Tides rule Twiga beach. At the moment high tide peaks at 3am or so and by 6am crystal clear blue water covers the reef. The water retreats rapidly and just after we’ve finished coffee the reef is exposed. For nearly a kilometer straight out and stretching south to Tanzania and north to Mombasa you can beach comb to infinity or until the tide comes in. There are countless sparkling tide pools. There are shells hidden in the rocks and any number of bizarre creatures to be examined. Seductive waves roll over the outer reef, looking fun and playful. Unable to resist, on our third day at the beach Jim and I went out to swim in those waves and how lucky we were to come back unscathed. The waves may look playful but they are breaking on to coral just a foot below the water and hanging on the coral are scores of sea urchins ready with their spines. There are no sharks but with carpets of urchins, sharks are the least of it. You might be thinking that a proliferation of urchins signals a poor reef environment. Yes, the reef has doubtlessly seen better days but on the surface (haha) it appears that the reef can cope, if given a chance. Let us hope so. Walking out on the reef, the air is cooler, the water refreshing, the finds endless – you just have to remember to come back and not walk all the way to Tanzania unless you happen to be carrying your passport.
Bird life consists of the usual shorebirds and herons plus a pair of woolley-necked storks that hang around at low tide. Vervet monkeys (with their turquoise-blue balls), Sykes monkeys and the fashionable black and white Colobus monkeys range through the trees, wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting. The camp dogs do a fair job of keeping the monkeys in check, not that the camp dogs are that much better than the monkeys. Covered with fleas and ticks and continually bloody sores, they are not best-in-show. They are, however, the friendliest little dogs ever. They will let every kid in camp manhandle them, chase them around, pull their ears and hug them. I cannot help but wonder if the parents have noticed how truly mangy the dogs are – but what the heck, we pet them. Gingerly. No hugs.
Our time in Kenya is winding to a close. We entered the country from rainy Uganda looking like drowned rats in a mud-covered truck. Now we are tanned and rested and instead of mud there is sand in everything. Kenya has endeared herself to us completely. The elections and all that hoopla were a bit off-putting at first with locals warning us of awful possibilities, none of which came to pass as yet. We have enjoyed every minute of this glorious country, from Eldoret to Turkana to Nairobi to Barefoot Beach and on down the stunning Swahili coast to Twiga. Kenyans have been overwhelming friendly and helpful and they do this in stride, being friendly and helpful comes easy for them. The many faces of Kenya, black, white, tribesman, Arab, Indian, muslim, hindu – so many people proudly call themselves Kenyan. Politics aside (if only that were possible) Kenya is the most organized and prosperous country we’ve seen in East Africa. Yes, there are difficulties. Spasms of ethnic violence have scarred towns and villages. The Land Rover Defender parked behind us has bullet holes in it, its driver killed in a bandit attack. Infiltrators and terrorists have demolished the tourist trade. Still, Kenya is lovely and hospitable and its people are poised to lead in Africa. Come here and see for yourselves. Tell everyone jambo for us.
Did you know it is a Kenyan tradition to go to the beach on January 1? Now that is a tradition worth keeping around – dress up and come to the beach for a day. Forget your troubles, walk the shore, swim. Have a picnic. Camp. Carloads of people came to Twiga from nearby Mombasa to do all that. And now one can take the Nairobi-to-Mombasa train, that’s a popular service, and drive the short distance to Diani or Tiwi beaches. At the end of the first day of the new year, hundreds of Kenyans were walking up and down the shore dressed in fantastically colored robes and scarves and perfecting an already perfect scene.The color combinations were glorious – as bright and neon as the fish in the tide pools. It was a sight to behold. A full moon shone on us all on and now, today, nearly everyone is gone.
It is day twenty-two of our anchorage on this shoreline. We drove in and parked and haven’t moved camp since. Along with our neighbors, Gustav and Nancy, we are the only campers taking advantage of the unobstructed view camping on the sand affords. Gustav regularly camps at Twiga – he and Nancy have children. Imagine being a seven-year old boy and spending days on end at the beach. Yes. Some campers and picnickers we visited with have been coming to Twiga for years. One motorcycle group was ending a 37-year stint of basing at Twiga for the holidays; they drove away for the very last time a couple of days ago. Several big overland tours have come and gone. They park down the way from us, back in the trees and we wouldn’t even know they were there but for the visual. One of my favorite camp supporters is Abdul the fruit seller who comes by with his bicycle basket full of apple mangos, pineapple and whatnot. He has been doing this for 25+ years. Fish sellers offer the freshest catch and they will filet it for you right now. Coconuts carved into darling little monkeys are the curio rage – Gustav tells us the coconut animals change every year. If I could think of a place to hang it I would buy one. Or two. There are trees behind the beach that form a dark shady canopy for monkeys, birds and campers. There is a stupendous baobab tree smack in the middle of camp. Just down the shore is a little restaurant where if (when) you finally tire of lukewarm beer, you can get a cold one from the bar. The camp staff does a remarkable job keeping things clean considering there are people and monkeys to tidy up after.
Gustav and Nancy invited us to celebrate New Year’s Eve with them and their friends; Gustav procured a huge white snapper fish plus a local chef to prepare it. Those delectable apple mangos made a salad, Pauline made her famous calamari, cardamon sweet potatoes in coconut milk rounded out the menu and for dessert Jim and I baked a chocolate cake and a vanilla cake. There were no leftovers. Of anything. Happy New Year.
