In random order and many with a cell phone!! Oy vey this trip required a camera, but we had 2 photographers among us who took well over 3K pictures so if you need more to entice you, let me know. And birds species…thousands…remarkable!
Tonight I ran with Masai warriors..
Brought my running stuff with only hopes of getting in a few runs but I had promised the Mr. no adrenaline runs that included me and a lion, hyena etc. As it turned out, our safari guide, Doug, is a runner and he arranged this special run.
Attached below are a few quick snaps enroute and post run.
The pictures don’t show it but Masai wear shoes made from re-purposed motorcycle tires, somehow rigged with straps. And I should clarify, they don’t run, they float.
After quick introductions we got underway, Cheryl up front, Katie and I hanging in there. The Mr. ran with our safari guide. The Mr. is not stupid, he knew who was carrying a gun.
I’ve run in many places on this planet, but never with zebra and wildebeest grazing, elephants trumpeting, and a guide with a spear, surreal to say the least. We had talked loosely about how far we would run, wouldn’t a 5K be great, “we” being the English speaking idiots, but certainly no communication to our guides in Swahili or better yet the Masai language. Lots of smiles and bows at the outset (yup me bowing, where was I Asia suddenly?)
Sometimes the lost in translation conversations lead to the most hilarious travel stories, but for an out of shape runner, this disconnect on distance had shades of train wreck written all over it. I had a general idea of where we were and where our camp was, but at mile 4, we had made no move to circle back. I looked over at Katie and her face read my sentiment…what the what??!!
I grunted some noise of “yo”and one of the human clouds floated back to me. “How far are we planning on going my friend?” He smiled and we kept running. At 5.5M, we saw salvation in the distance, a jeep. Cheryl sprinted to the jeep, not missing a chance to say she had dueled with a Masai.
Katie’s “Aunt Chris I don’t think that is a jeep” comment was lost on me as I dreamed of a shower and cocktail. And indeed 19 year old eyes are far better than 50+ year old eyes. The “jeep” was 3 old barrels. In fact we were at an old airstrip and that vast cool feeling when we arrived by plane, suddenly had the holy shit we are in the middle of a nowhere feeling. My only salvation was Katie…I knew her mother would not let us be gone for too long before she sent the National Guard.
At this point I went into pantomime mode, “is a jeep (hands outstretched at 10 and 2, gripping a steering wheel) picking us up?” Smiles from Masai man. And then more pointed, “what’s the plan here man?” “We run back.” In my head I am screaming wtf, but at the same time, cursing myself for blithely jumping in and not cementing the details. Also wanted to be upbeat for Katie who had no plan to run more than 2M, 3 at most. We were staring at a run back that included hills. Cheryl is a beast, fit for days, I knew she was up for the task at hand.
Nothing to it, but to do it. Sunset is upon us, lets not waste time. And we started back.
About a 1/4 mile up the road, “Aunt Chris, I think that is a jeep”. And sure enough it was. Cheryl and Katie blazed toward it, this old gal was d-o-n-e, and ambled in. Reaching the jeep, my Masai friend had a devilish smile that would make a leprechaun jealous. Between English-Swahali-Masai, he knew exactly what was going on and had a fun time at my expense. I punched him and his buddy and they laughed out loud. Truth be told, even if we had run back, I would have felt safe. The Masai know their land and their animals. They would have kept us safe. Would love to hear the story being told in their village…yea so this one old white lady who shook the ground with every stride…
A running experience of a lifetime.
On we go.
Hope to see you along the way.
Your writer payed the price for her Monday night shenanigans, in the morning..I was green. Something did not agree with my stomach and let’s leave it there.
But this was moving day…bye bye Nairobi and hello what we came here for…safari. Back to the airport for a small hopper flight to the bush (don’t I sound like I know what I am talking about – insert sarcasm here).
You know the scene in movies when the actor strides out onto the tarmac with a badass strut, that was me.
Upset stomach be gone, I fancied myself a rock star picking up my 16 seater and headed off for adventure. Not everyone in the group was so enamored with the idea of a small flight, but quick prayer and we were air-born.
