beyond the street side stores a red hue.  With each strip of storefronts there is a deep expanse of small cement and mud hut housing.  We continue to drive on this road up some hills, passing some commuters and shippers on bike—shippers because they are carrying a bundle of branches or a larger bundle of empty 5-gallon jugs, we guess, used for porting water.  The bicyclists are sometimes pulled walking their bike up a hill or fixing their gear, perhaps it’s a manual gear shift for hills….

In order to go to the Serengeti we must first pass through Ngorogoro Conservation.  The difference between a conservation and national park is that Maaasai people can live on a conservation, but only animals and safari vehicles allowed in the national parks.  Ngorongoro is our day 3 safari so we are just passing through.  The road is incredibly bumpy, rocky, and dusty.  We will not drive on any surface better than this until we leave to go home after the third day’s morning game drive.

The Maasai People

The Maasai people are incredibly strong people and have been known to live up to 125 years old!  We see them scattered all over Ngorongoro, dressed in their traditional red/black or purple/black checkered blankets you can find at shops leading up to the conservation.  Some sitting on the side of the road, getting sprayed by the dirt in our wake, others walking with their large sticks along the side or off in the distance, and the young boys (age 12-13) heard cattle.  Almost always, when we pass them they wave at us and we wave back.  But are all these safari vehicles really welcome here?  It is certain their lifestyle has changed as a result of the safari industry.

Their villages are nothing more than a cluster of mud huts with thatched roofs made of a straw/hay-like material.  Before the government stepped in and restricted their hunting they survived on animal meat, cow’s milk and cow’s blood.  Now they receive government aid for water and maize.  They can still kill their animals, but not the zebras or other safari wildlife.  We saw some safari vehicles parked next to their village so that safari’ers can take pictures with the Maasai and of their village.  A tourist trap, says our chubby, friendly driver.

Oops, our Safari Team

My heavens we haven’t introduced you to our Safari leaders.

Frankie, as I just said is sort of chubby, not many Africans with such a body type.  He laughs at our jokes and is very knowledgeable in all things Safari.  He wears corduroy pants, a black T-shirt with zebras on it that says Tanzania, and big old black knit hat with Jamaica colored stripes around the bottom that scream rasta!

Saidie (pronounced Sah-eed-ie), is our cook.  Actually his name is just Said, but everything here seems to end in ‘ie’—baggie, Marchie (the month), eightie (8).  He is skinny, very closely shaved head, with hush-puppy-like shoes and jeans with a Calvin Klein wash fade to them.  He doesn’t speak much English but is very polite and a darn good chef, too bad his meals take an hour to prepare all the time.  We asked him if he cooks at home.  His response: “I have a wife.”  As in America, circa 1980, men usually do the grilling, while women do the rest of the cooking.

Maasai Circumcision

We pass by a spot where there are boys wearing black robes and have white paint on their face.  What was that!?  “Those,” Frankie says, “are the Maasai that have just been circumcised.”  Maasai go to school to about 7^th grade, then after their goat and cattle herding responsibility is over they reach their manhood landmark at age 14-15 of circumcision.  As you can probably imagine, the Maasai do not have sterile utensils to perform this coming of age activity and as a result many get infections and die.  After the circumcision is done, the group of boys stay together for a month, away from their village to recover.  Someone from one of their villages will bring an animal for them to kill and eat.  This was strange, and the black clothing made these boys look scary to me.

Last depressing Maasai factoid: they are polygamous and share wives, as a result HIV is a bad problem among this population.

Day 2 in Moshi

Woke up, got out of bed, bought a phone to hold near my head.

Crossed the street to buy a sim card

Learned Swahili words from my new friend Mr. Chaai.

(feel free to sing the above in the tune of the Beatles’ “A Day in the Life”

We also booked the safari with Ria, Maria’s roommate.

Found lunch for $4 total for the two of us.  It was beans and rice, one of which had chicken, and a Fanta.  Boy, Fanta is good.

Now just resting up and catching up on sleep before we hit the Serengeti and Ngorongoro crater.  3 days and 2 nights out in the African wilderness!

See you at the end of the week, but first....

Swahili Word of the Day

Whoawa = booty

Whoawhoawhoa = big booty

Seriously.

Change of Plan, we are going to Moshi

The road to Arusha was great, the 5 hour ride went by fast thanks to our new friend and temporary guide, Maria.  We’ve known her for just a day now and she has probably saved us close to $700 and so much stress.  In fact, we made an on-bus audible and changed our destination from Arusha to a town another hour from there named Moshi, in the foothills of Kilamanjaro.

