With tying the knot at the end of July and having enjoyed a few lazy days on the Isle of Man soaking up the local atmosphere of Electric Trams and Manx cuisine (Good honest Italian fayre) my new wife and I headed to Ronaldsway airport. Our first port of call was London and on the plane Clair realised that she had left her jacket in the departure lounge. The Hostess was duly summoned and it was located. However not ones to use common sense and just bring it aboard, Clair was told to pick it up on return to the Island. Needless to say it was never seen again...So a good start. Having screeched the wheels down at Gatwick for the first time this holiday, we made haste to the Sofitel (I don't know what this means but I'm guessing hotel was melted into it, and soft what?) - It was good value and good food (my glass of wine alone came to half of the meal total - best £60 we ever spent) - No I jest. And browsing the in-room TV entertainment I simply had to lay my card behind reception. Honeymoon bedroom antics? I know what you're thinking and yes I am full of romance, but it's not every night you get to chill out to Aliens in the Attic. After a leasurely breakfast we headed to the Airport, but not before I had to go back to our room to rescue my jacket this time. We had an aeon to wait for our flight to Mombassa, so this was killed by parading the usual shops, laughing at the usual people whilst sitting sighing in those seats you pick out like a hawk - "Quick - there's two seats there with nobody adjoining - Go!" A majority of time was killed by reading our latest purchases from WH Smith's. I just wish I was the guy sitting opposite us with a camera. Clair is absorbed in the tear-jerking "I miss my Mummy" - a heartbraking tale of a little child's confusion at why she cannot live with her beloved parents and is frightened to show her true emotion to those close to her. Next to her I am reading Frankie Boyle's biography "My Shit Life So Far" - If I had a photo of that one, it would be my wallpaper. My actual wallpaper.
Bing Bong. Get to Gate 952, your flight to Mombassa is being checked for grenades. By that point I wouldn't have cared if there was a 50% chance of getting blown up, I was on that flight. Now I'm not a snob, but being in Premium class does have it's advantages over the paupers, I mean economy class. For instance, you are called first to board which means you can slowly walk past the rest of the cattle with a little smirk on your face that says "I'm better than you" or simply "Schmer, by the time you get on I'll be on my 3rd Champagne" -Which wasn't far from the truth really....Of course the big advantage is the leg-room, not that a plane is anywhere I've been able to sleep for any length of time. After the brandy, my overnight flight consisted of watching every dross available and then again like a zombie on skunk. Unfortunatly for Clair it consisted of constant visits to the lav. It was now that I learned that Clair doesn't do flights over 4 hours. And this was nearly 9. Shit.
We finally touched down at Mombassa Airport around 7am local time and was relieved we'd sorted our visas out beforehand. The queues were stupid, and after an all night flight was the last thing I could be arsed with. We got through the usual glares at security and was vagually told our coach was somewhere up the road and on the right. Before I knew it there were locals nabbing our cases and taking them to the coach. "How nice" I thought before slipping him probably a months wages in Kenyan schillings (ok I was tired and just threw the first note I found at him) - The coach journey was a bit of a killer too both physically and mentally. Pot-holes are clearly a mainstay and it doesn't matter where you go on the road as long as you avoid them. Most of the time this meant driving in the ditch next to the actual road. This hurt the arse and spine, but seeing the way the majority live on the streets breaks your heart. If you have a corrugated iron roof you are a toff. If you have a roof you are middle class. If you have a hut you are stable. You know where I'm going with this so I won't hammer the point but it's desperately sad.
There is no easy way to link that with arriving at our amazing resort without sounding like a complete bastard, so I won't even try but it does give you a tinge of guilt regardless.
JAMBO was screamed at us as we stepped down from the coach but before I struck out at anyone I learnt that Jambo was Kenyan for Hello. OK, I'll let them off this time. Our room was awsome, no TV which was a refreshing change and a great view over the Indian Ocean. I never made it out onto the balcony for the wild monkeys. They were everywhere, and would groom themselves madly on the balcony whilst looking for crisps. You are advised on arrival not to feed them or leave your balcony door open as they will ransack the place so I wasn't being cruel I just laughed every time the monkey family sent up it's smallest, cutest monkey to gaze through the window longingly for breakfast to tempt you. In our room the staff had carfully laid towels crafted into swans that looped into a heart shape on our bed, a bottle of plonk and an invitaion to a special honeymoon dinner by the management which was nice. I was impressed by the standard of food that set the tone for a week-long love affair with everything from buttered courgettes to a goat on a spit. At every meal there were a minimum of 5 chefs cooking in front of you and every step of the way the staff were attentive and simply loved guests. Which is always a bonus. I was almost expecting (well hoping) on our Safari overnight stop in a hotel on sticks in the middle of the Tsavo for the Manager to say "Can I ask what you expect to see out of a Kenyan bedroom window? Herds of Wilderbeast sweeping majestically accross the plains?" Just so I could say "Well, Yes" - Now I won't mention much about the Safari itself apart from it was awsome and seen almost everything I wanted too but one point of note I must mention was our driver. Brian. From the off it appeared he was a novice as he tended to follow the other drivers and would not bleat on about the history of every animal we saw, and that's if he said anything at all. He would usually just drive on leaving us guessing what the hell that horned thing was in the distance. I can let him off for that but when your road is crossed by a herd of angry elephants I expected a bit of assertiveness from Brian. No. Instead, he turned to us and said "Do you think it's safe to drive through?" - Now I'm not afraid to mix it up with the big boys but I've seen the size of their shit. And that aint good. I advised Brian to make a ewe turn (it's eyes watered) - Sorry, and we swiftly fled.
The second day started normally enough before a huge disaster unfolded before our eyes which threatened to ruin our whole honeymoon. Clair had left her Shampoo at Gatwick. To the untrained ear it sounded like I was caught with another woman. And her husband. With the cat. I eventually explained to my darling wife that we could "get through this" and we taxied it to the local supermarket to get some shampoo. OK it's not "thee" shampoo but she shrugged and said "It'll do" - I smiled and got myself some crisp snacks and some sweet tasting biscuits. That night at the bar I realised there were some things you should never joke about with Kenyan barmen. We got talking and I said I was on honeymoon and said I'd find him a woman back home to marry. Big mistake. He came over later and said "I'm only working tonight, you find me woman - shhh I don't want the boss finding out" - When he went off, I decided it was time to dart into the restaraunt to avoid thrashing out a financial deal.
Another obvious thing but has to be said is how utterly annoying the French are. These two garlic gasbags didn't do much but talk. And talk. And talk and.....I wanted to throttle them but eventually just had some sick fantasies about them falling into the lion's den. Eventually even he would have to spit the crap out for the vultures to feed on.
They had nightly entertainment at the resort which was conducted in what was called the porini ampitheatre. Mostly it was African music and dancing which was great, one charted the whole history of the African race through music which was amazing. However the highlight has to be their production of "Mama Mia" - It was quality, you just don't expect to see Kenyans doing a show involving a Swedish groups music. The singing was all mimed but it was mimed to African voices - which baffled me a bit!
I'm getting bored now and I bet you are too so here's a few final tips for Kenyan Travel:
1. Don't say cheese for photographs, say spaghetti
2. If the guy at the market says it's x amount of schillings, halve it and that's about right
3. Don't feed monkeys crisps, they shit on your balcony - CLAIR
4. Charge your video camera and camera BEFORE you go on Safari.
5. You can never say Jambo enough.
Until next time - JAMBO!
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