And 45 minutes later, we landed at an airstrip that had an acacia tree as a terminal and painted white rocks as the runway lights. Vast…quiet…2 jeeps waiting for us. And a diet coke…wahooooo
More later
Hope to see you along the way
I’m a gal who loves words and these last few days have found me speechless, or maybe worse, pretending I speak Swahili…
Last we chatted our Monday plan was local sites in Nairobi. And so after a great buffet breakfast (good mix of local and traditional choices) we headed out to an elephant orphanage. As the pictures will show, we were right up close…a small rope separating us and 10 baby elephants. The orphanage helps babies without families due to natural (drought/famine) and not so natural (poachers) reasons. The care given to these elephants is extraordinary. Each has a handler who stays with them until they are ready to go back into the wild..and when I say, “stays with them”, the meaning is literal. Handler and elephant sleep together. The Mr. was very moved, maybe not moved enough to move into the shed, but impacted no doubt. In some ways these small orphan babies make out better than their human counterparts as they are fed, housed, and cared for; not a daily certainty for some citizens of Nairobi. Before I go deep, on we go to a giraffe sanctuary.
Oh wait, tourists from the orphanage are headed to see the giraffes, who wants to get caught up with that riff raff…let’s detour to an artists cooperative. Various artists and mediums…wood, beads, fabric, are represented under one roof and as we are learning, everyone shares part of their profits with the community at large. We descended like locusts and rummaged from room to room. At one point one of the African ladies sat down, exhausted, clearly we Americans do not understand pole pole..meaning, slowly. Negotiations complete, maybe a Tusker beer for good measure, we rerouted to the giraffe.
Not sure that my pictures will do it justice, but think Jurassic Park…big trees…and bobbing and weaving amidst the trees..giraffe. In my opinion, and it is my damn blog, these creatures scream darling. Those big eye lashes and the sweet face, wild animals no doubt, but I was swooning…and cannot imagine them in the true wild. 
From the giraffes, we split up, some went on to the Karen Blixen museum, some went back to the hotel. The driver who took we “Blixies” described it as “history stuff” when we asked what was there, and after our tour, Ryan noted, “that’s all you need to get a museum, be a failed coffee farmer?”. Both hilarious comments and astute analysis. I’m glad we went, Karen Blixen impacted the community (and a great role for Meryl Streep – not everyone gets to kiss Robert Redford) but the museum is not a must stop. Clearly time for that drink on the veranda!
Dinner was at a fabulous place called Tamarind; the kind of dinner when you switch seats, interrupt conversations, get loud, sing happy birthday to people you don’t know, and have a waiter who goes along for the ride. For dessert, each of our plates was personalized.
Mine…enough said.
And again we split up the group for the ride home, some went back to the hotel, some in search of bottled liquor reinforcements for our days ahead. Let me remind you, it is now 11:30pm-ish on a Sunday night in a predominantly Christian country. Where in the holy hell did we think we were sourcing booze. Use your imagination people, comical and crazy to say the least. The only thing more funny was the translation of, “no, not three shots, three bottles”.
Hooligans safely returned with thoughts of tomorrow.
Hope to see you along the way.
Tonight I was a football fan on a continent far from my own with people that made my heart happy and my face smile. With the Mr. and two of his nephews, we went in search of World Cup viewing. At an eco-lodge with no “screens”, we had to be creative. Asking around I found out the live-in staff had a tv in the community room.
And so there we found ourselves with billionaire guests (clearly not us), staff who have treated us so graciously for the past two days, and our guides who protected us quite literally from lions and other African wonders.
Common denominator, sport, otherwise as disparate a community room as you have have ever seen and we loved it
An unexpected slice of time like this is why I travel.
Talk again soon with many pictures.
Hope to see you along the way.
We’re here!! Arrived late last night in great spirits with various hours of sleep under our belt.
One quick note about international travel, yes yes yes there are all the aches and pains of, are we there yet, but if you allow it, it can actually energize you. At Heathrow we waited for our connection under the big connection board. Listings for Barcelona, Budapest, Mumbai, Prague ..a feast of people watching and wondering…who are they, what is their story, have they been up for hours and do they have the sleepy giggles too??
And very fun to be with British air crew when England clinched their semi-final spot in the World Cup. Still a Croatia girl, but good for you England.
I’m terrible with pictures, but wish I had taken one of the woman holding the sign at the Nairobi airport..Fosterx9. We whisked through customs and off we went towards our hotel. Midnight dinner…very cosmopolitan, and then shower … ahhhhh … and bed … complete with mosquito net … don’t worry my favorite mother in law, it is decor only.