First, Maria, who is she?  Where did we find her? 

Sitting across the aisle from us is a woman: white, about our age, and, it turns out, from Portland Oregon.  Some quick stats on Maria.

-          Been in East Africa for 9 months now

-          Is a naturpathic doctor

-          Is returning to Moshi from northeast Kenya where she went to see the refugee camp and basically meet people and do what she could to make them happy

-          Refugee camp est. pop = 300,000 ppl with about 1,500 arriving each day from Somalia due to the drought and famine

-          Teaches yoga at the guest house she eventually sets us up at

-          Works in a small village helping people at a clinic through her homeopathic ways

-          Very experienced in East Africa ways.  Turns out this bus we are on, the Impala, is the safest bus that travels this road from Nairobi to Arusha because of the drivers, they don’t fly down the road overtaking any bike, car, or bus in their way.  (Many thanks to the previous guest house for arranging this)

-          Has a lot of information she shares with us and we have interesting conversations

-          We become fast friends

The Impala has a route that begins and ends at a five star hotels in Nairobi and Arusha, respectively.  Arusha is a main hub for safaris, and though we initially made a plan to get off there, spend the night and arrange a safari, Maria convinced us that since Arusha is notorious for robberies and pickpocketers, perhaps worse than “Nairobbery,” we should follow her to Moshi, a smaller town in the foothills of Mt Kilamanjaro. She set us up in a simple, clean place for $25/night, and put us in touch with her roommate, a Slovak woman who, together with a Tasmanian man, runs Kilamanjaro hikes and safaris. 

So we settle in Moshi, the Kilimanjaro Coffee Lounge, to be exact, it’s a combination coffee lounge and guest house, and Maria’s Yoga Studio.  Moshi is what I would call an African town, somewhere between a city and a village.  There is a main street, dubbed “double way” because cars have two lanes to go each direction.  There are some side streets with outside veggie stands and open storefronts that sell luggage, shoes, tailoring.  There are stores for phones and other electronics and equipment as well. Buildings don’t really exceed three stories. 

Maria called her driver, Baraka, and asked him to pick us up and then drive us to her place to pick her up, and then we would drive to a bar together.  When Baraka answered in English, Maria gave him the instructions in English.  Something was lost in communication because Baraka did not show.  Scared to venture off the steps of our guest house because it was night, we asked one of the guys working at the time if we could purchase units for his phone and call Baraka’s number which Maria left.  The guy runs off into the night and returns with the minutes.  Baraka is “far away.”  We then request our new helper to fetch us a cab.  He disappears again and comes back in the passenger seat of a cab.  We arrive at the Glacier.

The Galcier is pretty much an open area.  In the corner was a shelter where the band was set up, between the bar and the open kitchen under.  Most people mingled by the bar.  We sat in the open field area at red plastic Coca Cola tables and chairs.  There were two projectors on either end of the open space showing soccer highlights. They served us some pretty good curry. 

So far the food has been much better than expected, though we didn’t expect much.  Of note: although there is a “menu” you are served whatever is being prepared that evening. The ride to Glacier felt like we were driving through the suburbs of New Jersey.   Tall shrubs and walls behind which are gated homes. Another example of the disparity of wealth.

At the Glacier the live music is simple.  They pepper their setlist with Bob Marley, traditional African reggae, and some solid early 90s tunes.  They also did a raging “In the Jungle the Lion Sleeps Tonight,” I will now have that song in my head instead of Paul Simon’s “African Skies.”  Shaggy, Hello by Lionel Richie, “And I’m on My Way,” oh it was great.  After the band finished the DJ took over with a 90s dance party.  There was a disco ball of sorts shining circle colorful patterns on the dance floor.  Despite the song selection and there being no more than 8 people on the floor at a time, the patrons were moving well.  Turns out, if you take an East African out of the bush and throw him on the dance floor you’d think he were a Janet Jackson backup dancer.  People here move so well.

Swahili Word of the Day

“Keepie leftie” – roundabout

They drive on the left side of the road here.

The Road to Arusha

On bus typing, about 45 mins outside of Nairobi. 