Wishing all family and friends the happiest of holidays wherever you are and whichever holiday you like to celebrate. The coming new year will new to us all. And tough to top 2017, by our standards – can’t wait to see what happens next.
Back in Nairobi we reunite with the Beagle at JJ’s (Jungle Junction). Nestled in the suburb of Karen/Hardy, JJ’s is both a very pleasant place to camp and a working auto garage for any kind of vehicle repair you might imagine. The four dogs are just a bonus. Overlanders tend to gather here – Mike and Sue from Canada, Eiji and Chizu from US/Japan, the Germans driving the monster unamog named Simba (we met them back in Tanzania) and an English woman riding her motorcycle alone across Africa. South African expat Reggie, a musician living on a beach south of Mombasa, had many suggestions for places to camp along the Kenyan/Tanzanian coast. JJ’s proprietor Chris cooked a braii for everyone on a Friday night, we shared stories and email addresses and we hope to meet these friends again.
The plan is to hug the coastline of the Indian Ocean from mid-Dec to the middle of January. Gee, what a trial to be camping on a beach enjoying sun, warm water, and a sea breeze in December (apologies to our snow-bound friends back home). Camping on the sand means sand in pretty much everything and tiny ants in everything else, not to complain of course. At Barefoot Beach north of Malinda we are parked right in the sand, the water is warm and inviting and the sand itself an unusual combination of red with gold sparkles of pyrite. Fantastic. There is something to be said for the coarser-grained sand. It does not tend to blow all over like the powered-sugar sand of Zanzibar but how amazingly soft that sand felt on your feet. And really, either kind of sand works for us.
Vasco de Gama in Malindi
Nearly a year ago, along the western coast of South Africa we came upon a monument to Vasco de Gama, the sea-captain who led the first Portuguese fleet to India, sailing around the Cape of Good Hope in 1488 or so. Months later (on our trip, not de Gama’s, haha) we find ourselves in a small apartment in Malindi, Kenya, and steps down the beach is yet another Vasco de Gama monument. That guy did get around. Imagine his surprise when finally arriving on the eastern African coast of Indian Ocean and finding cities and large villages already established by the Arabs and natives. Part of de Gama’s mission was to pave the way for Christianity but the Muslims got ahead of him. Still he was an intrepid man, not a sea-captain at all when he started; his was on the job training of the monumental sort. Portugal went on to become one of the greatest Old World powers until the catastrophic 1755 earthquake, combined with a tsunami and firestorm, all but destroyed Lisbon. The country’s fortunes have never recovered. The Vasco de Gama museum is housed in this alley. Yes, an alley, it is an outdoor museum. Worth a visit, the interpretive panels are well-done.
The apartment we stayed in is owned by Raj, a businessman we met in Eldoret. He said go ahead, make yourselves at home – how very African. In our wildest dreams we thought there might be hot water for a shower – it never hurts to dream, right? Well, there was water, a trickle, for the first three days, none of it hot. All of Malinda was without water. There were empty jugs around to fill when water did appear so it was comfortable enough. The beach was at our doorstep but too rough and brown to swim in – rivers were washing in silt from rains north of us. Malinda natives speak Italian, children call out a refreshing Ciao. Because of the many Italian expats living here there is delicious pizza in town as well as fresh seafood and an seemingly endless supply of a round type of mango, an “apple” mango, selling for a quarter apiece. Huge mango trees are dripping with fruit – we didn’t put even a small dent in the supply despite eating four or five per day. There’s plenty left if anyone is headed to Malindi.
South of Mombasa Leaving Malindi heading south we tried hard to avoid downtown Mombasa, Kenya’s second largest city. A bypass route that looked good on Garmin turned out to be one of Garmin’s little jokes – instead of a short city bypass, it routed us three hours back to a small village and then another two hours back to the far side of the Mombasa. Fortunately we caught on to the trickery before going too far and with the best of u-turns we made it to our destination, the ferry across the Kilindini Harbor. Mid-day, hot, muggy, we sit with the windows down and the engine off waiting our turn to board the ferry. Cold-drink sellers, as well as the far-from-fortunate, approach all the vehicles, not just us. Coins goes to the surprisingly many blind people. As with so many countries (including the US) there are disenfranchised adults just trying to get by everywhere we go. I cannot help but feel sorrowful for them; as adults they are aware of how difficult life is and will likely continue to be. Children have a bit of an advantage – family, orphanages, churches tend to them, at least until they are emancipated. Adults have few options and that is a shame no matter what country is responsible.
As the days went by we realized we’d been paired with the ideal guide. Mesfin is easy going, a native of Lalibela and a man who has friends everywhere – friends were constantly stopping to shoulder bump him as Ethiopians do. “Dogs are my favorite animal” he announces one day. Why do people eat dog? he asks. A dog could be your best friend and who eats their best friend? Ha. We couldn’t answer that. We drove along listening to Mesfin’s music – much of it Ethiopian and good, with the occasional American country music song thrown in. “I love country music” he says. We brought a good selection of music, including country (Waylon and Willie, the classics) but the incompatibility of iTunes kept us from sharing. I did not offer to sing. No one complained about that.
From Danakil, Lalibela is a good day and a half drive through the mountainous region. And it’s not like you go over one mountain pass and down the other side. We drive through so many mountain ranges I wondered if we would ever get down. Ethiopia has 70 percent of Africa’s highest elevations – the scenery is of endless peaks. Camels are left behind, exchanged for donkeys; 99 percent of the donkeys look exactly alike. As with the camels, the donkeys wander aimlessly about everywhere looking for food and water. How does anyone tell their donkey from their neighbors’? Mesfin tells me that at the end of the day the animals know where home is. OK but only because Mesfin says so.
