The power constantly browns out, the water is itermittent; our hotel is generally dilapidated. But, the courtyard has a hybiscus tree, Ruth is counting the kinds of meat she has eaten, fantastic coffee is less than 20 cents, and the city feels safe. I really like Addis!

Yesterday was Merkato day. The market is huge, something like 1.5 sq km. Filthy? You bet. Smells like spices? Yup! Kids, in their soccer jerseys, tagged along. Ruth is a bit of a sap. She gave them cookies. It was very amusing, kinda like water on hot oil.

The people are beautiful and friendly. Sure, there's the occasional tout, but they're easily ignored. Walking is fairly easy (surprising, for a city of 4million+), but the best way to get around is the ubiquitous private minibusses. These are late 80s Toyota 12-seaters, all painted blue and white, and fantastically overloaded. A small guy stands at the sliding door, leaning out the window, yelling at passersby the destination of the van, and taunting other minibus drivers.

This is a city of working poor. There is the odd Mercedes, the hideous Sheraton-on-the-hill, a few new cars. Most seem to get by. Public begging is both ubiquitous and much less than I'd expected, and never more aggressive than a kid following you for a block. We really do stand out on the street, both because very few people are 6ft, and because there's virtually no white people to be seen: maybe three dozen, in almost two days - and almost entirely in our hotel, or on our flight.

The food here is really good! We've had Middle Eastern and Italian, both with the extra-zaz Ethiopian twist. Yesterday we ate a ton of traditional food at a swanky place. About $4.50. We waddled home through the blue/black haze. Oh, and have I mentioned the coffee? I gotta admit I already have a longing for corn flakes. (I'm weak.) The closest thing to cereal for breakfast is little bits of bread, heavily spiced, and deep fried. Tasty, but impossible to eat a full bowl. At least, not yet.

So what kind of people ARE travelling in Ethiopia? If our hotel is an indication - a pretty fascinating bunch. There's a girl from Oregon, travelling around Africa/SAmerica, looking at coffee coops. A best-practices type survey. (So far, quality improvement seems key.) There are several Dutch in Land-Rovers, circumnavigating the continent, or something. My favourite is the friendly (though, perhaps crazy) Afrikaaner computer programmer, who quit his job in Delhi to motorcycle home. He's on a KTM dirt bike, with good 3 ft forks. So far, he's only been holed up in Khartoum (for a month), waiting for a special washer and glue. And last, the four Americans, on a super-budget world tour. They've just finished seeing Ethiopia, after Ghana and Egypt, now heading for Kenya, India, and SE Asia. And one of them has managed to stay vegetarian - the whole time. Insane!

I'll be in Addis at least until Tuesday morning. Internet is really good here; we'll see about outside the capital.

The trip over was really quite lovely thanks to the fine folks at British Airways. Though, since my previous Atlantic crossings have been made by some now-defunct Canadian cattle-carrier (Royal? Canada 3000?), Czech Air, and Aeroflot Russian Airlines, I really don't have a strong basis for comparison. But since I didn't have to bribe my way on, there were actual TVs, and since the stewards weren't drinking, it seemed like absolute luxury. Plus, the 4 hour stopover at Heathrow was made quite pleasant by a snooze in their dedicated napping room (!) followed up by a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich. I was a very happy kid. The flight from London to Addis (via Alexandria ) was maybe 1/4 full, which meant that everyone got at least a row of three to themselves if they so-desired. Plus, the catering was out of Alexandria so we got tasty middle-eastern food.

Things haven't been quite so luxurious since the flights, but certainly more exciting. So, if I've bored you with the details of in-flight hospitality please keep reading! We arrived in Addis Ababa at 2 AM local time. Because of my spirit of adventure (and inability to place an international phone call (I tried several times) I hadn't bothered to book accommodation in advance. My first and second choices were full when we arrived, but our taxi driver was wonderful kept trying till we found some inexpensive but "basic" place nearby. Now, I know that all you savvy globetrotters out there are thinking to yourself right now that that's the oldest scam in the book, the "I'm sorry but your hotel is full, but I know a great place nearby . . ." taxi tout fiasco. The wonderful thing is, that here it Addis there was no scam. The hotels were really full, and the driver accepted no more than was fair for having driven us around for an hour at 2 AM. I was liking Addis already.

This said, our first room was, well, memorable. The only decoration aside from an empty JD bottle on the table, was a poster of Britney Spears leering down over the bed. Halfway around the globe for Britney and Jack Daniels. But since the location was good, the toilet worked, there was hot water and a clean bed, it was just fine for the night.

The next day we moved to a more backpackery hotel. Still basic, but a poster of a girl in traditional dress with a traditional basket with the caption "Ethiopia: 13 months of sunshine" that while quite faded (as if to prove the point about a lot of sun), adds more charm than Brit-ney. Also, lots of very hardcore travellers ("oh, I just biked from Pakistan"- types, the Sudan was a breeze!" - types) with helpful tips.

Our first day was fairly relaxed with a visit to Lucy and her fossilized compatriots at the National Museum. There were a lot of animals that appeared to be relatives of present-day critters but with much more frightening dental appendages. There was also a helpful how-to section on becoming a fossil.

That evening we had our first lovely traditional Ethiopian meal. This confirmed the end of my 8-year vegetarian fad. In fact, in my first two evening meals in Ethiopia I believe I sampled over 12 different animals (there are lots of different stews served at once in the traditional meal). I'm not so good at identifying the different types. I can generally tell if it the ones that flew from the ones that used to moo or baa, but within those broad categories, and between all the possible animal parts, I don't have much luck. Though, if my brief survey of menus for vegetarian options is any indication, I'll have a lot more practice at the name-that-animal game in the coming weeks. I'm making this out to be much worse than it is though. The food is quite delicious with wonderfully spiced stews and injera bread on the side, and I've quite enjoyed every meal so far. Though I'm looking forward to next Wednesday and Friday, since according to the Ethiopian church these are common fast days, when meat is not eaten (marking the council meeting to crucify Jesus and his crucifixion two days later, just so ya know'). For me this means legumes and green vegetables, so the deep-seated granola cruncher in me is quite excited.

Day 2 of our time in Addis was a Saturday, which mean that the Merkato (the largest outdoor market in East Africa ) was in full swing. I decided to dust off my bargaining skills (carefully honed across the Indian sub-continent last summer) and pick up some stuff. I bought a duffel bag for 50 Birr (down from 75) to leave some things behind in Addis. Even with a 40L pack, somehow I have too much stuff for my liking, so the left-luggage service beckons). I also bought a skein of ribbon, since my shirt needs cufflinks and I have none. The ribbon matches and looks quite elegant. Since it was 3 Birr for 6 yards (1$ = 7 Birr), there was no need to bargain. I also made the mistake of buying 4 packages within cookie-sensing range of a crowd of small children. 30 seconds later I had zero packages of biscuits. Ian laughed at me. I'm a big suck.

Day 3 was painfully exciting because it brought with it my first experience of the Addis Ababa transport system. The main way to get around (certainly more than half of the vehicles on the road) is by minibus. These are vehicles with room for 8-12 folks, a driver and a conductor of sorts. They are all painted blue and white, but that's where government involvement ends. There are no number or markings, but at most main intersections there are a few of these, and the conductor simply shouts out the destination of the bus (main city squares, buildings etc) until the bus is full, and then off you go. Each leg of the trip is about 10 cents, and you can get absolutely anywhere by hopping on and off a few of them. People are always happy to help if you look confused. This system makes perfect sense in a place where no real government infrastructure is possible. It's hugely efficient, and I think is certainly one of the reasons why air quality here is remarkably good.

Oh no. Here I've wasted a big huge paragraph ranting about transit, and I still have 2 more days in Addis I haven't yet described. Oh well. I'm off to Bahar Dar, about 300 km NW in the morning, and I'll have to fill in the next couple days when I get there.