So much dust.  Smells like the beginnings of a construction site, or an unfinished basement with dirt floors

A downtown strip, so different from any strip I’m used to seeing.  Some business names:  Midtown Supersaver, Samlex Hardware, Paws gas station (this last one actually looks like a western gas station air dropped in this minimalist society).  By minimalist, I mean, there is not much apart from store fronts set back from road so people can park and mill about in front.

Further on down the road….

Lots of buildings in different stages of construction, and others on their way up but appear to have been abandoned mid-creation. Others are actively being worked on-- you can tell the difference.

Then there are these arcades, as if a building from the suburbs was plopped right in the midst of Kenya’s roadside.  The poorest of poor sitting on the side of the road and then a man in a suit on his cell phone. 

I’m guessing that was the downtown, because then the bus picks up speed and now there is just one car in front of us. 

More farmland, though it doesn’t look like anything could grow out there.  Dry and still dusty, lots of brown.  Where is the lush green I’ve been hearing about?  Out in these parts there are random walled-in developments with bright red rooftops and look like a regular place to live, regular from our standards that is.

There was a good amount of cattle, some of which in the act of being herded.  By real shepherds!!  I look up out in the distance and see a vast space of nothingness but a few bushes popping up in the yonder.  Now a woman walking alongside the road carrying a load on her head, walking somewhere…..then a boy on a bicycle, and a runner in jeans….  Now no cars ahead of us.  Not sure where the people are going.

About 2 hours out

The grounds to the left and right are still the brown color of dead grass and dirt, but I’m starting to see the African trees, wide, flat tops, abound.  Just like in the Lion King.  And even out here, in the seemingly nothingness, still seeing people waiting or walking on the sides of the road.  There are no buildings in sight though, or at least they are few and very far between.

Crossing the boarder to Tanzania

We leave everything on the bus, and we all walk into an office, show our passports, get the visa—$100 for US citizens, but it expires after one year, these guys know how to exploit the Americans—walk across the boarder.  It’s very dusty.  Our quick walk into Tanzania changes the color of our shoes to orange.

Tanzania

Things have changed quite a bit.  Mountains off in the distance and sometimes cliffs closer to the road.  Rising elevation.  Still very dry.  Massai people in long red garb along the side of the road and walking in paths about 40 yards from the road which runs parallel to it.  You know the Massai people?  These are the ones you see all the time on National Geographic: long necks, big hoop rings, the occasional bone through the face (we did not see this last one). We learned all sorts of things about the Massai tribe---to be discussed later.

The most amazing thing by far is the women walking with buckets on their heads, no hands.  Sometimes large bags.  I cannot understand this.

We have already forgot the sound of our phone rings.

Nairobi

26 August, 2011

We woke up this morning to hazy skies and delicious French toast.  Sitting across from us at the breakfast table was a nice couple from Germany.  The wife grew up in Nairobi and left after a few years studying German and a hasty marriage to obtain a visa.  They opted to spend the day here in the Guest House because the husband had had enough of Nairobi after just a day. 

Before venturing out, we met Sandi and David, the owners of SanDavy Guest House, who were very helpful in arranging the next phase of our journey—the trip to Arusha—and offered tips on how to navigate downtown Nairobi. To get from our guest house to downtown requires, first, a 15 minute walk where we exchanged currency (“She’s a Brick House”was on the radio and Josh bonded over the music with the shopkeeper), and we also detoured through a local open air market where people were selling all sorts of goods—clothes, shoes, vegetables—and where men were washing their cars. Near the local market was a higher end, permanent, shopping center with much higher prices, bathrooms with toilet paper, and people with laptops, ipods and business outfits; Java Café, Tuskus (Pay Less, Get More, Everyday) supermarket, Dress for Success clothing store.  We were both struck by the distinct income difference of Kenyans, literally sitting side by side.

Across the street we found the local bus stop. After boarding the KBS (Kenyan Bus Service) for 30 shilling each (that’s less than 50 cents), we took seats in the back and quickly learned that the shocks left a bit to be desired.  All the buses here play the radio so everyone can hear.  We were reminded of home by lots of American music blaring through the bus’s speakers.  The radio playlist included: Bette Midler “From a Distance,” Seal “I Believe I can Fly,” and BeeGees “You Could be Dancing.”  Also interestingly, besides some bobbing heads, and a few people in conversation, the rest of the passengers did not read or have anything else to do.  Just waiting  patiently for their stops. It’s a bit of a different culture in this regard.  No one is rushing anywhere.  I wonder what they do after dinner when they get home?  I imagine that there is not an urgent need to get home to take the kid to music class, pop off a few emails, and catch the next episode of “Mad Men.”

