Ahhh...how nice it would be to 'Marlyand' your way through Africa...

Throughout our journey, Leila and I have occasionally encountered rather wealthy travellers, traipsing their way through Africa’s highlights in the back of a private plane, staying only at the finest lodges with tremendous views and gourmet foods. I feel a combination of envy and pity when I encounter them. While I believe that my roughing it style has allowed me a better glimpse into true Africa, the luxuries of a bed, hot shower, identifiable foods and not spending long hours in a truck would certainly have its merits.

Loyal readers who have been following my ramblings since the start of this journey can recall that I too stayed in one of these opulent lodges: Giraffe Manor. Leila as a child had seen the Manor on a news program and always dreamed of going. It was everything that she had hoped for; delicious food, comfy beds, impeccable service and intimate encounters with wild giraffes…this all comes with a hefty price tag. We budgeted ahead of time and spend every minute we paid for enjoying the luxuries of the Manor and its fantastic staff. Of the cast of characters that we have encountered on this trip, two of the most memorable would have to be the couple from Maryland, USA.

‘Maryland’ as we have continued to refer to them throughout our journey, were guests at the Manor the same nights we were there, interaction was inevitable. We heard all about their future travel plans of safari tents and private jets throughout Africa and their woes of wondering what to do with the condo in Maui - just your standard dinner time chat. The most appalling interaction happened over drinks one night…we were sipping our cocktails in the parlour and discussing the plans for the next day. Maryland explained that they were going to visit Kibera (Africa’s largest slum was only a few kilometres from us…it houses close to a million people in tin shacks). I thought it was an odd place for Maryland to tour and the look on our faces must have conveyed as much. Female Maryland explained that they give “substantial sums of money” to a charity in Kibera and they wanted check up on their donation.

At hearing the name Kibera, Cosmo, one of the staff members turned his head and, for a very brief second, made eye contact with female Maryland. She looked directly at Cosmo, and in a hushed and unnecessarily slow whisper asked “do you live in Kibera?” Cosmo nodded in the affirmative, paralysed with the unprecedented interaction. Female Maryland next turned to Leila and I to offer further explanation;, “It’s the slums” before downing her martini and sending Cosmo off to fetch another.

‘Maryland’ became a bench mark that we used to measure all other aristocratic travellers that we encountered. I’ll be honest, with the obvious exception of some other Manor guests, it was hard to come close…until the Ngorgoro Crater.

We were nearing the end of another splendid day of game viewing…we would shortly return to camp for a cold shower before crawling into our tent and hard floor mat. Dinner, although delicious, would be a predictable affair of ugali and a meat stew balanced on our laps. It don’t mean to sound forlorn here, at this point in the trip it had simply become a way of life – the distant memories of cleanliness and an elevated sleeping surface were nestled in our subconscious. Occasionally we would pass one of the spectacular lodges that dot the African countryside, sigh and think…what if? Then we snap back to reality, wash our hands in a bucket and carry on.

We had stopped, along with a few other vehicles, and were silently admiring one of the crater’s salt lakes. The hippos and flamingos providing a lovely backdrop, while high atop the crater rim Leila pointed a stupendous lodge, no doubt providing excellent views of the wonder we were in. No real words were spoken, we both went about silently dreaming of the soft bed, warm water and gourmet food that was going to greet those visitors at the end of the day.

The silence was broken by the voice of a boy, maybe 12 years of age, who discarded his gameboy long enough to glance up and say “Is that our lodge mummy?” The fury in Leila’s eyes was short lived as she (and I) gaped in amazement at this family before bursting into fits of giggles. The rest of their conversation was a blur, I couldn’t differentiate between their comments and Leila’s impersonation of them. Somewhere in mix comments were flying; “hope the fish is fresher than last night”, “the extra pillows that we requested had better be there”, “I wonder if they restocked the bath salts”…

Maybe if was the dehydration setting in or the fact that I was definitely on my longest tenting it stretch ever (and I was a Girl Guide!) but I had a hard time containing myself at the antics of these folks, undoubtedly relatives of Maryland. The father was the only one that seemed interested in the herd of wildebeests that wandered by, the rest continued to be glued to their handheld electronic devices. Leila, who doesn’t appear to outwardly hate many people, had murder in her that day…had that ungrateful boy stepped out of his deluxe 4x4…well she would have made it look like an accident at least.

There were others, but they were few and far between…most seemed ecstatic to be in Africa. As for the rest…they provided entertainment and even a new vocabulary for us. Leila and I have taken to using Maryland as an adjective, verb and personal pronoun when applicable. There is talk of lobbying to get it into the next urban dictionary…

Ants in my pants...(posting from the road)

Things were going so smoothly...first game drive of the trip done (and quite successful), now all that was left was to enjoy the first night of camping. So much easier said then done. The campsite prep was done, the tent pitched in the middle of this vast clearing, dotted with the occasional tree. It was idyllic; flat surface, soft grass and the view out the front door was Lake Nakuru with it's flamingo filled shoreline. I didn't think it could get any better, but it turns out that camping in Africa comes with it's own set of hardships.