4am is a terrible time to wake up. We ended up travelling on a luxury (read: air conditioned recent-model Nissan) express bus to Bahar Dar. The trip was, without qualification, fantastic.

First, the city simply ends. Addis sprawls, a succession of identical blocks. Then we cross an intersection and there are no houses, no streetlights. Trees only. And people! Even at 5am on the dark highway outside the city, there are dozens of people running (in sweatshirts, of course).

The highway was simply impressive. It has recently been rebuilt, and, but for one important exception, it has two wide paved lanes, wide gravel shoulders, and concrete-lined ditches. There is no speed limit, but there are signs to warn of sharp corners, and guard rails. The surface is smooth; enough to shame any suburban street in Canada.

The countryside is more beautiful, and packed with people, then I'd imagined. I think a good descriptioon would be the rolling hills of Montana, but with red earth, small plots interspersed with thatch-hut compounds, clumps of tropical trees, herds of livestock, and people everywhere! For nearly the entire trip, the predominant colour is green (it is the rainy season, it turns out.)

Litterally, there was not a minute we did not pass someone walking on the highway. Sometimes hearding goats, or horses. A kid leading some sheep (most rural kids are expected to work from ages 6-9; starting school at 10). In the morning and afternoon, crowds of students, in solid-colour uniforms, stretched for kilometers from the towns. This country is simply teeming with people, and this highway is how people get around.

We were hardly the only traffic, constantly dodging oncoming transports, ancient Fiat busses, and landrovers. [Even with two wide lanes, everyone tries to drive down the middle of the road.] The biggest hazard we faced was the goddamn mule. It is the only creature too stupid to avoid oncoming traffic, with blowing horn, in its direct line of sight.

The expection to everything is the Blue Nile Gorge. This section is dry, scrubland, and still gravel. The road was built during the Italian occupation (there are a half-dozen tank-shells along the sides of the roads, dating from the period), and is being rebuilt with Japanese assistence. The road wiggles down almost 1000m! The bottom of the gorge was simply spectacular (I only risked one photo. There are lots of soldiers.)

On the north side, we had to wait half an hour for a landslide to be cleared. It was a beautiful spot to rest. Climbing out of the canyon we saw a trio of Vereaux's eagles hanging out on a large outcrop by the highway. (The Audubon guide is fantastic, in case I haven't already said so...)

And then through the blinding rain and flash floods (I'm not kidding!) to Bahar Dar, where it had not rained all day. The climate is warm and perfect and breezy. We're in a cottage-like room, with excellent bed and hot water, on the lakefront, with an enormous 400 year-old "WHART-ta" tree (my phonetic spelling of the Amharic name). Its an outrageous $15CDN a night. I might not want to leave.

Last night we went to the Mango club, an amphitheater-shaped cafe on the next bay, filled with Ethiopian tourists. The attraction, other than sitting under Mango trees, is to watch the three-dozen or so resident pelicans. There were also Egrets, Herons, and a pair of paradise flycatchers (the male's body is ~6inches long, with two foot-long thin white tailfeathers). The Hotel has amazing birdlife too. A resident silver-cheeked hornbill in the whartta tree. Some egyptian geese, a bunch or raucous turuacos, a Jacana poking around the lakeshore. A monkey.

A muezzin just called the faithful. This morning the church down the road broadcast their prayers, a beautiful chanting. Today we're loafing, enjoying the breeze. There are monasteries on islands in the lake to visit, the Blue Nile falls. We'll be here a while.

Gondar's "Royal Enclosure" is just fantastic. Its litterally a half dozen castles, covers over 4000acres - about 17sq km. All from 16th century or so. The best part is the lack of ropes. You want to climb onto the ledge? Why not? And we did, and it was good. There's nothing like standing on a 500year old wall, looking at the green hills past the corrugated iron roofs, while listening to an Amharic rendition of "Respect" from the street below.

Wandering around Gondar was also an adventure. The first day, I used my brilliant sense of direction to find a fascist-italy era compound of vaguely-Art-Deco yellow buildings. I was leading Ruth around looking for the tourist info center, but I think we'd found the CIA. There was even a sign, "Wanda Information Center". As a faranghi, police and guards are always polite and friendly, but the "security" situation is odd. We've met two people who brought up politics, one young, from the opposition - the other a visiting emigree, who gave me the impression of having been involved in the Derg. The overall sense is rumbling discontent. The streets are peaceful, and feel extremely safe, but when we visited an airline office (at the closeted, bizarre-in-its-own-right Hilton, in Addis), we had to go through airport-level security.

In Gondar we stayed at a simple, new, "motel"-like place, met two Irish guys wandering Africa for the summer, a do-gooder New Yorker, on his last dollars, trying to help the local Jewish community emigrate to Israel (apparently in a secret-society against their own local leadership), and ran into our two german friends (neither of which is german; Belgian and Austrian living in Uganda, and basically on the same itinerary one day ahead of us.) In our wisdom - we'd finished looking at the castles, and I wanted a bottle opener - we tried to walk out to the Dashen Brewery (actually, its awful beer, Bedele is better, but Dashen was local.) After sunburning myself beautifully, and realizing we still had a long ways to go, we found a beer truck. Yup. I rode in the back of a dumptruck full of empty beer kegs. And I had a fantastic time. Gondar is super.

The original plan was to go from Gondar to the Simien mountains, hike around, see the lovely slopes. But it turned out to be much more expensive, we didn't have as much time as we'd imagined, and I wouldn't get to see the Afro-Alpine moorland I'd wanted. (I'll have to go up Mt. Kenya or Kilimanjaro later this summer instead.) As the compromise, we took a morning day-trip from Gondar to the Simiens. It was excellent. Something like the badlands, on a much grander scale, covered in green, with small villages, Acacia trees, and wildflowers. We went for a walk, about an hour or so, saw groups of Gelada Baboons and Colobus monkeys. The local ravens have a much creepier, deeper voice than in North America. Sound like pure evil.

We spent the afternoon back in Gondar. Had the best lunch ever, then waddle to visit the church built contemporary with the oldest castle. On the way we met a kid, and leaving the church, he was waiting. It took us a moment to figure out what was flying around at the end of his string - it was his pet - a bright-green inch-long box-like beetle, on a leash tied to its leg. The next morning, we flew to Lalibela.

Lalibela is about halfway on a straight line from Gondar to Weldiya, less than 10000 people, in a town perched on a plateau in arid grand-canyon-esque landscape. The (UNESCO-site) churches are from the 12th century, when the town was the local capital. I'm sure you've already seen one. Google for "Bet Giorgis".

The scale is immense. There are 11 churches, mostly 20-50ft tall, with a "trench" around all sides (making them "Monolithic".) UNESCO has built handy-dandy godawful-ugly rooves over most of the churches, because they weren't built with proper care to drainage, and the rock is easily eroded. Our guide was a deacon in the Orthodox church, so he explained the layout and symbolism very well - the whole complex was built as an alternative to pilgramige to Jerusalam. We came back the next day, to wander around alone. Its a fantasy world.

Ohh, and there are more churches in the countryside. We drove to two, one of wood - built in a cave, and a semi-monolithic from the 6th century, which is in the same style as the main 11... The road was unspeakable. I will never underestimate a Land Cruiser again. We also took mules up the mountain next to town, to a ridge-top church. I've never been on a mule before, but I really like them. Much easier than walking up the cliffs, picking through rocks, and they're only about $8 each for the morning.

Since we'd taken the comfortable option the whole way, we took the bus back to Addis. Miserable? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely! Our chariot was an early-60s-or-so Fiat beast, built like a brick and smelling of heavy oil. Enough torque to go up a mountain, which turned out to be fortunate. If my granddad's old tractor was a bus, this would be it.