We got off the bus when most the other passengers did, assuming we were “downtown.”  And we were!  What a chaotic city.  Lots of traffic. Lots of people dodging buses, cars, trucks, and motor bikes.  Crossing the street?  Well, let’s say it’s a good idea to cross when the locals cross, and run!  Most all the sidewalks are separated from the street by a curb, of sorts, and cement black and white poles about a meter high (yes they hurt when you walk into them) to keep cars from opting out of traffic and taking the pedestrian path.  Guessing this must have been a problem at some point.

After exploring this downtown square of the city (Kenyan National Archive, City Hall, Hilton were some of the main markers for the area), we stopped at a local bar to have a drink and get our bearings, as we didn’t want to pull out our map on the street.  Before getting there, one man tried to pull his con stunt on us.  After telling us he was a professor (seems to be the thing to say to get foreigners to talk to you) he pulled out a Finland flag patch and claimed it was Canadian. We eventually got away, nicely, always, as we learned that all things must be done with a smile.

From the bar, we ventured to find a local and authentic place to eat our first Kenyan meal.  And boy did we find it!  It was a sit down place that had walls reminiscent of a Cuban restaurant.  Orange and bright red tiling on the walls, and a palm tree would have fit in easily, perhaps because a portion of the seats were in an open area flanked by two wings of roofed seating.  There were also about 4-6 sinks along the wall in full view.  That is so that customers can wash up before and after eating. We sat alongside people on their lunch breaks and ordered whatever was suggested.  Roast beef stew, a whole fish, greens and some mashed maize (or was it mashed rice?) appeared before us.  We received a 3 second lesson on how to eat the mashed stuff—grab, dip, and shove in mouth.  Though we were offered utensils, we gracefully declined as we noticed that nobody else was using them.

The next mission was getting home.  After walking circles, albeit small circles, in the city, we came upon a mobile blood donor clinic where people were eager to help us when we asked for directions to the bus station.  “This is a government vehicle, we can take you to a place closer to your destination,” they offered.  No thank you.  It took several friendly faces to figure out which bus takes us back to our neighborhood and then several more to figure out where to find said bus. 

And then…..the insanity of the bus terminal.  Each bus has a driver and, what we’ll call, a first mate.  The first mate wears a ShopRite style vest and collects the money while the bus is in transit.  When the bus is at the station the first mate holds a sign marking the bus number and emphatically waives it out the window, bouncing it up and down on its edge, dangling it like he were luring a dog or cat to get a treat.  I would think that they get a commission on the number of passengers, since they were very emphatic in this method of waiving the bus number.  The scene there included buses lining up, which two men in suits would direct in and out of the line of waiting buses.  All the while, people are pushing on and off the buses.  The first mates and the two men in suits bang the side of the bus—thud thud— to alert the driver to go or stop, the opposite of whatever he was doing.  There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to this mess, but we’re sure it’s just the regular order of the day.  Just when we were thinking that our bus would never come, and coming close to resigning ourselves to an overpriced taxi, in arrived bus #4W. We jumped on, and within 3-4 minutes we were off. 

Interestingly, the bus was now 20 shillings more then the inbound bus.  It was just after 5pm so we were probably charged the peak prices?  There was much more traffic at this time, more than doubling the 15 minute ride time it took to get to the downtown.  The traffic was a result of getting into the roundabouts, some of which even had a traffic guard.  Of note, though the roads were two lanes in each direction, we often saw a motorist skip the traffic by creating a third lane in his direction, you can guess what happens when this doesn’t work out.  The first mate thankfully shouted out our stop “Add-um!” for Adam’s Arcade, the only stop he shouted out.  Whew, what a day!  Yes, one day is probably enough to be in Nairobi--at least for now.

[please check back, pictures to come....]

Bike Country

Hello Bloagateers!

Just arrived in Nairobi about an hour ago.  First impressions after the initial “wow—we are really here”…

• Customs was quick and easy, though they did take a digital photo and electronic fingerprints. Every finger—both hands.
• Found our driver, George, easily amidst the throng of other drivers. He was waiting for over an hour as our flight was a bit delayed—he did not seem the slightest bit bothered by this.  Apparently delays are routine.
• From the airport to the guest house---about 20 minutes--our senses were stimulated first by the overwhelming smell of something similar to a tire shop.  Not quite as strong as the burning garbage smells of Central America.
• Many familiar names (Good Year, Fed Ex, Avis, various car dealerships) near the airport.. Nairobi appears to be quite a sprawling city, and I don’t think we saw much of it at this point—as it is late in the evening and dark.
• Many 6-8 foot high walls around hotels, hostels, and other developments where people live.
• They drive on the opposite side of the street here---fast.  Going to be more adventures crossing the street I presume.
• We must flush the toilet using “grey water” sitting in a bucket, collected from the water used to wash clothing. No machines, I’m afraid.

