So a lot of my friends and acquaintances know me as a runner chick. Always running some marathon or (god help me) an ultramarathon. I'm not infallible and sometimes I fall off the running wagon and don't run for an extended period of time. OK - for me an extended period of time is like, well, a week. But still........I'm trying to prove that I'm human too.
I've run hundreds of races, dozens of marathons and one ultramarathon (that would be 50 miles, nonstop, in case you're wondering. check out http://www.keys100.com/ if you want to follow in my blistered footsteps. It's awesome). I've run in the morning, in the evening, in the dead of night, in the rain (hate when that happens), in the snow, in the freezing cold, during a hurricane and on some insanely beautiful and frighteningly ugly courses and trails.
I know the old chestnut - why do I run? Because it feels so good when I stop. Which is actually partially true. Also because a beer or a margarita never tastes as good as after a marathon. And because I was born with the tendency to not be built like my good friends Joy and Leticia - all tall and lithe and slender. If I didn't run or do something I would probably resemble tweedledee or humpty dumpty. Not a good look for me. And because it does allow me to travel to places to run a particular race without that tourist thing - I'm not a tourist - I'm here for a purpose - to run the Boston/New Orleans/Anchorage/Marine Corps/NYC marathon....And because it is cheaper than a gym membership, doesn't include those scary pilates torture devices and does not require me to learn neither intricate dance moves nor to hold poses for an extended period of time (I also, alas, was not born with grace or balance).
But the main reason why I run....the real reason why I run......is twofold - and sounds a little schizo. I run for the camaraderie AND the solitude.
Let me explain......In this world of increasingly less contact with people, running does offer a sense of community. This is such a digital age - you can be "friends" with someone you've never met, you can conduct meetings over thousands of miles and you can "phone in" your work, a report, a story, a pitch without ever having to leave your bedroom. The computer and cell phone and television are kings and while they have made the world smaller (I actually have friends and a client in Kenya. KENYA!) they have also made it more difficult to get together in person (I have friends, BEST FRIENDS, that I see like once every six months - you know who you are).....then one thing you can't do, though, is run a virtual race. Yes, I know. I hear you. Nike has tried that. Marketed it. Doesn't work. Stupid. Just a way to get your money. Even I, the running obsessed would not give Nike my money so I can run a marathon alone while other people are running alone wherever they are at the same time - would you? I will say this to you now, the road race, the marathon, the ultra marathon, the relay will continue to grow as a sport, a community event, a way to meet people.
So I run for the camaraderie. Because for the past seven years or so, every time Fall rolls around, I run with a team and train them for a race. And every Saturday at 5 am in the dark as I mix gatorade and drag Jack out of bed to walk dogs or something (because he joins me) I complain. And Jack complains. And I love every second of it. It's a rite of fall. It's seeing my friends. It's the joy I get when they are faster or stronger or have accomplished something great.
It's at the start of a large marathon being in a group of 20,000-40,000 other people who have the exact same goal as you. The same eye on the prize. It's at mile 13 or 26 or at the finish line when you talk to strangers on the course, sharing a gel or a helping hand to someone struggling that you don't even know and hearing complete and total strangers cheer for you like you're a rock star or a celebrity.
It's knowing that most of the people I cherish most on this earth are runners and that they embody the spirit of goodness. That they all have jobs, families, responsibilities yet still run and more often than not, raise money for a charity as well because I've found runners to be really good people. With hearts to match their appetites.
And there's the solitude.....Because sometimes after a long particularly difficult day of worries about job, bills, stress, obligations, sickness, loss....there is nothing more cathartic than putting on my shoes and running on the beach. Sometimes to music on the ipod. Sometimes to the music of the surf. But the world and it's petty and not so petty worries melt away. Running has kept me sane many many times over.
On second thought - it could be for the free t-shirts........
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Freezing on the Equator
One of the places we visited in Kenya was Porini Rhino Camp. Porini Rhino Camp is located in the ol Pejeta conservancy in Nanyuki, Kenya. Nanyuki is located on the Equator. It's also located in the foothills of the Abadare mountain range and is at an elevation if over 6,000 ft. When you think of Africa, especially Kenya, especially being on the equator - you think of, well - hot weather. At least I do. And living in Miami for the past four years, that's a good thing because I totally gave up any tollerance for cold weather whatsoever and now am a total heat dweller - if it gets below 65 degrees, I'm shutting down...