The first day. From Lalibela to Weldiya is all gravel concrete-mixer butt-bruising hell. Even the bus wasn't too pleased - it broke after about 2 1/2 hours, in the middle of the highland plains. It was a pleasent place to stop while the onboard mechanic (!!) spent 10 minutes making things right again. We'd stop every few hours, to water the bus. This involves everyone having a stretch, the mechanic fetching water, and then pouring it down over the radiator from inside the windshield. There are also wonderful snacks! Vendors sell bags of enormous boiled beans, or "puffed wheat" that's been roasted and slightly salted (it tastes like honeycomb cereal, without the sweetness - there's also a chickpea version I haven't tried). One spot we got mountain-stream-washed carrots (6 for 15cents), and another people bought limes. Not for eating - for rubbing. Squeeze the lime, smell the end.

The scenery was spectacular, alternating fjords with 5000ft drops, and cool highlands with softly-coloured fields, gradually greening until Weldiya. From there, more amazing mountains and large sections of landscape that could have been Vietnam (except on closer inspection, the trees are cedars, acacias, and eucalyptus). The roads were built by lunatics. The most amazing was the climb to Tamabar pass, north of Debre Birhan. The climb was easily two and half kilometers (vertical), winding up a sheer mountain face, until a 300m tunnel - without lighting,ventilation, or finished floor - that opens onto grassy-moor straight from the scottish highlands. We overnighted in Dese. And so to Addis yesterday - total time about 20 hours for 850km.

Next, we're hoping to fly to Tanzania, but we don't have tickets. For now, there is coffee, sunshine, and taking pictures of crumbling soviet monuments.

Now, this is going way back, but on our third day in Addis we minibussed north of the city to a lively church and the former palace of the emperor. It turns out it was a holiday, so liturgical music was being sung in Ge'ez. This was broadcast (much like for mosques) in the surrounding area, and so provided a mystical background to explorations of the old palace. It was spectacular. We could see over the city of Addis from the balcony of the palace. For some pocket money on the weekend, some kids led us on a fantastic climb down through eucalyptus forests to some old hermit.s caves in the side of the mountain below the church. In the weeks since, the smell of eucalyptus has been omnipresent: whether in cities and towns as burning fuel wood or on tromps through forests. Once I.m back in Canada, I.m sure the smell of eucalyptus, or of frankincense burning in churches or along side coffee will take me back to this summer.

Our last day in Addis we went to the beautiful university campus, which also includes a really well put together ethnographic museum. Aside from the great overview of the diverse peoples in Ethiopia, we also managed to kidnap a young German man in town for a conference. We took him to a supermarket (in accordance with Pulp's Common People, as performed by William Shatner). He had no plans and was a little out of his element, but was happy to escape his hotel/conference centre complex, so he came along for our errands. The supermarket was, in fact, quite memorable since 1) I got a Mars bar and biscuits and 2) despite the fact that I only got a mars bar and biscuits someone loaded pushed my cart around for me. It was the oddest thing, passing my Mars bar to the guy so that he could carefully place it in the bottom of the cart. The German guy took pictures. It was a little uncomfortable.

The Mars bar et al. were in fact provisions for our journey the next morning to Bahar Dar - 560 km to the North and a 12 hour bus ride over fairly rough terrain. Thanks to Gravol, it was actually quite a pleasant ride. A family on their way to a wedding took us under their wing at the lunch stop, and got us pointed in the right direction once we reached Bahar Dar.

Bahar Dar is located on Lake Tana, and 30-odd Ethiopian Orthodox monasteries are located on the shores of Lake Tana. The highlight for my was a boat trip leaving in the misty morning, to these ancient churches accessible only by water. The approach to a forest-shrouded church, whose whereabouts are only revealed by an old stone pier was simply breathtaking. The lightning storm (and hippo sighting!) on our return only added to the mystery and excitement.

Our hotel was right on the shore of the lake, so over juice in the morning there was plenty of ornithological action to entertain while enjoying a perfect macchiato (it seems that aside from some rusted out tanks in the mountains, Italy's most lasting contribution to Ethiopian life has been the espresso machine). Ian, it seems, fancies himself a 19th century British gentleman explorer. He has brought with him a flower press and the funniest little monocle for viewing birds. If I loose track of him, I need only glance around to find the thorniest, most perilously-branched tree and he will be scrambling up it to secure a specimen for pressing or to get a better view of a bird. Since it seems that most birds we.ve seen in Ethiopia are at least the size of Christmas turkeys or fluorescent-coloured, I would think that it's usually not all that necessary to get so close for a view. Still, Ian perseveres so that he can check it off in his National Audubon Guide to African Wildlife. So far, I think we have seen tremendous specimens including the Swarming Hitchcock's Beady-Eyed Yellow Breakfast Catchers, the Frog-Squishing Hornbill, the Russet-Shitting Vulture, and a spectacular pair of Egyptian Early-morning Vigorously-Fornicating Geese.

Lake Tana is also the source for the Blue Nile, which looks less blue, more, well, like chocolate milk. Still, just outside of town it cascades mightily over the Blue Nile Falls. Well, not so mightily anymore actually since 80% has been diverted for a power project. Still the chocolate-brown waters trickle mightily. It actually was quite a wonderful walk out to the falls, and our local guide told us a lot about the politics of the power development and its impact on surrounding communities. The scenery was also quite spectacular, and since we could get right down to the spray at the very base of the falls, it was far more memorable than any trips to Niagara I can remember. Sadly, no wax museum.

A few hours north in a minibus took us to Gondar, and a fistfight and squawking chickens kept us well-occupied on the journey. We also had a really touching conversation with a boy (certainly not older than my brother, probably just 15 or 16) at the start of his journey to find work in Sudan. He had many questions (Are the people in Sudan kind? Is it a rich country? What is the land like?) and seemed quite nervous for the days and weeks ahead of him. We couldn.t offer much in the way of information or reassurances, just a share of our juice and biscuits to see him onto the next leg of his journey. The oil in Sudan provides some peripheral jobs, and given the few opportunities in rural Ethiopia, it seems to be a common destination for out-of-work Ethiopians, including young men like this fellow who had to quit school to support his family.

Gondar is the site of a spectacular complex of medieval castles, which we could scramble around at our leisure. We just happened to be there on the day of a re-enactment of some sorts, so I have lots of bizarre pictures of folks in period clothes wandering about the castles. For more on Gondar, including our Beer Truck Hitchhiking Adventure, I refer you to Ian.s letter above.

Gondar is also the site of the Mini Fogera restaurant, where we had a fantastic lunch (I think there may be a picture up to prove this). Another fantastic assortment of stews etc. This time was particularly memorable though because I had my first taste of kitfo. Well, I've had kitfo in the past which has basically been ground beef or mutton cooked in butter and spices. It is also served somewhat less cooked, and this is what I tried on this occasion. It is really just warmed ever so slightly in some butter. I guess it's sorta like the Ethiopian steak tartar. Thank goodness for berber, the spice mixture which makes it seem slightly more dead.

I have also found out why it is especially impossible for me to get not-meat food. The usual Wednesday and Friday fast days don't happen in the two months following Easter (Julian calendar). So, even seemingly innocuous carrots and cabbage usually come studded with meat bits. Oh well, at least I'm getting better at the beef - mutton distinction. Mutton looks like beef but tastes more like wet sweaters.

It.s world cup fever here now. We.ve spent two wonderful evenings holed-up with a couple of beers in local bars, eating pub grub (mystery meat tibs and injera!) and cheering raucously. It.s easy to make friends if you cheer loudly enough. As I don.t usually follow soccer, I have devised the following ranking system to determine which team to cheer for:

1. If the Netherlands are playing, not the Netherlands. Ian is a Dutch citizen and I don.t really like orange.
2. If a formerly colonized country is playing a former colonizer, then I cheer for the formerly colonized country.
3. If neither (1) or (2) applies, then I rank teams in reverse alphabetical order, except for As, which fall in the mid Ps, before Paraguay, but after and Poland and Portugal. Except for group E which goes in normal alphabetical order until the knockout stages. For example, Australia vs. Brazil: not Brazil. Croatia vs. Brazil: not Brazil. Czech Republic vs. USA: not USA.