The rock-hewn churches of Lalibela are indeed the eighth wonder of the world. At first it is confusing – these were carved from granite that covers the ground . . .exactly how? Gradually it becomes more clear – the early buildings were carved from the top down and moats (for lack of a better word) were dug around the planned structure so excess rock could be removed. And now is the time to ask, who planned the structures? Who were the architects of these massive straight-sided buildings? Who were the crew bosses and the crew? Were they slaves or did they receive compensation? Or did they just work for the glory of God and King Lalibela? There had to be plans or drawings or scratches on stone that dictated what happened where and when and by whom. How did the finished crosses, for instance, become perfectly matched on all four corners without some form of direction? My head is spinning. We are told that most of the written history was destroyed in the 15th century. Somewhat like the pyramids, there is a mysterious air here. The rock churches continue to be used for services every day. As long as the Ethiopian Orthodox Christian priests don’t question who is responsible for the great structures, no one else will worry about it. Gotta love a good christian mystery.
The idea of hewing churches underground from stone has been attributed to King Lalibela. He did not want his churches easily destroyed by the many and various warring tribes in this part of the world. If worse came to worse (the Mongol hordes were approaching, for instance, although that never happened) the pious people of the region could bury the churches, hiding them from those hell-bent on mayhem. Looking at the massive area of Saint Georges’ church, I cannot imagine how the people would manage that, especially if they just finished carving the rocks. That would be an insult.
We couldn’t see Ethiopia all in one trip and we certainly couldn’t eat all the injera we were served at every meal. Made from teff grains, injera is acidic, soft and filling, used to scoop up the other foods being served. Back in Kenya, we aren’t craving it. Food-wise and best of all, there was always plenty of great coffee – Ethiopians invented the beverage and during Italian occupation in the world wars, they perfected it. Just one more good reason to revisit Ethiopia.
December 7, 2017 by Ann in Danakil, EthiopiaComments Off on The Colorful Place
In this corner of Ethiopia all the volcanic activity produces hot pots, boiling sulphur water and startlingly colorful pools. Not that a soak in a hot springs is on the agenda; unlike at home serious heat is the norm here and a cool pond would be more welcome. The Danakil is said to be the hottest place on Earth; temperatures regularly reach over 50c – that’s about 122f, if you don’t have Goggle open. November is the “cooler” month; there is a breeze to evaporate sweat, plenty of water to drink, and all in all it is not so uncomfortable for us tourists.
It is in this stifling heat that hominids evolved with a cooling system unique in the animal world and it started with rising up on two legs. Standing up gave us the advantage needed to become the most important mammal species on the planet. We don’t know the details – there’s that pesky 11 million years missing in the fossil record between an arboreal primate and an upright striding hominid – but we do know our cooling system works. Near Danakil in the hellishly hot Harar region Dr. Johanson discovered the famous Lucy fossil, she who stood on her two legs three million+ years ago. Her upright stance kept the sun’s radiation to a minimum and exposed more of her body to the cooling breeze offering her the opportunity to forage in the day’s heat while predators languished in the shade. Subsequent evolutionary adaptations gave us different hair – we have as many hairs as chimpanzee do, but ours are short and fine. They don’t inhibit sweat from reaching the surface where the breeze will cool us. Humans can survive in this cruel landscape but I wouldn’t want to do it naked like Lucy.
In the very early morning light we arrive at the Colorful Place, a fairly recently formed sulphur springs area. Quite small compared to the size of Yellowstone, these pools and yellow/green/orange colored rocks are far more accessible. Or maybe it is just that there is no authority in the area, you are allowed to tramp around and get close. Guards motion people away from known dangers but there are no signs, no barriers and no warnings. Like a lot of Africa, you are responsible for yourself. The morning light is picture perfect and more than one person said “I can’t stop taking photos!” – it is that spectacular. With no preamble the guides lead us to what appears to be another hot pot, bubbles popping up and spreading slowly about the 20ft square pool. But then the guides reach their hands into the pool – how crazy is that! The pool isn’t filled with water, it is full of oil. Magnesium in the rocks mixed with who knows what else has created a pool of warm light oil. It runs nearly clear off our hands; some people fill bottles with it and we rub it on our wind-dried legs. I want to jump in, it is so amazing. I hope we don’t come back here one day and find an expensive spa at this magical pool.
Salt used in laser technologies is mined here using archaic but common techniques. Long camel caravans travel days across the desert carrying blocks of salt carved right from the ground, then they return for more. Salt is mined in likely the most arduous and lowest paying work in the country. Men chop a sizable section from the salt pan using axes then they pry it up using a long beveled pole polished smooth with use. A special tool is used to break up the big section into the correct size block (about five kilograms); blocks are stacked up to be loaded on the camels and on it goes. The men are whippet-thin, wearing sunglasses and colorful socks to protect from the constant exposure to the element. As we are leaving the breeze became a wind and sand begins to fill the air. The relatively comfortable conditions decline rapidly. We were fortunate to have seen this place so easily but the salt miners will stay through any circumstance and as our guide Haile said, they never complain. The camels do, they bawl and honk and spit, but as a beast of burden in this unforgiving place they are unsurpassed.