  Enough with Africa, for now, there will plenty more in due time.  And I’m certainly not going to talk about earthquakes or Irene--I’m sure there is enough of that where ya’ll are.  Who wants to hear about Amsterdam?  You know, Bike Land.  What an idyllic city.  Canals galore, great food, easy and convenient public transportation, and mostly nice people.

Team Nosh

Crossing the street, on the other hand, is quite the effort.  Here’s the order of operations: 

1.     Look left then right.  All clear?  Cross the bike lane. 

2.     Now, we come upon the street with car traffic and occasional bike traffic.  Look for the cars coming from the one side and bikes from the other, then run to the island median separating the tram tracks from the road. 

3.     Be careful here, though you may not see a tram. There could be a car or bus on the tram tracks.  Cross both lanes of tram tracks.

4.     Then repeat the car lane and bike lane from the opposite side.  Careful not to get lazy here, as the cyclists will come from both sides regardless of the side of the street they are on.

OK, a bit more about cycling in Amsterdam.  It is so much different from NYC.  First, everyone rides bikes as their primary mode of transport. Thus, the drivers get it and don’t hit them.  Example; we met a local named Hans who told me none of his friends were ever hit by a motorist, and he was hit once a very long time ago.  I only know about 5 people who cycle regularly in NYC and 2 or 3 of them have been hit. You know who you are.

The Amsterdam riders don’t go fast, don’t roll up their pant leg, but do perform a host of other activities.  Baby’s on the seat or carriage in front or behind, babies in baby bjorns attached to parents riding, texting, ipod jamming, carrying groceries, transporting pizza, eating ice cream, walking - or shall I say riding - their dog, and waiving to friends sitting at outside cafes.  The classic one is the carpool, with a friend sitting over the back tire with both legs on the same side of the bike.  And nobody wears a helmet.  We’ve been told this is because the Dutch care about their hair.

Hold on tight kiddo

Before hearing the factoid that tourists are the target/cause of most tram-to-bike collisions in the city, we rented bikes on the second day of two in Amsterdam.  Our AirBnB residence was about a 20-30 minute walk from the downtown and we found a little bike shop close to the flat.  Very easy to ride, and easier to lock up, and “because it’s Amsterdam, be sure to lock it up--twice,” said the bike shop man.  We biked up through the wondrous Vondel Park and up along the canals to the Anne Frank House.  It started to rain lightly but the line moved fast, and our bikes were safely locked against a street light post. 

The museum was very interesting and Nicole was determined to read everything she came across.  As if the story of Anne Frank isn’t sad and depressing enough, when we came upon our bikes, one of them looked like the back tire was run over by a truck, and in fact, that was the case!  Very fortunately, I parked the bikes in front of a tiny canal tours booth, so the woman working there jumped out of her booth when a truck backed into the bikes and the street light, and she caught him at the traffic light.  She left us a note (in a plastic bag because it was raining-- besides the wooden shoe thing, those Dutch are smart) which had the license number and the company of the truck.  But now what to do?  People don’t put bikes on trams and we had to be careful about splitting up sans cell phones.  We never took down any info of the bike shop so we couldn’t call him (we tried the Google but that didn’t work).  So I rode back to the shop.  I told Peter, the owner, what occurred and he was very understanding.  Seriously though, it was a good thing for the girl who chased down the truck and got the license number.  Peter’s car was with his family on holiday, so I had to walk back to meet Nicole and put the bike in a cab to bring back to the shop.  All-in-all it put only a small glitch in our day --could have been much worse had the woman not gotten the drivers info.

Our poor bikes

The now crooked lamp post

We closed our day visiting the FOAM museum that had an exhibit by Anton Corbijn, whose fame was achieved by photographing musicians (U2 hired him as their personal photographer).  This exhibit captures the pain and struggle of each artist in different poses and settings while getting up close and personal with them.  Some notables were Lance Armstrong, the Boss, Mick Jagger, Tom Waits, Arcade Fire, and Jonny Cash.