See how well this system works? And so quick an easy. While I don.t suggest any large sums of money be bet on these criteria, this ranking system gives me the necessary justification to cheer/jeer loudly and allows full participation in the World Cup experience with little to no actual knowledge of the teams.

My goodness, so much rambling and not even a mention of Lalibela or our return to Addis. Oh well, maybe tomorrow. Before I sign off, two corrections to Ian.s last letter:

1. In Gondar, the song broadcast loudly (and repeatedly) was not in fact .Respect. in Amharic, but .Stayin. Alive.: Ah, ah, ah, ah, (something in Amharic)
2. Ian says we took a 1960s Fiat beast from Lalibela to Addis, and likened it to his grandad.s tractor. This is grossly inaccurate. The Italians invaded Ethiopia in the mid-1930s and this vehicle could not possible have been more recent. I am convinced that it was a souped-up tank, with a bus-like structure perched conveniently on top. Nothing else could have climbed those mountain passes, or generated so much heat in the process.

I'm currently on a plane to Zanzibar; some French Dash8-like thing that buzzes like an enraged Hornet. We flew Addis to Zanzibar via Nairobi, and Kenya's airport was the worst of Heathrow (litterally all duty-free shops - no seating), and after the abandoned-but-cozy Addis departure, I'm going to reminis like an old man.

I'd gone to Ethiopia really expecting starving hordes and for absolutely nothing to work. Instead I found happy, friendly people (and delicious food), who in the absence of anything - get everything done, and well. The minibus network is the shining example.

Our final day in Ethiopia was indulgent. We ate pastries, visited St. George's Cathedral; then a comfortable taxi to the airport (with Jazz on the radio). A word about pastries: in Addis they are superb. Cake soaked in Brandy, with strawberry garnish. Non-sweet crispy doughnuts. Baklava, with cloves and allspice, drenched in honey-sweet syrup.

The cathedral was well worth it. We went too early, so spent time watching the faithful. Orthodox certainly seems a religion centered more on worship and prayer than on ministry. The devout stop to pray at each window of the octagonal church. They bow three times, either crossing themselves or pleading - hands outstretched. Then a kiss of the wall or door handle. Businessmen do the same, only hastily.

We were given a tour by the archdeacon. The church itself is neoclassical, complete with starred sky-blue ceiling, built to commemorate the victory over Italy at Adwa, 1896. It was desecrated as part of the series of warcrimes of General Grazini during the Italian Occupation (late 1930s). So the (new) murals inside served Haile Selassie's self-engrandisement. Highlight: the archdeacon sang for us, demonstrating the instruments and the accompanying dance (!!). Wow. (The music was all composed by a saint during the 5th century or so. Tones are indicated by symbols over the words of Ge'ez text.)

Zanzibar - I'm really excited. I want to wander the Stone Town, spend time on a beach. Ruth and I intend to really get going on Swahili, and I've bought a book of African History. Since I'm here, it really is fascinating. Ruth talked about the Blue Nile being chocolatety-brown. The text elaborates that it was the silt of the Blue Nile that made ancient Egypt fertile.

The last leg of our flight is 3/4 full of western tourists; a bunch seem to be on package tour. On the leg from Addis, we met two NGO workers off to climb Kilimanjaro (after working for 10months in southern Ethiopia). Otherwise, Ruth and I seemed the only tourists on the plane. A huge change, and it makes me want to go back to Ethiopia.

The beach was simply fantastic. Thatched-roof bungalow with periodic running water type-place. This is the stereotypical tropical white-sand beach. Perfect white, with palm trees. Beautiful shells. Turquoise water. Rain. (oops, seems to be low season.) Stretches something like 20km.

The highlight was snorkelling. I've never had a go at swallowing so much salt water before, and I really enjoyed it! In person, coral reefs are less colourful (everythnig is muted blue), but so much more active and beautiful than Imax prepared me. A dozen types of coral. Clouds of fish.

Coastal tropical life in general is amazing. The mudflats were covered in sea cucumbers, and quick-moving starfish (with spiky-looking arms). I saw a sea snake the size of a pencil. There are a half dozen types of crab, some coloured exactly like the sand. And our restaurant had resident geckos - one entirely baby blue but for the yellow head. I saw a mongoose in the scrub, and a large bird nested in the cactus-like plant outside our room window.

Plants were also interesting. Palms, and the local replacement for salal and oregon grape. But also a tree that looks like a pine with droopy needles that look exactly like those of the Horsetail plant.

This afternoon we took the catamaran ferry to Dar Es Salaam. Only two hours, but unbelievably rough. Seatbelts would not have felt out of place. Thank god for gravol. We got to eat local food before leaving Fish-cake bars. Hard-boiled egg in savoury batter, deep fried. And curry this afternoon.

I'm sitting on the roof of our hotel, hangin with the laundry, enjoying the breeze. Dar is a sultry place, extremely crowded, and the streets below rumble with generators (there's a power cut; I'll have to post this tonight...) The sun is setting, hidden by the building nextdoor. Tomorrow, we see Dar Es Salaam, and buy our bus tickets for Mombasa.

PS. Mzungu is the Swahili word for (one) white-skinned person, it means, litterally: "one who wanders aimlessly like a madman". It is pronounced mmm-ZOON-goo.

I know I only spent a day, but I like Dar Es Salaam. It really felt familiar, like Toronto. A real mix of arab, indian and african - cosmopolitan - and apparently constant gridlock.

Today we took the semi-luxury bus to Mombasa. Semi-luxury means 10 years old, no A/C, and soft drinks served by the conductor. The route heads ~ 150km inland, then 170km north, before wiggling back to the coast. 600km, and with border and lunch, an amazing (no sarcasm!) 10 hours.

Coastal regions were lush tropical, exactly what I imagine as Panama, or Nicarauga. Inland was savannah, but since its the tail of the rainy season, everything was green.

The border was fun. First, 10km before the Tanzania post, the excellent road stops. Potholed mud road until the border. Everyone off, stamp-stamp, drive to the Kenyan post (5mins away, paved though, and through a small village). Everyone off again. First, see police. Then wait for immigration. Lastly, everyone opens their bags for customs. We showed off an Ethiopian souvenir. Wait back on the bus. And they didn't even bother with the carryon we'd left on our seat.

The guy across the aisle was a shipbuilder. Almost 50, though he looked 30. Just coming back from rebuilding the transcept of one of his (38) boats. A guy in Zanzibar had bought it for his diving company, but didn't need it, so it had been kept out of water on stilts until he'd realized it was rotting. After a day in Mombasa, the shipbuilder was heading to Kisumu to look after another of his boats. Seems very poetic.

On the way we passed a Sisal plantation. It's a relative of Aloe, something like a Yucca, and used for rope and rugs at Ikea or something. The plantation was enormous, the size of a Yukon wildfire - one side of the highway for miles. I'd read of the "clearings" [done by the British, Germans, French, Belgians, Portugese...] to make room for white settlers' cash crops, but I hadn't realized the scale.

Mombasa. It's on an island, which I fount out only a couple hours ago. Our bus stopped after a long section of vendor-lined street, and we were asked to close the windows and blinds. Why? Because we were going to board the ferry.

Apparently, there's a problem with the ferry floating away - and vehicles falling off the loading ramp. [The ramp is extremely steep. The back of the bus dragged on the groud as we loaded.] To deal with the situation, the government decided vehicles cannot have passengers as they load. Never mind that no one ever got out of the bus, or that we hung our heads out the windows as the boat was "under sail" [literally 5 minutes]. So long as no passenger is seen during the loading itself, there is obvious reduced risk of drowning. I love this place.

And I'm glad to be free of a Lonely-Planetted guesthouse. Its this obvious phenonmena where the top picks of LP are never satisfying. The last place, for example, was blatantly too cheap to go to a bank and have change. Our hotel in Mombasa is a locals' business-hotel, recommended by the Shipbuilder. To quote Ruth, "It's nice to go downstairs and not see a group of exasperated englishmen [watching soccer]."