“We will drive to the volcano today and hike to the top tonight” our guide Mesfin announces in greeting at the Mekele airport. We’ve flown to this northeastern town from Addis Ababa and are off to a running start on our tour. There is a hint of regret that we did not attempt driving here. With all the ground we have covered in the Beagle, what’s one more country to pass through? Still, the language barrier is severe in this vastly different county where Amarhic is spoken more than English, and the alphabet is more akin to Sanskrit than anything else. For many reasons it was a good idea to leave the Beagle at JJ’s in Nairobi and fly into Ethiopia.
Five vehicles and 14 people including guides and drivers make up our group. At the lunch stop Jim and I take time to find a chemist, which involved wandering through rock-strewn alleys following a little boy who knew the way to the chemist storefront. We buy some Panadol – I am definitely feeling trepidation for the four-hour volcano hike. In a windblown sandy town we pick up a camel driver and a guard. It takes 1.5 hours to do the final 15 kilometers. Deep sand and sharp lava rocks pave the way and in the distance we can see the glow of Erta Ale. I imagine everyone is thinking of “The Lord of the Rings” and Frodo’s trek to Mount Doom. I know I am.
Volcano base camp finally looms in front of us in the dusk. We are set up with a kitchen staff and a couple of guides who show us the routine – first we eat, they say, then we hike. Dark falls like a blanket holding in the heat. The camel who will carry our sleeping gear is loaded, much to his dissatisfaction – he bawls throughout the process. Our guard is a tiny Afar man who might weigh more than his gun, but only just. The trek begins on flat desert ground and we wind our way along, stopping twice to rest. The cup of heavily sugared coffee I drank for dinner is serving its purpose. At first it is exhilarating to be in the desert in darkness but after a couple of hours it is simply a trudge, and well past our bedtime. Shadows created by my headlamp become surreal. No one speaks much. At last we arrive to the rim of the caldera, weaving around with fatigue in the darkness. It is still another few minutes to the very edge of the volcano; dropping packs and readying cameras energizes everyone. We climb down a cliff toward the glow.
Erta Ale is one of a handful of places where one can (somewhat safely) stand and look down into an active volcano’s lava lake. That is, until this past January. Unpredictably and witnessed by a group of tourists a vent exploded a few kilometers from Erta blasting lava and debris into the night sky. The roiling magma that had filled Erta’s crater to the rim was sucked out through a fissure, exiting into this new vent. Everything changed instantly. Looking into the crater now reveals magma flowing east to west, pouring down into a cauldron of fire but it is not close to the rim. Wind moves the magma and it rises like the sea, dashing onto rocks and flying into the air. Glowing red, magenta, orange and black, it is still mesmerizing. Two hours later we climb back to the sleeping camp where guides have laid our foam pads on the ground. I drop onto mine wearing the clothes I’ve been in for two days and I don’t remember anything else.
Sunrise on Erta AleAfar Tribesman guardSalt minerthe amazing oil lake in DanakilBase camp at the volcanoSmileA typical bed on the salton lake we swam in
The climb out of the caldera
Jim and Jonas, one of the 14 people we met while on the tourThe camel and his small herder hauling our gear downThe edge of the volcano in daylightThe colorful place in DanakilOne of the hot potsThe coffee ceremony in the house where we all crashed on the floorOne of the guides rooms at base camp
Nairobi National Museum underwent a long renovation recently, reopening in 2008 after three years. A more modern facade greets visitors and this dinosaur guards the entrance. The dinosaur resembles a T-rex but beyond that it is difficult to discern which dinosaur it is as there is no interpretive sign. Plus it looks like a cartoon character. What does that bode for the inside of the museum?
In the foyer themed halls radiate out. To our left is the East African Birds Hall and we start there. Displays cases fill the room and they are full of stuffed birds. Hundreds and hundreds of stuffed birds, from white pelicans to the tiny tit. Signage is minimal – an inch square piece of aging paper with a typewriter-written name and sometimes a short description – and even a few of those are hidden behind a bird or two. Sometimes the descriptive paper is there but without the bird. However what does come through loud and clear, no interpretation needed, is the sheer overwhelming number of birds that live in or visit East Africa. Hail this bird paradise. The piddly few I have seen and recorded are nearly embarrassing to contemplate. I feel like I’ve been birding this whole time with blinders on, missing far more than I see. The Bird Hall is both inspiring and humbling – and I hope it is next on the renovation list. There is so much more to birds than their names and a stuffed specimen.
The mammal hall is slightly less intimidating. The dioramas and displays feature both creatures we have seen and many we have not. The specimens appear to be the same ones as were used prior to the renovation, done in a 50’s style taxidermy. But I suppose that is better than going out and shooting new specimens, right? This most impressive elephant is a main display and was far too big for a good photo. Ahmed, as he was called, acquired national protection from the government when local people were afraid he’d be poached for his incredible tusks. These aren’t the biggest or heaviest tusks but they are nearly perfectly symmetrical. Ahmed died of natural causes and now is immortalized in the museum. A lucky pachyderm indeed.
Finally, the holy grail of the museum – The Hall of Human Origins. Kenya is home to arguably the most, and the most important, paleo-anthropological finds in history. The Nairobi museum has done a spectacular job of displaying and interpreting these finds. In order of evolutionary appearance we read of Aegyptopithecus, Proconsul and Kenyapithecus and their progeny which became the primates. Moving along (very slowly) there are then the missing years, millions of them. We know almost nothing about an eleven-million year time span between primates and hominid formation. The museum makes no apologies for what it does not know. Nor does it question evolution or ask you to consider creationism. Time and chance are the creators here.
