And then the chicken got on...

I'm typing to the sounds of Justin Bieber, even here in Lamu. My grade 9 girls would be thrilled!

The bus ride to Nairobi (less affectionately known as Nai-robbery) pales in comparison to the terrifying one from Malindi to Mokowe, on the coast. Thus, it'll not get coverage. Riding through dusty fields around road blocks, all seems so pastoral. There is little we can say about Nairobi. It seems to lack some heart or character. We were well-warned about all sorts of terrible things that could happen to us, so we didn't go out after 6:30. We stayed in a western suburb called Lavington, a middle-class suburb. Everyone here has a guard, a gate, and a surrounding wall topped with barbed-wire. And loud, barking dogs. Quite welcoming, really.

We camped at Upper Hill Campsite; it was really nice to finally come into contact with other travelers. We ventured into Nairobi's downtown. It was the first place we found real coffee. However, though we walked and walked, there was not much to do. We visited the elephant orphanage and met Kim's adoptee. We held off going to the national museum - we'll need something to do for that one day at the end of April before we fly out! We did the downtown core and walked six kilometers home. The architecture here seems to be that of the Brutalist-style, circa 1967. No remarkable buildings (hence, no pictures, other than Kibera, which intrigues me greatly). Anyway, we got out quickly - three days - and took an overnight train to Mombasa. Cost about 46$ each for our private sleeper. The train dates back to the 1970's (early) and does the cleaning. But it was a comfortable home for a night. Getting back to the coast meant getting back to extreme heat and humidity.

In Mombasa, it averaged 34 degrees - and with humidity, according to the forecast, it felt like 41 or 42. Mombasa was great; we really enjoyed it. Again, not much to do (visited Fort Jesus), but a great town to walk around in. Really, really safe and the people are nice. They reminded us that they were not like people in Nairobi. It is a fascinating town with Christians, Moslems, Hindus, etc., and they live well together. The food here was fabulous - shawaramas and curries abound! And cheap! It was the first time we really found cheap and delicious food.

It has become very clear to me why Muslim numbers are growing. There are mosques everywhere - and they are always open and welcoming (except to women). They are filled with young and old... On the other hand, any church we've seen is closed and locked and open at particular times. The mosques are most lively at night; it's amazing to watch. Every morning we are greeted by the muezzin, and every night, we settle down to the same call to prayer. The other day we saw a shirt that read: Islam is peace. Getting away from CNN coverage, one really starts to see that this assertion is believable.

We left Mombasa for Watamu, another coastal town facing complete take-over by enormous Italian tour-groups; so is the next town upcoast called Malindi. We spent four hours in Malindi waiting for the bus-ride from hell. Luckily, there was one "Karen Blixen's Cafe" that was open - nothing else. Here, we watched Italians (many bra-less aging women) gather to eat breakfast, while smoking and shouting. Idyllic, really. Italians are killing the Swahili Coast, from Zanzibar to Lamu island.

Najaah, the bus company, is DEAD to us. And it should be to you, should you come to Kenya's coast. Owen and I thought that this was the end of the road for us. 228 kilometers of sheer panic. The sound of the brakes was deafening, a high-pitched, piercing whine that I first believed to be the screaming in my head. It was purportedly an "express" bus; however, after our fourth stop within 30 kms, Owen and I realised we'd been sold a bill of goods. We left at 12:10 and arrived at the Mokowe pier at 5:35. Not bad, considering; but we aged tremendously. Just when you couldn't pack another person on, the bus stopped and on they got... with their goods, foods, children, and animals. One man even put his motorcycle on top of the bus. I guess the price of gas got him down... Seemingly, people don't like to move to the back. They jammed the aisles, especially around Owen. Many elbows to the head, ribs, asses in his face as they stood... he remained remarkably calm. The road north is a disaster. There are nothing but potholes and rocks (a Montrealer doesn't know how good he has it). Then there was 50 or 70 kilometers that are unpaved. Better than the paved, believe it not. But really dusty. People yelling to each other. Bus manager yelling at people to sit (where, I'm not sure). The rooster was well-behaved, but I didn't like the look of him. Mangy. And then, there was the 50 kilometer detour... five more stops. In the middle of nowhere!

*We learned this was one of the more dangerous routes in Kenya and for many years, the army has had a presence on the buses. Ours was graced with not one, but two gun-toting soldiers.

We finally arrived at the Lamu pier, around 6:00. And I'm not leaving. Not for awhile. When I do, it'll be by plane to Nairobi. Lamu is incredible. No cars. No horns. The main forms of transport in this tiny town are foot, donkey, and dhow. Love it. Found a roof-top apartment which we are renting for many, many days.

Time to move on... the sounds of Celine Dion, again. Happy St. Patrick's Day, Matty's favourite day of the year...

Owen standing at the bus station: Naajah... grrr...