PS. At the local watering hole, everyone wears a collared shirt, a 300mL (cold) Guiness is 75cents, and salesmen wander through. Over 45minutes we were offered shoes, socks, pants, shirts, ties, belts, underpants, hardboiled eggs, carved model boats, and nail polish.

PPS. I read in the newspaper that Tanzania Power had signed a contract for a new 100MW gas turbine. Dar - population more than 2.5 million - gets by on 200MW. Compare with Ontario. Population roughly 12.5 million? And summer usage around 33GW.

Lamu's reputation as a Hippie hangout is easy to understand, but other than a bizarre "gem-ologist" draft dodger, there are few tourists. Other than the district commissioner's car, there is a tractor and a pair of motorcycles. Lots of donkeys and dhows. We've just come from the small, welcoming, resort town of Watamu, and Lamu is even more laid-back.

Staying in Watamu was a little sureal. The town is typical dirt streets and corrugated rooves, but has an adjoining subdivision of (mostly Italian) summer/holiday palaces - and the coast north and south is lined with 5-star hotels. But virtually no tourists. A friendly guy on holiday from Britian. A shell employee from Mauritius, in town for a conference. Us.

"Low season" in Watamu really is "No season". Apparently, people stay away because of the wind (steady 20km/h seabreeze), and the rain (there were -shock- clouds in the sky, and it rained one afternoon!) We were the only guests in our hotel. The shared kitchen was ours, and the verandah (with view) our living room.

Cooking is fun. The national cuisine is "Chicken and Chips" or Nyoma Choma - meat kebabs marinated and charbroiled to death - with chips. So no guilt in avoiding the restaurants. The produce is local (tasty tomatoes), every stove is gas, and "brown sugar" is wet with molasses [the only other option in stores is icing sugar.]

Watamu is in the middle of the National Marine Parkof the same name - so we went snorkelling. The colours were vibrant, because the reef was much shallower than Zanzibar. And (perhaps for the same reason - Hana?) there were no anemones and many more parrotfish. I saw a lion fish, a ray (which looks like a speckled upsidedown skillet, with eyes), and what the locals call Lobster (an enormous crayfish-like creature, without claws...) And the species of sea urchin was different.

The other attraction of Watamu is the Gedi ruins. Inland, built of coral stone, and not mentioned in any historical document. It was occupied 14th-16th century, perhaps as a satellite of Malindi. Archeologists think it was evacuated, before being sacked by the Mombasa punitive expedition (against Malindi, who had collaborated with the Portugese in sacking Mombasa in 1529). We spent two hours, leaving just before noon, and we were the only visitors so far.

Busses in Kenya have seat belts, which I thought odd. The C118 from Witu to Lamu made it clear - the seatbelts are for comfort. Mud road that has not seen a grater in my lifetime. North of Malindi there's a sudden change from lush tropical to arid scrubland (still green, but only thorny bush) with enormous salt-pan factories. Around the Tana river, vegetation turns to savannah - dominated by enormous palms. And the bus broke down, of course. It seemed to be the oil line.

We arrived in Lamu on an unlit overloaded motorboat, by starlight, in the middle of Ghana vs. Brazil, and in the mood to bargain. We saw a half-dozen places before a guy offered to rent out a private house. And here we are, in some Dutch family's holiday home - with toaster and blender (!!!) - for less than $15 a night. I love low season.

This morning was spent on the hanging bed of the rooftop terrace. Ruth has had a good chat with the house boy ("Junior" - in Lamu everyone has an easy-to-remember nickname) - sorting out how the local tout "mafia" works. He's teaching her to play Bao, which I'm sure she'll chalk up as "Swahili-learning time" (they're speaking English). The bats in the rafters twitch and chirp constantly. Its time to make more tea.

PS. About trees. The "pine-like" coastal tree I talked about is the Casuarina. Aka "Ironwood". We've also seem a (small) tree with lime-smelling leaves and enormous, thick, thorns. Keffir lime? There's also a large succulent-ish shrub, with thick flat leaves, whose stem is used to clean teeth. Neem?

We spent a whole week in Lamu, sailing (to see ruins on nearby islands), visiting the nearby beach at Shela (on open ocean, complete with 200ft dunes), and drinking lime juice.

The Lamu museum was interesting, but felt oddly neglected. There were comprehensive exhibits on door carving styles, (the many) types of local boats and, in a glass case, a pair of Siwa. The older one, 17th century, is a hollowed elephant tusk, intricately carved, with a mouth piece about midway. It's the oldest surviving instrument in sub-saharan africa.

The siwa come from the nearby island of Pate (pronounced PA-tay). Pate-town, founded 13th century, was once a rival of Lamu, until its harbour silted up and Lamu obliterated its army (ie. able-bodied men) at Shela in 1813. The town was virtually abandoned, and the modern Pate-town is built next to the old.

We took a day to visit old Pate. The only way to get there is by dhow, a 20ft triangle-sailed boat, without keel. Even in strong winds, and without the protection of a reef, Captain Che Guevera kept the SS Al-Jazira comfortable and under control. (I'm not kidding about the names.)

The ruins were amazing - remote, largely uncleared - with pottery fragments everywhere, and in the middle of (and surrounding) farmers' tobacco and papaya. This is an island without electricity, with hand-drawn wells, fields of banana, and no motor vehicles whatsoever. There are other ruins on the island, other (larger) towns, and the path leading to them was inviting.

We travelled back to Mombasa by bus, which did not break. The day before our night train to Nairobi, we visited more ruins. Jumba la Mtwana is about 10km north of Mombasa (Kenya's 2nd city), then 3km from the coastal highway, down a large but infrequented dirt road.

The site was beautifully maintained, with a nice museum, intact ruins, massive baobab trees, and remains of a large mosque overlooking a white sand beach (complete with benches, picnic hut, and showers.) We were the first visitors in six days. Our guide was great - he showed us how to do Ablution (ritual cleaning before prayer) as means to explain the (15th century) coral foot-scrubbers.

Ruth is a sap for trains, so arriving early at the platform was not a problem. We travelled first class - which means a sleeping berth for two. The trains are half-maintained late 50s; in the restaurant half the cutlery is silver. In the end, the train got us to Sultan-Hamud. There was a problem with the tracks ahead, so after 6 hours or so we were bundled into Matatus for the last hour and a half (two hours less than by train).

Ruth Ambutu (homestay lady) met us at the station, and dropped us - with her driver - at the Nairobi Safari Walk while she did errands. The walk is on the edge of Nairobi National Park, only 5 minutes from downtown. It is really a zoo, fantastically put together, with a section of overhead walkway over the "real" park. It was absolutely amazing. Endangered Bongo and White Zebra. Wildebeest, Onyx, an Impala, a few lions (sleeping 2ft from the tinted glass). Pairs of ostrich, cheetah, and pygmy hippopotamus. A white rhinoceros, docile, wandered near his fence (Which I found very exciting! I had not expected to see a white rhino, period.) They even have hyena and crocodile - and we saw a pair of wild bushbucks. The perfect reminder of what Kenyan tourism is all about.

And so the (fairly terrifying) 2 hour drive to Nakuru. The rift valley is very impressive, even on a misty day. For about 25km before Nakuru, the highway winds through the Delamere Estates. This "farm", on a flat well-watered section of the valley floor is a 100,000 acre reminder of colonialism.

The legal basis for the ownership is a lease in some Anglo-Maasai treaty. The Maasai claimed the lease was up after 100 years - August 15th, 2004. The government claimed the lease was for 1000 years. The economic importance of the estate - with its dairies, abattoirs, canneries, and produce (all marketed nationally) is just too great.