That the fossils were discovered at all boggles the mind and panels explain what was found where by whom. Here are photos taken of the discovery of Turkana Boy, a nearly complete skeleton of Homo erectus, one of the most fantastic finds ever. The ground he was found in looks like most of the land around Turkana – what was it that drew the fossil hunter to that very spot? I imagine he must have lost his mind when he realized what he was looking at. Only the brow crown was visible in the rock matrix. Beneath the rocks and scattered about were fossilized bones of such importance you might conclude they were laid there on purpose to be found by us, millions of years later. What a rush.
At the end of the Origins Hall is a discrete sign saying Skull Room. It is a small room. Arranged around the walls are jewel-like display cases with carefully staged lighting. Long tapestry panels that describe each glass case. A narrow coffin-size display lays at the center. The atmosphere is hushed. For here, face to face, are the actual fossils of the ancestors of human beings. The real thing. From the rocky desert ground, painstakingly reassembled, are the skulls of Erectus, Rudolphenisis, Habilis, Robutus, and the others. It is breathtaking. I am moved to tears – I cannot believe it. Of course these skulls have been a part of science since their discovery but until now they have not been so beautifully and publicly displayed. Here is Proconsul, where it is thought the primate family tree began. Here is Paranthropus aethiopicus or Black Skull, so-called for the patina it acquired while it laid around waiting to be found. In the center display case is the wonder of Kenya, the amazingly complete Turkana Boy. Turkana Boy was likely between 12 and 18 when he died 1.5 million years ago. How could such delicate bones survive for that impossible amount of time? How did the whole of his lineage survive? Yet here we are, looking at him. We are his cousins, the survivors.
There are no postcards of the Skull Room for sale at the museum; too bad, I’d have bought them all. The Hall of Human Origins is worth a second trip, perhaps after we visit the most famous Ethiopian fossil, Lucy. It is a wonderful world we live in, and have lived in for so long. Hope we can keep it together for a few more million years.
We have left the villages and tribes behind and find ourselves driving through larger and larger towns. The industry here is flowers – and if you think that sounds pleasant, growing flowers for the floral trade, think again. In order to produce at scale for the European market, every effort is made to grow flowers better and faster. Herbicides, pesticides, fungicides, fertilizers, and any other means are used to keep up with the trade. Greenhouses line Lake Naivasha and its surrounds and the industry does employ many if mostly unskilled labor. Still, the flower trade is here to stay. Kenya does impress us in that it gets things done. There is industry. They aren’t trying to compete with China of course but they have jobs albeit without western-style regulations. They say it with flowers, you know.
On the lake it is cool and rainy, the small shelters are much appreciated. So is the endless stream of very hot water in the showers. We counted it out, 21 days without a hot shower, the last one was in Masindi Uganda. We usually managed something when we needed it but the luxury of these neat and clean showers is worth hanging around for three days – and it’s cheap here, $8pppd. There are lots of birds, hippos and monkeys for entertainment. No wifi – so posting will wait until Nairobi. There we can get laundry done. Maybe get a haircut. We will be styling – and just in time for our scheduled trip to Ethiopia to see the Afar Depression and the stone churches of Lalibela. We are leaving the Beagle in Kenya and taking a tour – looking forward to seeing how the tour operators do things. It will be a vacation.
Tides rule Twiga beach. At the moment high tide peaks at 3am or so and by 6am crystal clear blue water covers the reef. The water retreats rapidly and just after we’ve finished coffee the reef is exposed. For nearly a kilometer straight out and stretching south to Tanzania and north to Mombasa you can beach comb to infinity or until the tide comes in. There are countless sparkling tide pools. There are shells hidden in the rocks and any number of bizarre creatures to be 
examined. Seductive waves roll over the outer reef, looking fun and playful. Unable to resist, on our third day at the beach Jim and I went out to swim in those waves and how lucky we were to come back unscathed. The waves may look playful but they are breaking on to coral just a foot below the water and hanging on the coral are scores of sea urchins ready with their spines. There are no sharks but with carpets of urchins, sharks are the least of it. You might be thinking that a proliferation of urchins signals a poor reef 
environment. Yes, the reef has doubtlessly seen better days but on the surface (haha) it appears that the reef can cope, if given a chance. Let us hope so. Walking out on the reef, the air is cooler, the water refreshing, the finds endless – you just have to remember to come back and not walk all the way to Tanzania unless you happen to be carrying your passport.
woolley-necked storks that hang around at low tide. Vervet monkeys (with their turquoise-blue balls), Sykes monkeys and the fashionable black and white Colobus monkeys range through the trees, wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting. The camp dogs do a fair job of keeping the monkeys in check, not that the camp dogs are that much better than the monkeys. Covered with fleas and ticks and continually bloody sores, they are not best-in-show. They are, however, the friendliest little dogs ever. They will let every kid in camp manhandle them, chase them around, pull their ears and hug 
them. I cannot help but wonder if the parents have noticed how truly mangy the dogs are – but what the heck, we pet them. Gingerly. No hugs.
none of which came to pass as yet. We have enjoyed every minute of this glorious country, from Eldoret to Turkana to Nairobi to Barefoot Beach and on down the stunning Swahili coast to Twiga. Kenyans have been overwhelming friendly and helpful and they do this in stride, being friendly and helpful comes easy for them. The many faces of Kenya, black, white, tribesman, Arab, Indian, muslim, hindu – so many people proudly call themselves Kenyan. Politics aside (if only that were 
possible) Kenya is the most organized and prosperous country we’ve seen in East Africa. Yes, there are difficulties. Spasms of ethnic violence have scarred towns and villages. The Land Rover Defender parked behind us has bullet holes in it, its driver killed in a bandit attack. Infiltrators and terrorists have demolished the tourist trade. Still, Kenya is lovely and hospitable and its people are poised to lead in Africa. Come here and see for yourselves. Tell everyone jambo for us.
