Exactly where I wanted to stay in Kenya
The staff of Voi Wildlife Lodge were wonderful when I arrived with my nausea. They took care of my bag at reception, brought me a hot towelette, and offered fresh fruit juice before… Continue reading
Category Archive: Africa
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Not puking on lizards, Kenya
The plan was to meet a childhood buddy in the train station in Voi, then catch a car to the Rukinga Wildlife Sanctuary for two days of charismatic Kenyan macrofauna. Things went off… Continue reading
Julian the elephant
Kenyan rangers don’t name the animals. It’s not Jerry the giraffe or Billy the buffalo, it’s an animal to be protected against poachers (potentially at the cost of their own life). Except for… Continue reading
There’s something about trains
There’s something about trains. Beyond the rhythm of rails and spars that inspired and echo in jazz, more than the misty platforms of noir farewells, and more immediate than their vital role in… Continue reading
Mombasa love
You might think you packed light until you’re in the back seat of a van, the kind that coaches used to take seven high schoolers to track meets in the 80’s but now… Continue reading
Nairobi to Begin
Nairobi gave me a light case of First Destination Syndrome. Thrilled to be back in Africa, but thrown off by the chorus of “Don’t walk around, don’t take photos, it’s not safe, haven’t… Continue reading
Nairobi and Naivasha
I made a big mistake. As soon as the hostel owner left me alone in the room with its low sagging semi-rotted plywood roof over the musty bed where someone else’s hairs were… Continue reading
Departure gates
Does anyone sleep well, the night before a trip? Even after a few of them, not me. Then startle awake with the thought of “okay, the day is here.” Those other ones were… Continue reading
Does altruism exist?
Is there such a thing as altruism? It’s an old question, with a contact high from so many dorm room debates and jittery after too much time in coffee shops, but I’m wondering… Continue reading
Where to find, where to miss, and how to kill the divine.
The coarse wool of my djellaba was scratchier than the sand blowing against my bare legs. Maybe the other way around. One does not customarily wear shorts in the desert, but I welcomed… Continue reading