In the BBC not too long ago, they spoke of the farm's owner, a Mr. Cholmondeley. He's currently in custody after shooting-dead a second "trespasser" is a little over a year. See:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/5012772.stm

or

http://www.guardian.co.uk/kenya/story/0,,1773315,00.html

Nakuru is a colonial agricultural town, becoming a fast-growing manufacturing city. The main street is faded supermarkets and banks - all 1930s-ish, and reminding me very much of Cornwall, ON. Right downtown is the (private) Rift Valley Sport Club, an old middle-of-the-avenue petrol station, and the inconspicuous Provincial Headquarters (it looks like an enormous 1960s high school).

Today was an amazing change from the coast. It has rained all morning, but thankfully the sun is poking through. Nakuru's at 8000ft, and I'm cold. Its a 25minute walk "to town" (ie. Kenyatta Ave - the main street). The sidewalks are broken, but the avenue is lined with trees and hibiscus. Or I could take a bodaboda (guy on a bike with plush seat over the rear wheel) for 25 cents. I feel settled in, and - between safaris - I'm ready to do some math.

I am lying on my bed in Nakuru, it is late afternoon and I thought I’d take a break from an evil paper I’ve been working on (since February!) to FINALLY update you on what I’ve been up to (and write things down so I remember them when I’m old. Like when I’m 25 and forgetful). This has been a very good day. This morning at my favorite internet place I found out that I have come into some money (thank you CIHR!). I decided to celebrate with a nice big plate of sukoma wiki and chapatti (kale and flatbread), a boda-boda ride home (bicycle “taxi” of death), and a stop for “maembe mbili” (two mangoes) on the way. Now, Zipollah the housekeeper in the lovely home where we’re staying has just brought a tray of drinking chocolate and home-made fries (chips here) with hot/sweet piri piri sauce. I am so spoiled. I hope my keys don’t get too greasy.

I’m in Nakuru now. It’s the capital of the Rift Valley province in Kenya, which sweeps from the Masai Mara in the south of Kenya through sharp escarpments and highland planes to Lake Turkana in the north. Nakuru is still a pretty dusty and sleepy town, with agriculture the primary industry, and pyrethrum (for insecticide) the main crop. I’m here to work on a research project looking at nutrition in HIV/AIDS-affected households, which will use urban agriculture to try to improve food security. It will be a 3 year project with people from Ryerson and U of T in Canada, and the University of Nairobi in Kenya, but I’m here at the very beginning, planning stages. My job is to find out what sorts of groups and projects are already in place in Nakuru working on these issues, so that when things get started in the fall (spring here) they will know who potential partners are and what resources are in the community. This means that each day I bike around meeting with government officials, NGOs, church-groups, community-based organizations, and (my favourite) small, grass-roots self-help groups to learn about what they are already doing and what more could be done. I helped put together a workshop which brought together city counselors, women’s groups, farmers, students, nurses, bureaucrats, and academics. It was really exciting to be a part of it, and I’m learning so much every day. In between meetings around Nakuru, I’m writing things up and finishing up another paper, and seeing the sights in Western Kenya.

Yesterday I went for a run (read: I waddled red-faced and panting in shorts that exposed my fluorescent knees, thereby attracting entire extended families to marvel at the spectacle). I’m in pretty bad shape (though I comfort myself by chalking it up to the elevation here), and before yesterday I hadn’t attempted to run since separating my shoulder in the spring. I got it into my head that I should start stepping it up for fall, so I pulled on my old-lady knee-length shorts (for modesty) and loafed out. I was hardly off my block before I attracted shrieks of laughter from neighbourhood children. As I rounded a corner I was joined by a developmentally-challenged man who kept poking me to urge me along (to the absolute delight of the after-work Tusker-drinking crowd in a nearby hoteli). As I entered the homestretch a man carrying (I shit-you-not) a huge drum ran along beside me beating out my slow and irregular footfalls (lest anyone inside miss the sight of this mzungu nyekundu (red white-person) puffing through the neighbourhood?). Folks had a good laugh at the expense of my cardio-vascular fitness (I haven’t mustered the courage to go back out today . . .) Seriously though, Nakuru is a warm and welcoming town. Kids call out “how are you?” from every nook and cranny as I head home in the evening. The site of wazungu (white-people) running or on bikes gets a good natured laugh (wazungu come in safari-vans to visit the National Park, not on bikes in the residential neighbourhoods!), but if ever I run into trouble, there’s immediately a friendly face and a helping hand.

This is a very good thing. After a close encounter with a matatu (public minibus, seating 15 in an area smaller than a Chrysler mini-van) following break failure and on my first (used) bike, I decided to buy a new mountain bike from Woolmatt (pronounced as you would expect someone from NJ saying Wal-mart), the local department store. A snazzy green one was on sale (much cheaper than the next price-point), and I smiled at my good luck, handed over about $40, and after a quick tune up headed home on my new bike. The next morning, on my way up the main hill of Moi Road, the chain popped off and as I turned to get off the road, the handle bars twisted in my hands but left the wheel on its original course. A bit scary, but there are bike mechanics set up on every corner to deal with just such emergencies (and with the hoards of boda-bodas). I pulled off and 5 minutes (and about 30 cents) later I was back on track. Since that first day, the gear mechanism dislodged itself completely, the chain broke, the seat post was replaced, the central bracket realigned, the handle-bar bolt was replaced, and I’ve had the brakes and/or gears adjusted approximately every 12.4 meters, but no matter, Nakuru’s army of roadside bike mechanics are keeping my poor little franken-bike on the road (and I am, in turn, employing approximately 50 skilled workers at fair local wages). Moral of the story: don’t buy the cheapest bike available in an East African town, and think twice when “made in china” is a brand name (seriously).

Now that you know a bit about where I am now, I guess I have a lot to fill in between world cup in Ethiopia and tour-de-Nakuru. Ian has been so detailed and articulate in his accounts of our travels, that I’ve grown lazy in adding in my own postings. No more. In the following paragraphs I intend to fill you in on everything Ian didn’t mention but that I don’t want to forget, starting with . . .

Lalibela: The rock hewn churches in town were breathtaking, but my favourites were the ones outside of town. The church built in a cave was eerily surrounded by the skeletons of centuries of pilgrims who had chosen to die there. We had to walk barefoot (as for all churches), so it was all the more creepy to look down and realize what you thought was just a rock in the sand, was actually a human skull. The church itself looked like a little gingerbread house, so despite the austere religious atmosphere, I couldn’t help but feel like Hansel and Gretel in a creepy fairytale. On our way back from this church, we stopped by a sixth-century rock-hewn church where, most memorably for me, I managed to trade a pencil and some werthers candy for a tour from a local girl and a handful of fresh olives.

Also, I don’t think Ian did full of our mule trip to a mountain-top church. The mental picture of Ian’s legs hanging limply (almost touching the ground) on either side of his poor mule, while a local boy skipped effortlessly leading it up the steep mountain side will crack me up for some time to come. The view from the top (and a cup of spiced tea from a woman who lived in a hut by the path) was worth any mule-related embarrassment, flea bites, or crotch-ache (it certainly wasn’t a smooth ride).

Our two-day bus ride from Lalibela back to Addis was by no means luxurious, but I really love sitting by a window with wind in my face, watching the scenery go by (that I’ve never seen before, and may never see again). The hours seem to fly by just staring (interrupted only by Ian’s butt-pain updates). Or maybe it was just with all that Gravol I fell asleep, and only woke up for some scenery and to listen to Ian. In any case, that bus ride is a happy memory. Also, the bus-watering stop with the mountain stream-washed carrots was a highlight. I shared them with the lady behind me. I don’t know how she managed. I realized after that she had no teeth!

Addis Ababa: Once back in Addis, we treated ourselves to endless macchiatos, cold fresh mango juice, and pastries. Soooo many pastries (see previous note on trying to run in Nakuru). We tried to mail two parcels. It took a day. It never happened, but it was still a fun and exciting experience. We ate triple-decker sandwiches in a bustling roof-top café, overlooking a bombed-out Ethiopian airlines office. We haggled over frankincense and knock-off icons and scarves in the market. We ate vegetables.

