Africa 2009 -Mugged by a Monkey- Part 3

SCENE OF THE CRIME- PATIO AT AMBOSELI
THE PRIME SUSPECT-LOOKING INNOCENT
SQUIRREL MONKEYS CAN BE SCARY-ESPECIALLY AT NIGHT!

“God, it’s still the middle of the night!”

As usual jet lag has me wide awake, brain humming at 5:00 AM.
Then I remember the young Masai warrior who showed us to our rooms last night.

“There is always fresh coffee on the verandah 24 hours per day and seven days in a week,” he proudly intoned.

“Just what your average Mzungu tourist needs to hear at 5 AM,” I think to myself.

Slipping into my standard issue African flip-flops, I quietly open the hut door and let myself out into the pitch black African night. Far away, a wildebeest coughs. Otherwise complete silence. Brandishing my outsized room key as a weapon, I flick the switch on my trusty pocket torch and stumble down the path to the main lodge.

“Ah, Heaven,” I exclaim. The hearty aroma of Kenya AA wafts from a steaming urn at one end of the patio. I remember what my grandfather used to say about Maxwell House back on the family farm in New Raymer, Colorado. “Hotter than the devil, blacker than hell and good to the last drop.”

I fill two earthen mugs with Kahawa moto (hot coffee), maziwa (cream) and sukari and head back up the path to surprise my hutmate. John passes me on the way back and inhales deeply.

“Fresh coffee on the verandah,” I say quietly, pointing toward the patio.

Back in the hut, Rena is not a happy camper, but she soon revives and starts packing a bag for the morning game drive. Binocs, camera, sunblock, water, hat, etc.
Suddenly a bloodcurdling scream issues from just outside our hut. Margaret and I burst from our respective rooms at the same time.

There’s John, drenched in coffee and shaking his fist at the rain gutter on our hut.
We look up to see a very small, very happy squirrel monkey stuffing pound cake into its mouth with both hands.

“I’ve been mugged by a monkey!” yells John. Choice but ineffectual epithets fly toward the little thief on the roof who shakes one fist and curses right back. Margaret and I are laughing really hard. No sympathy for poor John.

“Good thing lions don’t like pound cake, “ I chortle. “You might have been a goner.”

“I guess there’s no harm done,” admits John. “From now on I’ll eat my cake first, before I head back to the hut.”
DAKTARI

Africa 2009 - Amboseli = White Dust - Part II

KILIMANJARO
RENA RESTING IN OUR THATCHED HUT

OSTRICH FOR DINNER ANYONE?

'SWAMPY' THE ELEPHANT

SUNSET DE JOUR

ROOMKEYS - DOES SIZE COUNT??

White dust. That’s what Amboseli means in the local Maa language. As we go off road across the dried remains of Lake Amboseli, our van kicks up huge plumes of white dust. Lake Amboseli is 15 km long and fills with water in the rainy season. Now in the dry season it’s completely evaporated, leaving miles and miles of thick white dust. We pass Masai women wrapped in their colorful plaid blankets trudging patiently in this harsh environment. High in the background, floats the white cap of Kilimanjaro. It is positively surreal, tiny human figures in a lunar landscape. Where on earth can they possibly be going?

The white dust is deposited by glacial runoff from the snows of Kilimanjaro. Kilimanjaro is the highest mountain in Africa. It rises three and a half mile from the dusty Njaro plains. Its snow- covered volcanic peak is the second largest mountain in the solar system, only dwarfed by Olympus Mons on Mars for sheer geologic bulk.

“Wow! That’s some mountain !” enthuses John.

“So you say!” I demure. “It’s not even considered a mountain by the locals.”

“What do you mean- not a mountain?” John swallows the bait.

“Well, the name is a kind of an in-joke in Swahili.” I explain. “It’s a play on words. Lima means hill, the diminutive prefix ki- indicates it’s a small hill, and Njaro is the dust –filled plain we are driving across right now. Put it all together and you have ‘little hill on the prairie’ or Kilimanjaro.”

After the white dust of the lakebed, the Amboseli Serena lodge is an oasis.
Cute little monkeys frolic on the grounds as we are led to our individual bungalows. Each bungalow has a thatched roof, a hot shower and beautiful murals painted on the white-washed walls. How delightful.

We arrive late and take a curtailed game drive to see elephants belly-deep in swampy mud while the sun sets over the acacias. This sure makes up for a lot of white dust! The dining hall has murals too – John sits with his back to a wall decorated with a somewhat disconcerting mural featuring an ostrich’s derriere!