Did you know it is a Kenyan tradition to go to the beach on January 1? Now that is a tradition worth keeping around – dress up and come to the beach for a day. Forget your troubles, walk the shore, swim. Have a picnic. Camp. Carloads of people came to Twiga from nearby Mombasa to do all that. And now one can take the Nairobi-to-Mombasa train, that’s a popular service, and drive the short distance to Diani or Tiwi beaches. At the end of the fir
st day of the new year, hundreds of Kenyans were walking up and down the shore dressed in fantastically colored robes and scarves and perfecting an already perfect scene.The color combinations were glorious – as bright and neon as the fish in the tide pools. It was a sight to behold. A full moon shone on us all on and now, today, nearly everyone is gone.
have been coming to Twiga for years. One motorcycle group was ending a 37-year stint of basing at Twiga for the holidays; they drove away for the very last time a couple of days ago. Several big overland tours have come and gone. They park down the way from us, back in the trees and we wouldn’t even know they were there but for the visual. One of my favorite camp supporters is Abdul the fruit seller who comes by with his bicycle basket full of apple mangos, pineapple and whatnot. He has been doing this for 25+ years. Fish sellers 
offer the freshest catch and they will filet it for you right now. Coconuts carved into darling little monkeys are the curio rage – Gustav tells us the coconut animals change every year. If I could think of a place to hang it I would buy one. Or two. There are trees behind the beach that form a dark shady canopy for monkeys, birds and campers. There is a stupendous baobab tree smack in the middle of camp
them and their friends; Gustav procured a huge white snapper fish plus a local chef to prepare it. Those delectable apple mangos made a salad, Pauline made her famous calamari, cardamon sweet potatoes in coconut milk rounded out the menu and for dessert Jim and I baked a chocolate cake and a vanilla cake. There were no leftovers. Of anything. Happy New Year.
Back in Nairobi we reunite with the Beagle at JJ’s (Jungle Junction). Nestled in the suburb of Karen/Hardy, JJ’s is both a very pleasant place to camp and a working auto garage for any kind of vehicle repair you might imagine. The four dogs are just a bonus. Overlanders tend to gather here – Mike and Sue from Canada, Eiji and Chizu from US/Japan, the Germans driving the monster unamog named Simba (we met them back in Tanzania) and an English woman riding her motorcycle alone across Africa. South African expat Reggie, a musician living on a beach south of Mombasa, had many suggestions for places to camp along the Kenyan/Tanzanian coast. JJ’s pr
oprietor Chris cooked a braii for everyone on a Friday night, we shared stories and email addresses and we hope to meet these friends again.
in December (apologies to our snow-bound friends back home). Camping on the sand means sand in pretty much everything and tiny ants in everything else, not to complain of course. At Barefoot Beach north of Malinda we are parked right in the sand, the water is warm and inviting and the sand itself an unusual combination of red with gold sparkles of pyrite. Fantastic. There is something to be said for the coarser-grained 
sand. It does not tend to blow all over like the powered-sugar sand of Zanzibar but how amazingly soft that sand felt on your feet. And really, either kind of sand works for us.
upon a monument to Vasco de Gama, the sea-captain who led the first Portuguese fleet to India, sailing around the Cape of Good Hope in 1488 or so. Months later (on our trip, not de Gama’s, haha) we find ourselves in a small apartment in Malindi, Kenya, and steps down the beach is yet another Vasco de Gama monument. That guy did get around. Imagine his surprise when finally arriving on the eastern African coast of Indian Ocean and finding cities and large villages already established by the Arabs and natives. Part of de Gama’s mission was to pave the way for Christianity but the Muslims got ahead of him. Still he was 
an intrepid man, not a sea-captain at all when he started; his was on the job training of the monumental sort. Portugal went on to become one of the greatest Old World powers until the catastrophic 1755 earthquake, combined with a tsunami and firestorm, all but destroyed Lisbon. The country’s fortunes have never recovered. The Vasco de Gama museum is housed in this alley. Yes, an alley, it is an outdoor museum. Worth a visit, the interpretive panels are well-done.
The apartment we stayed in is owned by Raj, a businessman we met in Eldoret. He said go ahead, make yourselves at home – how very African. In our wildest dreams we thought there might be hot water for a shower – it never hurts to dream, right? Well, there was water, a trickle, for the first three days, none of it hot. All of Malinda was without water. There were empty jugs around to fill when water did appear so it was comfortable enough. The beach was at our doorstep but too rough and brown to swim in – rivers were washing in silt from rains north of us. Malinda natives speak Italian, 
children call out a refreshing Ciao. Because of the many Italian expats living here there is delicious pizza in town as well as fresh seafood and an seemingly endless supply of a round type of mango, an “apple” mango, selling for a quarter apiece. Huge mango trees are dripping with fruit – we didn’t put even a small dent in the supply despite eating four or five per day. There’s plenty left if anyone is headed to Malindi.