This morning, Sunday, very quiet. Feels like a movie set, hotel is beautiful, set amidst very plush trees. We are outside the city, but from what we saw last night, Nairobi looks like many other cities on a Saturday night..a-buzz.
Today we are off to an elephant orphanage .. yes, there is a fear one will find it’s way to PA, we have the space at the 205 right?
And then a museum of some sort…they lost my attention after the discussion of elephants and giraffes.. and then cocktails on the hotel veranda.
Veranda..such a lyrical word.
Doesn’t everyone do this on Sunday evening??
Gotta leave you for a bit, the staff is finding me coffee and surely wondering why this idiotic woman is up at 0’dark thirty.
I’m not missing a minute.
To coffee we go…
Hope to see you along the way..
Read that sign outside a bakery this morning as I ran by…thanks little bakery, needed that brilliant piece of grounding!!
Leaving today for Africa. Some stress seems logical right? Will the basement flood while my cousin is watching the house? Will he be able to jimmy jam the broken shower knob the way we jimmy jam it every day instead of getting it fixed. Will he agree to being my cousin after this week of house/dog sitting??
After packing, unpacking…3x…and then finally saying screw it…
I’m now wondering…what did I pack? Good chance there are 5 of this and 0 of that..oh well…doubt Kenyans will notice my thislessness or thatlessness..
I’m hoping for some connectivity, our itinerary is amazing and if all goes well, I’ll post pics and comments about life on another continent.
Check us out…in our backyard practicing with our hats…practicing with our hats???..that tells you all you need to know about we safari neophytes!! Except maybe that I look ridiculous…who do I think I am Jane Goodall with a splash of Victoria Beckham??
Next stop … Kenya… Hope to see you along the way..
Rhubarb pie…who knew? Like who knew it was so delish.
Apparently lots of people, just not this gal.
Call me officially enlightened.
The Mr’s bro-in-law is a rhubarb pie guy..and just rhubarb…with clarity and conviction he told me, no strawberry this, custard that, just rhubarb..
Every Spring I say, dude I’m going to make you a pie. The fact that my pie acumen is less than zero and I’m not even sure what rhubarb tastes like is a very minor detail in my annual proclamation.
But this spring, damn it, I was determined.
Mr. and I were out in Morgantown getting annuals for our pots, a story unto itself but we’ll save it for a slow news day. Anyway we eye-spied an unmanned vegetable stand that said ‘rhubarb available’…clearly a sign from the pie Gods..or at least an Amish farmer. And even more serendipitous, the family came home as we were skulking about..
“Sure we have rhubarb” said the father, and away I went bounding back into the garden with 2 of the children. I pulled 2 stalks and said thanks so much. The daughter with a steady frankness that probably could avert war said, “well what kind of pie are you baking?” “Well rhubarb”, I replied confidently, “And no strawberry” and then continued to yak on about the Mr’s brother in law, and his summers in Wisconsin, his parents, blah blah blah. She continued to quietly pick stalks while I blathered, and thought to myself, wow I guess they want to unload some of this rhubarb.
Helllo..the damn pie takes 5.5 cups…clearly something this 16 year old stateswoman knew. And without any judgement, comment, or correction, she just made sure I went home with more than 2 stalks.
I laughed later upon reading the recipe…(yea clearly who reads a recipe before they start assembling ingredients) her story would have been more than fair if she described me as a yahoo without a clue!!
Oh and icing on the cake or lattice on the pie as it were…her younger brother, much more direct, rolled his eyes when I asked why they were stripping off the leaves. “They are poisonous”. Hmmm…good to know.
No pie acumen…well that’s the understatement of the day.
People, epilogue time, the pie was the bomb…fantastico…if I do say so myself (apparently I am but in fairness so did the neighbors). And you know who never tasted it…yup that brother in law. The pie gods (a/k/a Amish farmers) married the path of a great recipe, amazingly fresh crop, and good fellowship, but not, alas, an intersection of time with the brother in law.
And so, we ate it ourselves.
Guess there is always next year…and I know the farm to visit for my stalks.
Be well lovely farmers in Morgantown.
Hope to see you along the way..