Everything was moving smoothly until dark, and then, as with most bad stuff in life, the problems start when the sun goes down. Exhausted after a long travel day, we crawled into our tent when I felt the first sting. I absently swatted at what I was certain was a mosquito but before I even could make contact I was acutely aware of several simultaneous bites and the absence of the telltale mosquito buzz. The illumination of the headlamp revealed the source of our pain and the culprit of the forthcoming sleepless night - tiny fireants. The bite was as painful as the ones that nibbled on me in Peru but the size was only one-tenth, making them much more difficult to spot. It seems as though we had set our tent up on top of a giant fireant hill - moving didn't make much difference, the damage was done and I have a feeling that they nest had been officially relocated to my sleeping bag. Anyone walking by our canvas home that night could hear a string of profanity followed by the rustling of trying to reach deep into my stupid mummy shaped (read coffin shaped) sleeping bag to locate and kill the offender. When I took my pyjamas off in the morning, I had 17 dead ants stuck to my legs.

The morning coffee did little to alleviate my fatigue as I started to help Leila take down our tent. Unfortunately this upset the baboon family that had decided that they too now wanted to move into our campsite. Baboons are not cute and adorable as mass media had led me to believe, they are nasty vicious little things that are absolutely not afraid of females. Any attempts to scare them are just met with a vicious squeal and a charging baboon.

I stood there for a minute; tired, frustrated and utterly dumbfounded with what to do. I need to pack my ant carcass filled tent up without a baboon inside and I am way too tired to figure out how to accomplish this. As I silently reflect on my dilemma I hear a rustling in the bushes behind me. If a lion jumped out and mauled me then I wouldn't have to take down the tent, confront the baboons and the horrible itching that I am experiencing will be the least of my worries. I look slowly to the left, waiting to see the face of a ferocious lioness but instead see the distinct markings of a zebra.

It's cliche to use the phrase, "thundering herd of zebras" but it definitely appropriate. I have no idea what caused them to run but they took off, winding their way through our campsite to another random clearing to stop and resume grazing. I will say this however, as terrifying as it was to wonder if I was going to be trampled to death...they did scare the baboons away. (The photos here are others from the game drives that we did at Lake Nakuru)

Pround new mommy...that's me (posting from the road)

Yesterday should be a clear indication of why I would be a bad mother. We enjoyed another leisurely day at giraffe manor...gourmet meals...tea on the terrace...feed a giraffe...everyday life in Africa...but decided to spend the afternoon visiting 2 local animal orphanages.

The first houses several different abandoned animals, most lost their mothers due to poaching. This is Kenya's national center for abandoned animals, unfortunately the animals raised here will never be released due to the manner in which they were raised. This center housed many big cats and primates. Some of the primates were not in cages however...baboons are a nuisance animal around here. Unlike our nuisance squirrels...baboons are more aggressive and remarkably clever - a squirrel probably won't kill you. Where is a good source for a snack when you hungry??? School children - I mean their backpacks, not the kids themselves. We were roaming throughout he park when there was a sudden stampede of small little pink and grey clothed children around me - one the dust cleared there we could see one unfortunate child is being dragged, by her backpack by a large baboon (no good photos sorry...I thought it might end in tragedy and that would have been tacky to catch on camera - child okay).

My first official mauling happened here as well, surprisingly not by any dangerous animals but by a herd of school children. Many times when I have travelled and encountered wee ones, I would take their photo and then show them what they looked like. This works well in groups of 3...with hundreds of school kids, it is much harder. I have no problem shoving a giraffe or startling a warthog if I need space, but kids...at one point I was simply covered in them. I have bent down to show the kids the photos on the camera and they crowded in and started to climb on me like I was a jungle gym. They were on my back, hanging off my neck...it was complete insanity. For some reason they thought my name was Mary and just kept screaming..."Mary, Mary, Mary" Our guide Margret eventually came back to rescue me.

With concrete proof of my inability to rear children, I opted to adopt a baby African Elephant. Shukuru came to the elephant orphanage at 3 days of age after being found in a man-made trench hole. They are not sure if her mom abandoned her after she fell or she was orphaned and then fell while wandering. Anyway, she is 9 months now and will remain at the center until about 3 - 4 years of age before being released into the wild. Until that time a keeper will remain with her, 24 hours a day. The keepers sleep with them, wander the bush with them...the babies need constant interaction to develop and will cry if separated from a keeper. There are thick wool blankets hanging in each elephants pen, this symbolizes the skin of the mother and we watched little Shukuru rub against it.

So I ended my second full day in Africa tucking my new little one into bed (she actually has a blanket) before returning to giraffe manor and nuzzling with 18 feet tall giants. Quite surreal actually.

Asanti for reading!