Leaving Malindi heading south we tried hard to avoid downtown Mombasa, Kenya’s second largest city. A bypass route that looked good on Garmin turned out to be one of Garmin’s little jokes – instead of a short city bypass, it routed us three hours back to a small village and then another two hours back to the far side of the Mombasa. Fortunately we caught on to the trickery before going too far and with the best of u-turns we made it to our destination, the ferry across the Kilindini Harbor. Mid-day, hot, muggy, we sit with
the windows down and the engine off waiting our turn to board the ferry. Cold-drink sellers, as well as the far-from-fortunate, approach all the vehicles, not just us. Coins goes to the surprisingly many blind people. As with so many countries (including the US) there are disenfranchised adults just trying to get by everywhere we go. I cannot help but feel sorrowful for them; as adults they are aware of how difficult life is and will likely continue to be. Children have a bit of an advantage – family, orphanages, churches tend to them, at least until they are emancipated. Adults have few
options and that is a shame no matter what country is responsible.
s went by we realized we’d been paired with the ideal guide. Mesfin is easy going, a native of Lalibela and a man who has friends everywhere – friends were constantly stopping to shoulder bump him as Ethiopians do. “Dogs are my favorite animal” he announces one day. Why do people eat dog? he asks. A dog could be your best friend and who eats their best friend? Ha. We couldn’t answer that. We drove along listening to Mesfin’s music – much of it Ethiopian and good, with the occasional American country music song thrown in. “I love country music” he says. We brought a good selection of music, including country (Waylon and Willie, the classics) but the incompatibility of iTunes kept us from sharing. I did not offer to sing. No one complained about that.
From Danakil, Lalibela is a good day and a half drive through the mountainous region. And it’s not like you go over one mountain pass and down the other side. We drive through so many mountain ranges I wondered if we would ever get down. Ethiopia has 70 percent of Africa’s highest elevations – the scenery is of endless peaks. Camels are left behind, exchanged for donkeys; 99 percent of the donkeys look exactly alike. As with the camels, the donkeys wander aimlessly about everywhere looking for food and water. How does anyone tell their donkey from their neighbors’? Mesfin tells me that at the end of the day the animals know where home is. OK but only because Mesfin says so.
confusing – these were carved from granite that covers the ground . . .exactly how? Gradually it becomes more clear – the early buildings were carved from the top down and moats (for lack of a better word) were dug around the planned structure so excess rock could be removed. And now is the time to ask, who planned the structures? Who were the architects of these massive straight-sided buildings? Who were the crew bosses and the crew? Were they slaves or did they receive compensation? Or did they just work for the glory of God and King Lalibela? There had to be plans or drawings or scratches on stone that dictated what happened where and when and by whom. How did the finished crosses, for instance, become perfectly matched on all four corners without some form of direction? My head is spinning. We are told that most of the written history was destroyed in the 15th century. Somewhat like 
the pyramids, there is a mysterious air here. The rock churches continue to be used for services every day. As long as the Ethiopian Orthodox Christian priests don’t question who is responsible for the great structures, no one else will worry about it. Gotta love a good christian mystery.
Looking at the massive area of Saint Georges’ church, I cannot imagine how the people would manage that, especially if they just finished carving the rocks. That would be an insult.
thiopia all the volcanic activity produces hot pots, boiling sulphur water and startlingly colorful pools. Not that a soak in a hot springs is on the agenda; unlike at home serious heat is the norm here and a cool pond would be more welcome. The Danakil is said to be the hottest place on Earth; temperatures regularly reach over 50c – that’s about 122f, if you don’t have Goggle open. November is the “cooler” month; there is a breeze to evaporate sweat, plenty of water to drink, and all in all it is not so uncomfortable for us tourists.
world and it started with rising up on two legs. Standing up gave us the advantage needed to become the most important mammal species on the planet. We don’t know the details – there’s that pesky 11 million years missing in the fossil record between an arboreal primate and an upright striding hominid – but we do know our cooling system works. Near Danakil in the hellishly hot Harar region Dr. Johanson discovered the famous Lucy fossil, she who stood on her two legs three million+ years ago. Her upright stance kept the sun’s radiation to a minimum and exposed more of her body to the cooling breeze offering her the opportunity to forage in the day’s heat while predators languished in the shade. Subsequent evolutionary adaptations gave us different hair – we have as many hairs as chimpanzee do, but ours are short and fine. They don’t inhibit sw
eat from reaching the surface where the breeze will cool us. Humans can survive in this cruel landscape but I wouldn’t want to do it naked like Lucy.
ith no preamble the guides lead us to what appears to be another hot pot, bubbles popping up and spreading slowly about the 20ft square pool. But then the guides reach their hands into the pool – how crazy is that! The pool isn’t filled with water, it is full of oil. Magnesium in the rocks mixed with who knows what else has created a pool of warm light oil. It runs nearly clear off our hands; some people fill bottles with it and we rub it on our wind-dried legs. I want to jump in, it is so amazing. I hope we don’t come back here one day and find an expensive spa at this magical pool.
caravans travel days across the desert carrying blocks of salt carved right from the ground, then they return for more. Salt is mined in likely the most arduous and lowest paying work in the country. Men chop a sizable section from the salt pan using axes then they pry it up using a long beveled pole polished smooth with use. A special tool is used to break up the big section into the correct size block (about five kilograms); blocks are stacked up to be loaded on the camels and on it goes. The men are whippet-thin, wearing sunglasses and colorful socks to protect from the constant exposure to the element. As we are leaving the breeze became a wind and sand begins to fill the air. The 
relatively comfortable conditions decline rapidly. We were fortunate to have seen this place so easily but the salt miners will stay through any circumstance and as our guide Haile said, they never complain. The camels do, they bawl and honk and spit, but as a beast of burden in this unforgiving place they are unsurpassed.