Zanzibar: What a contrast, Addis-Zanzibar. We de-planed (haha, that word makes me laugh) along with British Cosmo editorial staff and a pile of other western tourists to be greeted by bright city lights, smooth roads, and a brand new corolla from our (very low budget) hotel. I think Ian summed-up Zanzibar pretty well, though he left out the seafood feast by the harbour (I think there’s a photo). By lantern light, there are tables spread with every species you could possibly manage to haul out of the ocean, and then they grill it right there and serve it up with chips and salad. Soooo good. Ian worried about whether it conformed to guidelines for the safe handling, preparation, and storage of food, but I was too busy picking skewers of mussels to care. Now he’ll eat the dirtiest food, like I do. Sooooo good.

The rest of Zanzibar for me is a blur of beach, snorkeling to see sea creatures, watching Ian harass sea creatures, eating sea creatures, and feeling sea sick (in a canoe during high tide and on the catamaran ferry to Dar). One day we rented bikes from local kids cause we wanted to get to this “lagoon” we’d heard about that was supposed to be good for snorkeling. We were told to head down the beach, we’d get there no problem, “Hakuna matata.” After far too long pedaling clown-like down the beach on miniature bicycles looking for some turquoise inlet lagoon-like feature, we stopped to ask directions, only to find out that the “lagoon” means a spot in the deepwater trench by the coral reef, stretching the entire length of beach we had just pedaled. We could have just walked straight out! Local kids 1 : Wazungu 0.

Dar es Salaam: After a ferry ride of Harrison Ford and nausea, we arrived in Dar and made our way to the hotel. We were greeted by a sign, “Women of immoral turpitude are strictly not allowed in the rooms.” They let me stay anyway.

Mombasa: After clearing customs on our bus from Dar (I modeled the pointy horse-hair tasseled hat we bought in Ethiopia and they thought it best not to mess with somebody who would wear such a hat), we rolled into Mombasa at dusk – just as the black lights and tunes turned on in the matatus. It was some seriously tripped-out public transportation. It seems all matatus double as reggae clubs, and somehow they’ve all managed to acquire the exact same 12-track playlist. We made our way to our room at the Glory hotel, which was actually less a room and more a little hole off the corridor on the top floor. This made me laugh. Oh well, it was comfortable enough and they had tasty beans at breakfast.

In Mombasa we hit up all the historical sights, and even managed to find an exhibit on Swahili material history, where we got to dress up! I believe there’s quite a fetching photo of me in a bui bui (Swahili burka, adopted not for modesty but for fashion, as dictated by a predominantly Arab elite in the early 20th century). I think it makes my eyes look nice.

Watamu: Just up the coast from Mombasa, we stopped off in a small resort town, close to the historical ruins at Gedi, and the site of some more amazing snorkeling. Gedi was eerie as we were the first ones there that morning, and it started to pour rain. We managed to find the ONE house (out of quite a few) that still had a roof intact to wait out the storm. It really was magical.

The snorkeling was also just incredible. As soon as I slipped into the water I was mesmerized. Enough so, that I didn’t see it coming and ended up taking a jellyfish to the face. My face got all swollen and I looked like Chretien in a women’s swim suit. No one needs to see that.

We were staying in a place with a lovely kitchen so I got it in my head that I would be thrifty and cook for us. After a few lovely vegetarian meals, I decided that what Ian really wanted was chicken and I was going to make it for him. I went into town and picked out a nice one, that had happily roamed the streets of Watamu only hours before. As we had no oven, I thought a stew would be best so I set to work converting this exceptionally life-like critter into stewable bits. After a half hour of anatomical exploration with a small machete (they left lots of interesting bits intact) I had managed to convert it into a pile of boneless bits and two drumsticks. Ian was afraid, but ate very well that night.

The next morning after some errands in town, it became clear that we might be late for our bus to Lamu at noon. As we sprinted up to the bus stop at 11:59 having just seen a bus drive off, we were a little panicked. Needlessly of course, that was the 10:30 bus. We left after 2PM on our Takawal express (motto: “We fly, others run.”)

Bus travel in East Africa is very much enhanced by the fact that you can buy just about anything you could want through the windows. Juice, water, biscuits, roast corn, beef skewers, watches, socks, small household appliances. You get the picture. This ride was a tad (read: extremely) bumpy, and after a couple hours of it, had a vendor offered to sell a sports bra through the window, I would have paid a working-man’s yearly wages for it. No such luck.

Lamu: Our last main travel destination before tucking into work in Nakuru was Lamu. It was paradise. Because of our mad bargaining skills, we ended up at this gorgeous luxury house, right in the centre of town by the seafront, for less than the cost of a pitcher of beer in TO. There were spectacular ruins accessible only by hiring a sailboat. There was a lovely little hut by the seafront where a lady made us spiced coffee and little donuts, while a grandfather told us true facts about everything and anything.

One day I decided I wanted to cook a crab. I got up early to place my order with a fisherman and went to collect my crab that evening. He was almost bigger than me. I had coconut milk, rice, and vegetables – the makings of a feast. I plunged him guiltily into boiling water, and watched him turn red. It was at that point that I realized I didn’t know how to crack the shell, and all I could find in the otherwise well-equipped kitchen was something that looked like a baseball bat. Oh well, I yanked him out and set to work. Ian quickly cleared out to avoid the carnage as I beat open each little section of crab in an increasingly manic quest to extract every possible shred of meat out of the shell. An hour later, all I had to show for my efforts was a small teacup full of meat and a large pile of crab shell shards. In the end, we had a lovely vegetable coconut curry that night, with a faint essence of crab.

Train! After another bus back down the coast to Mombasa, we boarded a train to Nairobi and then onto Nakuru. I was very excited for the train ride. Eating, sleeping, going to the bathroom – all way more fun on a train. Too bad it broke, and we ended up on a matatu to Nairobi. Ruth (the lady we’re staying with) met us there, and we had a luxurious car ride to Nakuru.

Lots more to talk about in Nakuru, but Ian's going into town to post this, so I’ll sign off.

We visited Kakamega last Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. I wrote a letter each day:

July 30th

The Kakamega guest house is four double rooms, on a verandah, with clapboard siding – all on stilts. We’re just inside the woods, and judging from a 4th grade memory of an “African Rainforest” poster, this is the real deal. Dusk is a racket of crickets and bird calls; earlier monkeys jumped and crashed about the canopy, 50m overhead. For the past four hours the rain has been either heavy or torrential, and it’s cold – polar fleece weather.

According to the indispensable guidebook, Kakamega is the only remaining piece of Congolese rainforest in Kenya. 400 years ago the rainforest was more or less contiguous from the Atlantic around the north shore of Lake Victoria. Today, Kakamega is isolated by agriculture, and seems to be used as a test tube. We’ve been told there are researchers looking at “safari ants”, and the aforementioned monkeys. The other two visitors are Dutch ornithology-types.

To get here was “fun”. Three matatus (to Kisumu, Kakamega town, then the hamlet of Shinyalu) followed by a 20 minute (actually an hour and a half) bodaboda ride. The trip to Kisumu passed through Kericho, the tea capital. Tea plantations are impressive and green, with creepy white company rowhouses in the middle. There was no harvesting today (Sunday), and judging by the papers there may be no harvesting for a while.

Mechanical tea-pickers are being tested. They look like meter-wide hedge trimmers, held at each end by a worker, and trailing a bag (on top of the already-cut bushes). The Unilever plantation alone employs 19,000 pickers, so a lot of jobs are at stake. Poorly paid jobs (3Ksh = 5cents per kilo picked – typically less than $2 a day,) but desperately sought. Compounding thing, a couple weeks ago KeTePa, number two after Unilever, fired four pickers, took their kids out of school, right before final exams, and dumped the entire families along the highway outside the plantation. The next couple of days promise a (rare) strike, complete with Luddite threats.