Tom Waits

We strolled around the city a bit more, ate a delicious Indian dinner, grabbed some drinks with the locals where we learned all sorts of things including the truth behind prostitution in Amsterdam.  According to our new friend Hans, one of Amsterdam’s best kept and dirty secrets is that the red light district is full of women who were victims of human trafficking—not primarily women who “choose” prostitution as a career as tourists are led to believe.  After drinks we, headed home to pack up and get ready for our 11am flight to Nairobi.

Karma Kounter

We are on our best behavior gathering Karma wherever we can, hoping that when we need some in return, we’ll get it.  We’ve been keeping a karma journal---see below.

PLUS ONE: Nicole gave an LIRR ticket to an out-of-breath girl who didn’t have time to buy a ticket at Penn, saving her from egregious on train fees and part of her fare.

PLUS ONE  Nicole found an iPhone of a woman who left the bathroom before her.  I hurried it along to her and she was very grateful.

REDEEMED ONE POINT:  Left my hat at a cafe only to realize it an hour later.  Retraced our path to find it behind the counter safe and sound.  Thank you Karma Lord!

REDEEMED ONE POINT: Girl saved the day by getting the evil car mauling truck’s license number.

Total Karma points:  0.0

The Countdown Begins

Almost time to go.  T-minus 20 days.  That reminds me, we should get that plane ticket booked. Curious about some other items on the list?

Travel to Africa ToDo List

Shots (3 in each arm for me and the wife)

32 of 44 Lariam pills secured (the rest are coming in the mail....shhhhh)

Purchase synthetic clothing so we can wash things efficiently in the sink

Purchase good ol’ hiking shoes

Get a backpack for fitting 3 months worth of everything 

Send in all paperwork to AJWS

Get traveler’s health insurance

Get mosquito net

Why the heck go to Uganda for 4 months, anyway?

Maybe I’m getting dragged here by my lovely wife,
maybe I’m just looking for an incredible experience that will live with me for the rest of my life

Who better a person to share this experience with than Nicole, really?  She might protest and say Andre Agassi, but that’s just because she’s reading his autobiography now.

Nicole has always wanted to work abroad but most of the clinical programs out there do not allow volunteers to bring a partner, unless said partner is also a doctor willing to work - I do not meet either of those qualifications.  I was open to the idea of putting a little travel experience on the resume, but I felt like I needed to be working while away to justify such a hiatus from the “grind.”  In speaking to friends and family, we came across the American Jewish World Service.  A philanthropic organization that raises money granted to NGOs in East Africa and Southeast Asia.  AJWS also has an arm that sends students and professionals to work at these organizations.  And the kicker, they are a Jewish organization, what a perfect experience to share with my new wife (Editor's Note: even though she’s not a full fledged Jew, she is more often than not an honorary Jew, so she passes the test).

My first taste of this trip came on July 19^th when I received a flurry of vaccinations for Typhoid, Pertussis, Diphtheria, a Tetanus booster, Hepatitis A, Polio, Yellow Fever, and Meningitis, …. What the hell did I get myself into?  The travel doc, who happened to be very good and thorough, spoke about the Yellow Fever belt and having had the Yellow Fever vaccination 3 times (it lasts for 10 years), he also grew up in Africa and had to take the "Sunday Pill" which is for Malaria (See check list above, I'm covered, Mom).  He had a med student with him and was in rare teaching mode, so I learned a lot more.  He busted out some maps of the yellow fever belt, which happens to cover northern Uganda, Sudan and countries in that latitude.  Though we are not traveling to that part of the country, we included that shot as a precautionary measure, and who's to say a rogue mosquito doesn't make his way to Kampala and into my mosquito net?  The doc also spoke about his experiences taking boats across borders that weren’t a big deal back in the day, but now never could happen so easily.  Oh the times they are a changing.

Health Insurance Begets Medical Bills Begets the Pockets of America

Yesterday, I took care of the health insurance thing.  I’ve come to the quick conclusion that our healthcare system needs a little more than an extreme makeover, more extreme than the ones you see on Oprah. International Insurance: 4 months of up to $1mm coverage for 2 people with a $100 deductible will cost us $440 together.  You don't want to know what health insurance costs when we get back home. Much more than $440. Much, much more.  Maybe this healthcare thing will be fixed by the time we return.  Oh the times, they ain’t a changing.