Mattie is sticking us for breakfast at the hotel and we arrive at 08:00. Pretty good spread of chow, didn’t expect anything less from a 5 star joint. Eggs, bacon, croissants, all sorts of juices, the works. Feel like royalty.
Last night Annelie spoke to her mom about Walter (the Amoeba). A medical expert down south reckons she should organise another course of quite potent antibiotics, Flagyl to rid her of her unwanted guest. They also reckon should you choose to ignore Walter too long he’ll be selling upscale apartments in her liver, kidneys and the penthouse suites in her brain to his new extended family of Clan Walter. And once the whole family moves in, you’re boned. As in, you almost need chemo to get rid of them. So, we’re off to the nearest chemist first to pick up a batch of heavy weapons. Playtime is over, asshole!
While we park off in town, we also refuel and do all the pre-flight checks. We’re back on the road by about 10:00, pass a lot of rice paddies on the way. Fanie gets pulled over about an hour later for speeding, and doesn’t have enough Ugandan shillings to pay the spot fine. He’s expected to park the vehicle until he can pay the fine. He says that he can’t do that and that the officer should let him off with a warning. The officer asks why he should do that. He replies because the officer is a good man. The officer asks what currency does he have. He says Kenyan Shillings. The officer gladly accepts 1000 KSH and lets him off with a warning. Fanie thanks the officer. The officer no doubt pockets the money. Just another day in paradise.
By almost noon we hit the Kenyan / Ugandan border. I’m immediately confused. I ask in quite seriousness if we’re sure this is a border post. Because there are asphalt roads all the way. Trimmed gardens and grass. NO chaos. No money vendors swarming the vehicle. No old, sad, broken trucks and chickens and bikes and crowds. Lots of parking. I’m a little taken aback. We park the vehicles and walk over to the big concrete and glass building (also, in a well maintained condition). It kind of resembles a flight control tower. Step into a very organised and clean office, friendly gentlemen in bright traditional Kenyan garb invites us to sit. We hand him the carnets and he points us in the direction of immigration. Off we go, fill in the cards, get the stamps. Walk over to fetch the carnets, handshake and away we go. Smooth. Real smooth. I’m beginning to think this is going to be a first. Excellent service, sunshine day, birds chirping (yeah, this border post even has BIRDS!). Drive the vehicles over to the Ugandan side and start all over again.
Still a pretty building, clearly painted a short while ago. Go through the motions, but the clerks behind the counters have way bigger attitude problems (my take on Kenya thus far. Arrogant morons, some of them). Hand over the carnets while we deal with immigration. On the way back we hit a snag. Long story short but the $40 we paid for a temporary vehicle license (i.e. for the privilege to drive on Kenyan roads) is now invalid, since we left the country. We argue that it’s still valid, for at least another month, says so on the disc. The argue that this is not the case. We say that the border official at Busia assured us it’s ok, since we told them of our travel intentions. They stick to their guns. 4 Pissed of Souf Afriken Males. Around and around we go, we demand to see the Road Act, article 7b that deals with these discs, they say they don’t have it on them. We want to see the boss. He goes to see the boss. Back to square one. We explain that this is utter bullshit. We want to see the boss. They look at the carnets and see 3 of the 4 vehicles are classified “pick ups”, Dirk’s Toyota is a “station wagon”. Pick-ups are commercial vehicles, according to them, so another $40. We argue that they’re private vehicles. They stick to their guns. In between all of this we learn that if we say we’re only in Kenya for 7 days, we don’t need to pay for the vehicles. But that’s ONLY if they’re NOT commercial vehicles. Which they’re not. But they think they are. We demand to see the boss.
Eventually we get to see Mr Personality. He repeats what’s been said. We explain our situation, on how 2 wrongs can’t make a right, on how we were duped, we prove that we were only in Kenya for 5 days the first time ANYWAY, so we overpaid. The other customs clerk still fights his case (the little weasel). The Boss explains how he can’t bend the rules because his colleagues made a mistake. Round and round we go. Eventually he instructs the peon to give us 7 days and let it be. Peon, now dejected since his authority has been overruled takes about 5 months to walk back to his desk, fill in the forms, in duplicate since they now need to keep a record of this, before handing it back to us. We thank him anyways.