If I kiss a female giraffe, does that make me a lesbian? (posting from the road)

Sad news for all of you hoping to see me posing with a glass of Chardonnay in neoprene, it was the green bag that arrived first. This is however good news for those who dined with me tonight as, hard as this is to believe, I do not look stunning in a wet suit. It would have been like sitting across the table from a well behaved harbour seal.

I have had a simply amazing day. We are at giraffe manor, a stupidly expensive but amazingly posh hotel just outside of Nairobi. Hotel is not the right word...it's much smaller and quainter than that...I think there are only 4 rooms. It resembles something out of life styles of the rich and famous, except I am neither and clearly have no business being here.

There are the most fantastic staff members who wait on you constantly, they don't seem to be satisfied unless they are doing something for you. Nicholas and Phillip were the two gentlemen that waited on us most of the day. Always smiling, eager to chat...fantastic people (yes I know they work for tips...but I actually believe they are just great people too). (side note, the slums I referred to last time...they are residents of Kibera...)

Drinks are constantly flowing and the meals are all gourmet. There is also a choice of where to dine; we opted to have our delicious lunch on the patio overlooking the grounds of the giraffe santuary and joined the other guests in the candlelit formal dining room for dinner. Jealous yet...well the best part is not the fantastically comfortable beds (the quilts have built in heating pads), unbelievable service (ranked fourth in the world) or astounding food (Beef Wellington for dinner)...the best part is the giraffes! (The warthogs are pretty cool too...)

The manor is located adjacent to the Kenyan Giraffe Sanctuary. This is an enclosed area where endangered Rothschild giraffes from around the country come to live. They are swapped out after breeding in order to preserve the bloodlines. The giraffes wander freely over an area of more than 120 acres. Leila and I were fortunate enough today to spend time with 4 of the giraffes. In just a few hours we learnt the different personalities of Lynn, Helen, Patrick and Eileen. Feeding them was very cool, but I have done that before...kissing them...now that was something different. Prehensile tongues...that's all I am saying.

Have you ever heard of Kazuri beads - chances are if you have every purchased ceramic beads then you have supported this worthwhile organization. Kazuri, swahili for small and beautiful, is an organization that helps disadvantaged women get jobs. Specifically, making beads. Today Leila and I plus honeymooning couple from New York were able to tour the grounds of this organization and see the beads from the raw clay to finished product before they were shipped off all over the world. Yes, the opportunity to purchase some on site was there...shocking.

Well I am off to bed. I plan to thoroughly enjoy this fantastic bed before my many nights of sleeping bags and pop tents. Lala Salama (good night)

**Giraffe fact - Giraffe sleep the LEAST of all mammals. Babies will sleep up to two hours a day, but adults only sleep a half an hour, in 5 min naps** (Giraffe is twiga in Swahili)

Is it rude to wear a wetsuit to a five star meal? (posting from a road)

Jambo! Well, it was a long dreadful 27 hours...but I finally arrived in Kenya. My luggage has not. It has been located, one piece is in Amsterdam and another is resting comfortably in Minneapolis. I am told that I will be reunited with one tomorrow - side note - I REALLY hope that it is the green suitcase as the red backpack only holds a sleeping bag and a wet suit.

A pleasant surprise did greet us howvere upon our arrival in Nairobi; Susan, Leila's internet friend, was at the airport with a sign to greet us! (I think she feared us trying to brave a taxi alone). We were escorted swiftly back to her home in a suburb of Nairobi that I firmly believe is well off any tourist trail. The home, which was immaculately kept, had no running water and all cooking was done in a propane burner in the centre of the kitchen. Beverly and Mary, Susan's sisters, waited up to meet us, and I must say that the hospitality that we recieved from these 3 strangers

was astounding. We enjoyed a delicious home-cooked three course meal while watching the World Cup and then an chatted like old friends until the wee hours of the morning. It was truly a fantastic treat to sit around and visit with 3 girls, about the same age and learn about the differences, and more often not, the similarities in each others lives. Breakfast this morning was another lavish affair in our honour before our driver showed up to whisk us away to the Giraffe Manor.

The traffic in Kenya's capital so it was slow going but we were able to take in all the sites, good and bad, along the way. Every eye contact was met with a wave and a smile, giant storks dotted the treetops and there is certainly no shortage of fresh fruit stands everywhere you look. We also passed Kibera, the largest slum area in Nairobi. These ramshackle tin huts are home to over 500,000 people. Just a little reminder of how lucky we are - I sense this maybe another one of those vacations where I am plagued with 'white guilt'.

But I am here now, at Giraffe Manor. Leila say a news story on this establishment over 20 years ago and has dreamed of visiting it ever since. So far I can tell you it is nothing short of spectacular...we were greeted by Jock Jr, a Rothschild giraffe, and several random warthogs. I just wanted to send off a quick e-mail before we settle down for lunch.

I just heard, my luggage is here! (Well some of it) Keep your fingers crossed that it is the green suitcase....but in case it's not I have already forewarned the proprietor Jiles that I may be attending the formal dinner in my wetsuit tonight...Asanti for reading! (Karibu from the photo up top means 'welcome')