Over Memorial Day weekend with weather questionable, I tried to make a dent on my honey-do list…yes that list that is continually impacted by adds and subtracts but never seems to find its way to zero.
Maybe some combination of grey weather and taking stock of lives lost in battle motivated me to sort through boxes I have carried from pillar to post, though rarely opened. Some call this behavior hoarding…why ya holding onto that stuff, its just taking up space, you never even open the boxes. I’ve heard it. And my response…balderdash..I am a treasure keeper thank you very much!
And this weekend, treasure was indeed unearthed. Inside a storage box, was a box, and low and behold…a school ring. Pictured below, clearly a girl’s ring, two hearts, initials engraved H.A.M., and class of 1968.
Who is H.A.M.? What school? How to find you….
I asked friends from other local schools, maybe Merion Mercy, but no. At first I thought the 2 hearts may be my own alma mater of Sacred Heart, but no, similar logo, but our ring has always been green.
Class of 1968…11 grades ahead of me, how did I end up with you, must have been sometime in the late 70s as I lived out of the area for years after high school graduation (and truth be told I had not opened those boxes in years and years).
Who is H.A.M.? What has H.A.M.’s life been like for 50, yes 50, years.
Me and your ring H.A.M..well we have had some adventures…
80’s were a blur of college, move to Florida, gambling with a Rockefeller, partying with Grosse Point Fords, parking cars for Pure Platinum dancers at night, working at a law firm by day, contemplating law school, the Peace Corps, getting married, getting divorced, and ending up in the Army on my 30th birthday..you would have been 40? 41? married? kids? career? all of the above?
Early 90’s were Army, Samoan boyfriend who lived in Alaska, truck driver boyfriend turned into a best friend, sweet boyfriend with many issues..and then heading into 2000’s, finding forever love with a guy disguised as my dear friend’s punky younger brother. Life’s craziness morphing into a variation of calm. After the Army, work was corporate, lots of travel, saw all 50 states (with the help of that Samoan boyfriend by way of Alaska I knocked off Alaska and Hawaii in one summer). You were edging towards 50 H.A.M…did it agree with you?
2000’s… I was flying for work on 9/11, lost a sister to hit and run accident a month later, married said punky younger brother the the following spring and away we went. No kids, lots of nieces and nephews, and each day a little dance with adventure.
And here we are…egad…2018…
All the while your ring has been along for the ride, sitting in a box I carried with me to apartments and houses over the years, even spending some time in a storage facility (struggled to leave FL, figured if I left everything in storage down there I wasn’t really leaving…oy vey, not so smart).
My goal is to repatriate you two soon, and more so, I hope your years have been a series of adventures big and small and the loss of your ring did not cause any lasting heartache. Truly have no recollection of how I ended up with this ring, best guess is sometime in the late 70’s, maybe at a fun house in Overbrook that could tell lots of stories.
Time to find its way home.
Be well H.A.M.
Hope to see you along the way.
So this morning I ran a Half M for which I was woefully untrained. A 10 miler …I can mail it in…13.1..not so much. At Mile 11 I was making all manner of deals with the devil. And as any runner knows, all the deals in the world don’t get you to the finish line. Even if you quit and walk it in, well you still have to, yup, walk it in. Miles 11 to 13.1 were a run walk affair.
But a fun brunch with a couple of girlfriends followed – race debacle in the rear view mirror – we were making plans for some other race this summer. What in the holy hell is the matter with me??
Alas this post is an ode to HDN not MCB.
Today HDN starts a 1 month yoga class with an end goal to be a guru of fitness/wellness. I think she is well on her way, she eats some weird stuff that has nothing to do with fritos or ice cream. But anyway, to honor her dedication and going after what she wants, I’m making a big solidarity commitment. Oh no worries, its not yoga related, good god gertie, downward dog means I bend down to pet the dog. No, this is food based.
For the 30 days while she is at school, I will maintain an NWA policy.
Not No Whites Allowed like white people, they’re fine, no NWA, no white flour and white sugar.
And not crazy, not dissecting every label, but not eating a cookie or ice cream or my precious chips and pretending the demon white is not in there, lurking, waiting to sludge me into submission.
This one’s for you little girl and I’ll be cursing you daily, but I’ll also be inspired by your gumption.
Rock steady…or in the yoga parlance…namaste..
Hope to see you along the way.