Off to the police desk to sign in the book. Again, shocked! Clean office, police officer standing up straight, as opposed to slouching over the counter, barely swatting the flies crowding him, and he takes our details one by one, double checking all the info. Shocking. Usually I just fill in any crap, Name: Daffy Duck, Occupation: Meat Popsicle... and so on. No no no, that’s not how it goes in THIS office. He even stamps the carnets with his official stamp, which is a first.
It is now 13:00. We’ve now been here for over 2 hours. The rest complete their inputs. I find Annelie making friends again with the street vendors (all kids). Meet a most inspiring young gentlemen, Wilkins. Chat a bit, he’s clearly a diamond in this rough. And a DAMN good salesmen! Almost had me handing over my cell phone so I can buy a new one! Sneaky sneaky. I pay him a few hundred shillings and Annelie gives them a stack of pens, about 2 each. Also hand each of them a banana or three. Feel very humbled by that little interaction with Wilkins.
Anecdote: When you go the AA for the Carnet de Passages, you tell the useless bastard at the desk that they should NOT classify a PRIVATE, enclosed DOUBLE CAB bakkie as a “Pick up”. The engine capacity should also be indicated as “2.99 litres” and not “3” or above.
On our way again, rubbish asphalt. It’s been driven to destruction by these huge trucks. And I suppose it gets quite hot here, so the road has been remoulded to resemble a failed pottery class project. You end up driving in these ditches and if you want to change lanes to pass a truck or whatever it feels exactly like wake boarding! I’m a rubbish wake boarder. This wasn’t any better. I handle it with my usual flair.
Anecdote: damn I’m good.
Later the afternoon we arrive in Eldoret. We got a hot tip from Nat (of Adrift fame) that we should totally check out Raj’s place, the Nariberi River Camp. We do, and we are not disappointed. It has to be the most well thought out site I’ve seen to date. All plants and forest almost, the stands have a big entertainment area, with a washing line, a basin for washing up, benches, 2 grills... all covered by a high straw roof. But the real surprise was yet to come. At reception I hang a left and see this big, dark portal heading into what seems like a tunnel. I head down it a bit, thinking I’ll just peek my head in. The tunnel just keeps going, and going, and going. It’s lined with flower beds with all sorts of plants, and the ceiling has clear Perspex panels every few meters for light.
So, how deep does the rabbit hole go?
Quite a while.
And just like Alice, I finally exit the tunnel into a hidden world. A big, round bar and lounge area, with lots of couches and nooks to chill in. Off to the side is a pool table, the other, a poker table. A huge hearth dominates one lounge area. Behind it, a water feature sprouts water into a channel that criss crosses through it all (and I later traced all the way down into the forest). The whole thing is covered in a thatch roof with the same clear panel to allow natural light in. Beautiful. But that's not all. It leads out into cascades of tables, ending in a bright blue swimming pool with a little water fall. Beyond that is another entertainment area with its own little bar, big grassy area and finally, a forest. All very tastefully decorated, and all stunning. What’s cool is that from the reception (on the higher level) all you see looking down is this dome, with clear panels. Only once you’ve taken the plunge into the tunnel does the whole design become apparent. No pot smoking caterpillars though.
Annelie is dealing with the antibiotics as best she can. It’s quite powerful stuff. Makes her ratty, anxious, emotional, suicidal, paranoid, tired and gives her heart palpitations. Eish. She’s doping herself with some Xanor, just a quarter tablet, to even it out. She had a half today but it’s WAY too much, almost clocked her out. She was as cool as a green banana. So only quarters from now on, let’s see how it goes.
I made some hash browns (artappel koekies) tonight, which went well with the steaks and salads (Marietta makes KILLER salad!!). The dinner conversation generally centred around our next moves. We want to enter the Masai Mara to catch a glimpse of the Migration. All the critters should be in the process of returning there, but we need to find out first if it’s even on. The migration process, as Fanie elegantly puts it, is like a gathering of clouds. More and more clouds gather until finally, almost random, it starts to rain. Why and when the beasts decide that that critical mass has been reached, no one knows. So if we arrive too early, we won’t see it. Just a bunch of animals biding their time. And at $60 per person per night, and given our tight schedule to reach Zanzibar in 2 weeks, we REALLY want to time it right. The guys put some calls in, as well as chatting to the guy in charge of the overlander (that’s a big truck full of back packers, that travel from camp to camp. The trucks are kitted out with kitchens, bunks, the works!) about what they know. Raj may also have some contacts in Kenya, so we’ll chat tomorrow and see.
Till then.
[G & A], out
Before you slip into unconsciousness, I’d like to have another kiss
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