The ride to Shinyalu was my favourite. For this route, the matatu is a small pickup, its box given a roof (with handrail down the middle). Either side of the box is a (padded) bench that might comfortably seat five. Before the matatus would even start the conductor made sure there were six to a bench. We ended up with three women doubled over under the roof, squished between rows of knees, three guys hanging off the back, and two jammed in the cab. Twenty passengers, two chickens (who did not seem ill), five large bags of groceries, and a newborn – handed to the eldest passenger so his mother could balance clutching the roof.

As for the bodaboda ride, it rained, so we spent an hour on the porch of a small grist mill, with a dozen others (including the two chickens), to the delight of a half dozen giggling children. Ruth managed to buy individual packets of loose tea, while standing next to a small tea field. When the rain held off, our drivers took us through the sticky, slippery red clay muck, with no mishap worse than Ruth’s driver losing a flip-flop. Ruth had to jump; she says, “I almost died!”

I suppose that’s only one day! Tomorrow’s walk starts at 5am. Many birds to se and puddles to avoid, so I’d best put out the hurricane lamp, let down the mosquito net, and get some rest.

July 31st

The walk was fantastic – an 8 hour 10 mile jaunt to the other side of the forest and back. The early rise was so we (4 + guide) could stumble 4km, by two flashlights, to the top of a steep grassy cinder cone.

Sunrise never quite came, there was light cloud, but morning above the forest is spectacular. Below us was forest, trees like broccoli, filled with songbirds. The sound was something like a brook, with the occasional booming goodmorning howl of a colobus monkey.

Once bored of the view, we walked down the hill, 30m into an abandoned (horizontal) mine shaft to visit the bats (The tunnel is tall enough my head didn’t hit any critters. Who builds mine tunnels like this?) Baby bats are adorable, and the residents had no problems swinging around us when perching or leaving.

Then began our real walk. The wildlife was superb – three species of monkey, a young chameleon, a dung beetle, two snails enjoying a midmorning mating, Blue Turacos (the star residents), and our guide found a Green Bush Viper. This last sighting was remarkable for four reasons: the snake is camouflaged, only a foot long, was running away, and his venom will kill a man in 30 minutes. I found myself taking pictures of fungus.

We also saw safari ants. They have complicated social structure. The “soldier” ant is enormous, about an inch long with a quarter-inch box head. Across roads, they build troughs of earth. The “workers” funnel through and the “exits” are manned by soldiers. And they’ll bite if you disturb them.

Now that I’ve made everything seem dangerous, I’ll head for dinner. I watched Ruth and Jessica (the “women folk”) making sukoma wiki (kale) and chapatti (taught by volunteer master chef Ester), and now its time to eat.

Aug 1st

The return from Kakamega was simply wonderful. At breakfast we bought T-shirts, slogan “Education, the ultimate salvage for our forest.” The whole rest house is volunteer-run with proceeds to KEEP, Kakamega Environmental Education Program. It’s a good cause – they try to convince the locals not to burn the forest into charcoal.

After a long bodaboda ride, we ended up on a direct (yippee!) matatu to Nakuru. Most of the route was through the Nandi hills, small tea farms giving way to pine forests and logging.

I think I should write a word about Ruth’s sleeping. First off, she does it a lot. So long as a vehicle is rolling it seems Ruth is ready to sleep. Most people sleep on bus or matatu either slouched in their seats or leaning on the seat ahead of them. Ruth hangs her head like a drooping flower, bouncing and swinging with every bump. Sometimes she’ll lean toward her window and, thump, her head will smack the glass. She doesn’t wake up, but continues her head bashing, oblivious to a vehicle full of alarm.

Its mildly embarrassing; I’m always concerned someone will think me abusive for not intervening. I’ve learnt, however, that she prefers unconscious self-flagellation to being waked, so I smile meekly until everyone becomes accustomed to her rhythm. Thump. Thump.

I spent most of the past week hiking Mount Kenya; Ruth needed to stay in Nakuru to orient her replacement. I’d hesitated about going, but made the right choice. Mount Kenya is a 3.5 million year-old super volcano, centered about 15km south of the equator. The major peaks top out at 5199m (~17050ft); they are craggy, highly technical, and clustered in a circle. Away from the peaks, ridges, separated by perfect U-valleys, extend about 20km, beyond which the whole complex slopes to the surrounding plains as rolling hills. All told the mountain is around 80km across. Driving towards or around it, the hulk is unmistakable (though the top is always in cloud).

Thursday was the day; the other four days were for travel, acclimatization, and organization. At 3am, Lisa (a Norwegian nurse in transit from Eritrea to Ethiopia), myself, and our (personal) guides left Shipton’s camp for Point Lenana, the highest “walkable” position. The hut soon turned off its lights, and for the first hour and a half there was nothing but unthinkable cold (climbing in polar fleece and goretex was quite comfortable), our flashlights, and the lanterns of the English group, in a perfect line, seemingly always far above.

Passing the English made me glad to have my own guide. They were about a dozen high school students, climbing slowly and nervously (there was a little hail-snow from the previous afternoon.) From above, their gentle sway and identical headlamps brought to mind dwarves off for the mine. As we were early, we waited about 40m below the peak – out of the wind.

We didn’t wait long – maybe 30 minutes – but it was fantastic. A small tarn below us reflected some stars. There was a meteor shower, and absolutely no light pollution. Dawn began as a graying vertical line that soon spread to cover the horizon. Below, the mountain sank into a uniform carpet of cloud, a slight pink appeared, and centered – EXACTLY east – Venus. Sublime.

I can’t claim to have enjoyed Point Lenana itself. It is 4985m (~16350ft), by far the highest I have ever hiked and the view was excellent, but the final 20m climb was a little scary. Frost-covered rocks, small gravel frozen solid, and a little shaky from the altitude. It’s not that I’m afraid of heights, more so that I’m afraid of slipping to my death. The descent (on the other side) was even worse. Snow-covered toe hold 250m above a glacier? I can’t believe I did it. My guide, David, is about my age, and really good. I blame him.

At the Austrain Hut, alt. 4700m, we had tea and biscuits. I can’t speak for the other three, but I was happy to be alive, and to have a toilet (even if it was non-flushing. I know, hardship.) From here, my guide and I continued clockwise on the Peaks Circuit (Shipton’s camp is north, Pt. Lenana is southeast). The hike was very hard (entirely above 4200m altitude, with about 2000m of climbing) and sometimes tricky (icy flat-topped rocks on the west side), but with perfect alpine lakes and changing views of the peaks. One of the most enjoyable hikes I have done.

We stopped back at Shipton’s camp around 11:30, where the cook magically produced brunch. All told, after hiking down to Old Moses Camp (alt 3300m), I walked for about 12 hours on Thursday. And no blisters!

Some things about the Afro-alpine environment (above ~3500m). In many ways it is like North American alpine – heathers, dry-rot and thin soil come to mind – but with nightly instead of seasonal cold (no insects!!). Plants can grow year-round, which allows 4ft-wide Lobelias on 15ft stalks, Groundsels with 8ft flowers (some with “feathers” for protection), and chest-high heather. The local equivalent of the Marmot is the Rock Hyrax, which looks like a groundhog, is fairly tame, chirps like a bird – or calls like a gull, and is the closest living relative of the elephant.

Some things about the camps. Shipton’s (alt 4200m) had running water, two flushing toilets, bunk beds (with foam mattress) for 40, space for the accompanying porters and guides to cook and sleep, a dining hall, and (MEC) tents for groups like the English. Every single thing was carried up the mountain. At Old Moses I watched the delivery of a new battery – used with solar panel to charge the guides’ mobile phones (you can even buy airtime from the hut caretaker). It arrived on a guy’s shoulder, carried 9km and 700m vertical from the park gate. I could barely lift the thing.

This is my final Africa letter; tomorrow Ruth and I fly to London. I’ll be back in Toronto September 2nd.