After dinner we sit on the verandah as groups of animals follow a game path from the watering hole to the savannah. The path passes not 40 yards from our table and floodlights from the hotel illuminate the most astonishing parade of antelope and zebra. Thompson’s gazelle, waterbuck, wildebeast, and zebra pass in a continuous, silent tableau – 20 or 30 animals at a time. A true “garden of eden” moment. We relax into primeval revery. East Africa – my 13th trip and always there is something new.

Returning to our rooms, we pick up our undeniably phallic room keys at the front desk.
“It would be hard to walk out of the hotel with this in your pocket,” I quip to John. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass the staff.”

“Or the animals,” John laughs.

Our fair lady wives just roll their eyes. But we’re in Africa and we’re having fun.
It’s rough! It’s dusty! It’s an adventure!
DAKTARI

Africa 2009- The Adventure Begins - Part 1

Margaret in need of a Shoehorn
Harriet & Irene at Kenyatta Airport- Sisters with Stuff!

We all made it to East Africa -hour 23 of our trip

One ton of Luggage in a two ton Truck

I am so psyched. First, of all to be blogging again after a long hiatus (nothing since May 7th). And secondly, to be writing about my favorite continent Africa. In the next series of blogs Rena and I will be touring Tanzania and Kenya searching for wild game, world peace and the Garden of Eden. We’ll be joined by our good friends and travel companions, Jon and Margaret, Lowell. (You may remember them from our expedition to Santorini last fall!) This adventure takes place June 8-22, 2009. Enjoy.
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Our trip to Africa begins 12 hours ahead of our scheduled departure with a little time zone confusion (i.e. jet lag). This is to be expected when traveling 1/3 of the way around the globe. But usually it occurs after a long jet flight and not before.

Anyway, our limo driver shows up at 6 AM and politely stands on his horn to alert the neighborhood that something is up. I have already gone to the office to tidy up my desk for a long and potentially dangerous journey to the wooley wilds of East Africa. (I always imagine I’ll feel better coming back to a clean desk. It never happens but one can only hope. A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, etc.)

Rena runs downstairs in her jammies to confront the driver.
“We asked for the limo to come at 6 PM,” she expostulates.
“It doesn’t say that here – it says 6 AM,” the disgruntled driver replies waving a piece of paper.
“Well, that piece of paper is wrong,” Rena starts laughing. “Come back in 12 hours please.”
The interview ends with an unhappy limo driver trying to peel rubber while backing out of our driveway in a Dodge Caravan. Hopefully he will be more gruntled next time (if there is a next time). What if he doesn’t come back?? Oh no!

Our trip is off to a very early start! By the time I arrive home, Rena, Jon and Margaret are up and preparing a nice breakfast. The rising sun is shining on the back-deck overlooking the pool and the Powow River. The River provides a suitable lush jungle backdrop for our departure to Africa. A pair of Great Blue Herons adds to the primordial ambiance. I’ve always dreamed of having a remote controlled submarine in the shape of a full-size hippo that I could launch from my dock to patrol the river and surprise hikers and kayakers as they pass by. Now that’s what I call ambiance! Maybe I’ll get working on it after I retire.

The limo driver’s partner shows up at 6 PM sharp and we load the Caravan with 12 bags plus carry-ons and us. The luggage barely fits – poor Margaret is crammed in the back with all that stuff and may need a snorkel just to breathe.

The reason we have so much is that we’re traveling on missionary airline tickets which allow three 50 pound bags for each traveler. We are packing medical supplies, school supplies, gifts and lots of kids shoes donated by the Timberland Kids, Company. That’s 1200 plus pounds of passengers and luggage.
There is no question of peeling out in these circumstances. We barely chug up the hill to the main road!

“What the hey,” I ask rhetorically. “Did either Stanley or Livingston travel light? What’s good enough for Teddy Roosevelt is good enough for us.”


Check-in is a bear! I win the contest for the piece of luggage closest to the limit – 49.5 pounds for my black duffel with the school supplies.

The trip is roughly 8000 miles beginning with an overnight flight to London. In Heathrow’s brand new Terminal 5, we meet up with the rest of our expedition- eight more travelers with another 1350 pounds of luggage. There’s a tense moment as final boarding begins. The last member of our party, Kimberly Edwards, of Boulder, Colorado hasn’t arrived from Denver! Kimberly joins me just as the gate is closing. All aboard!

At last we’re on our way: a daytime flight across the Alps, the Mediterranean, the Sahara and the Rift Valley to Nairobi. For scenery, it’s my favorite flight of all. With luck we’ll see the glaciers shining in moonlight on 17,000 foot Mt. Kenya as we make our final approach. The next stop is Jomo Kenyatta Airport.

DAKTARI