“We will drive to the volcano today and hike to the top tonight” our guide Mesfin announces in greeting at the Mekele airport. We’ve flown to this northeastern town from Addis Ababa and are off to a running start on our tour. There is a hint of regret that we did not attempt driving here. With all the ground we have covered in the Beagle, what’s one more country to pass through? Still, the language barrier is severe in this vastly different county where Amarhic is spoken more than English, and the alphabet is more akin to Sanskrit than anything else. For many reasons it was a good idea to leave the Beagle at JJ’s in Nairobi and fly into Ethiopia.
and I take time to find a chemist, which involved wandering through rock-strewn alleys following a little boy who knew the way to the chemist storefront. We buy some Panadol – I am definitely feeling trepidation for the four-hour volcano hike. In a windblown sandy town we pick up a camel driver and a guard. It takes 1.5 hours to do the final 15 kilometers. Deep sand and sharp lava rocks pave the way and in the distance we can see the glow of Erta Ale. I imagine everyone is thinking of “The Lord of the Rings” and Frodo’s trek to Mount Doom. I know I am.
just. The trek begins on flat desert ground and we wind our way along, stopping twice to rest. The cup of heavily sugared coffee I drank for dinner is serving its purpose. At first it is exhilarating to be in the desert in darkness but after a couple of hours it is simply a trudge, and well past our bedtime. Shadows created by my headlamp become surreal. No one speaks much. At last we arrive to the rim of the caldera, weaving around with fatigue in the darkness. It is still another few minutes to the very edge of the volcano; dropping packs and readying cameras energizes everyone. We climb down a cliff toward the glow.
e, exiting into this new vent. Everything changed instantly. Looking into the crater now reveals magma flowing east to west, pouring down into a cauldron of fire but it is not close to the rim. Wind moves the magma and it rises like the sea, dashing onto rocks and flying into the air. Glowing red, magenta, orange and black, it is still mesmerizing. Two hours later we climb back to the sleeping camp where guides have laid our foam pads on the ground. I drop onto mine wearing the clothes I’ve been in for two days and I don’t remember anything else.
entrance. The dinosaur resembles a T-rex but beyond that it is difficult to discern which dinosaur it is as there is no interpretive sign. Plus it looks like a cartoon character. What does that bode for the inside of the museum?
interpretation needed, is the sheer overwhelming number of birds that live in or visit East Africa. Hail this bird paradise. The piddly few I have seen and recorded are nearly embarrassing to contemplate. I feel like I’ve been birding this whole time with blinders on, missing far more than I see. The Bird Hall is both inspiring and humbling – and I hope it is next on the renovation list. There is so much more to birds than their names and a stuffed specimen.
r to the renovation, done in a 50’s style taxidermy. But I suppose that is better than going out and shooting new specimens, right? This most impressive elephant is a main display and was far too big for a good photo. Ahmed, as he was called, acquired national protection from the government when local people were afraid he’d be poached for his incredible tusks. These aren’t the biggest or heaviest tusks but they are nearly perfectly symmetrical. Ahmed died of natural causes and now is immortalized in the museum. A lucky pachyderm indeed.
appearance we read of Aegyptopithecus, Proconsul and Kenyapithecus and their progeny which became the primates. Moving along (very slowly) there are then the missing years, millions of them. We know almost nothing about an eleven-million year time span between primates and hominid formation. The museum makes no apologies for what it does not know. Nor does it question evolution or ask you to consider creationism. Time and chance are the creators here.
around Turkana – what was it that drew the fossil hunter to that very spot? I imagine he must have lost his mind when he realized what he was looking at. Only the brow crown was visible in the rock matrix. Beneath the rocks and scattered about were fossilized bones of such importance you might conclude they were laid there on purpose to be found by us, millions of years later. What a rush.
Rudolphenisis, Habilis, Robutus, and the others. It is breathtaking. I am moved to tears – I cannot believe it. Of course these skulls have been a part of science since their discovery but until now they have not been so beautifully and publicly displayed. Here is Proconsul, where it is thought the primate family tree began. Here is Paranthropus aethiopicus or Black Skull, so-called for the patina it acquired while it laid around waiting to be found. In the center display case is the wonder of Kenya, the amazingly complete Turkana Boy. Turkana Boy was likely between 12 and 18 when he died 1.5 million years ago. How could such delicate bones survive for that impossible amount of time? How did the whole of his lineage survive? Yet here we are, looking at him. We are his cousins, the survivors.
driving through larger and larger towns. The industry here is flowers – and if you think that sounds pleasant, growing flowers for the floral trade, think again. In order to produce at scale for the European market, every effort is made to grow flowers better and faster. Herbicides, pesticides, fungicides, fertilizers, and any other means are used to keep up with the trade. Greenhouses line Lake Naivasha and its surrounds and the industry does employ many if mostly unskilled labor. Still, the flower trade is here to stay. Kenya does impress us in that it gets things done. There is industry. They aren’t trying to compete with China of course but they have jobs albeit without western-style regulations. They say it with flowers, you know.
hiopia to see the Afar Depression and the stone churches of Lalibela. We are leaving the Beagle in Kenya and taking a tour – looking forward to seeing how the tour operators do things. It will be a vacation.
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