So we fly into the Nanyuki airstrip - which by Kenya standards is a huge airport - they even have a giftshop and restaurant (Barnies). We land and see the airstrip on the equator sign - pretty remarkable. This is also the place to see rhino, wild dogs and cheetah - promising so far. we get into the land rover and make our way to camp - it's about a 2 hour trip to camp but these rides also double as game rides so the time goes by slowly when you are searching for rhino and zebra.
This conservancy has a rich history - it was actually owned by Lord Delamere from Out of Africa fame. The conservancy also was the home at one point to Adnan Khasoggi. There is the Jane Goodal Chimpanzee Refuge on this land and at 90,000 acres, is the largest rhino conservation area in Kenya. The land is much more lush than in Amboselli, which was more desert-like and much drier. And the mountains - you can see Mt. Kenya in the distance - beautiful and snow capped. Simply breathtaking.
We arrive at the camp and meet the camp manager, Ben. I immediately love this guy - he is all smiles and stories. It's apparent that he loves where he is and what he does and also loves to hear as well as tell a good story. Ben will spend every breakfast lunch and dinner with us as our host, our dinner guest and our entertainment - and this is most welcome by us.
We have a walk with Maasai in the conservancy and a lovely lunch under a giant tree - most wonderful. We then go for our traditional sundowner (unlike thanksgiving and christmas dinners with dysfunctional families - this, my friends, is a tradition worth taking note of. As far as traditions go, this is one that everyone should take up). Sundowners are just as they sound - you have a cocktail as the sun goes down. Only here, you're taken by open land rover to a hilltop, a campfire is made for you and you have a "bush" gin and tonic (no ice in the bush) while watching a mother cheetah teach her almost grown cubs to hunt. Does it get any better? I don't think so (but I'm open to it).
I am so fascinated that I don't realize the sun going down means the night setting in. And our guides bringing out down jackets for themselves make me think I'm in for a long night! By the time we get back to camp, I'm hiding under layers of traditional Maasai blankets. Who turned down the hear? This is Africa! When the hell did it get to be about 40 degrees F? Huh? Before dinner we literally put on every layer of clothing we have -I totally look like a crazy person - wearing black socks with my hiking sandals, a baseball cap - yup - this is my sexy honeymoon look alright! Hot hot hot!
Another wonderful meal with Ben, a chat by the fire (warmth) and then it's off to our tent. I'm in the bathroom and Jack gets into bed and I hear a scream - "there's an animal in our bed"! Shit - what kind of little furry thing with large teeth got into the tent? Too big for a real predator - maybe a mongoose? Jack is out of the bed by now - (let's get this straight - Jack is a real guy. He flies planes for a living. He does things in the air that make me sick thinking of it. He would walk a tightrope from our building on the 16th floor to the one across the street without thinking twice. But....when it comes to critters, especially spiders - that's my department). I pull the covers and it's....a.......hot water bottle. covered in a fuzzy material to make it cuddlier, I guess. We hear the Maasai guard ask if we're alright - we say yes - I'm sure he gets this every night.
The bed is really cozy - just me, Jack and our Nanyuki pet....the hot water bottle.
So we fly into the Nanyuki airstrip - which by Kenya standards is a huge airport - they even have a giftshop and restaurant (Barnies). We land and see the airstrip on the equator sign - pretty remarkable. This is also the place to see rhino, wild dogs and cheetah - promising so far. we get into the land rover and make our way to camp - it's about a 2 hour trip to camp but these rides also double as game rides so the time goes by slowly when you are searching for rhino and zebra.
This conservancy has a rich history - it was actually owned by Lord Delamere from Out of Africa fame. The conservancy also was the home at one point to Adnan Khasoggi. There is the Jane Goodal Chimpanzee Refuge on this land and at 90,000 acres, is the largest rhino conservation area in Kenya. The land is much more lush than in Amboselli, which was more desert-like and much drier. And the mountains - you can see Mt. Kenya in the distance - beautiful and snow capped. Simply breathtaking.
We arrive at the camp and meet the camp manager, Ben. I immediately love this guy - he is all smiles and stories. It's apparent that he loves where he is and what he does and also loves to hear as well as tell a good story. Ben will spend every breakfast lunch and dinner with us as our host, our dinner guest and our entertainment - and this is most welcome by us.
We have a walk with Maasai in the conservancy and a lovely lunch under a giant tree - most wonderful. We then go for our traditional sundowner (unlike thanksgiving and christmas dinners with dysfunctional families - this, my friends, is a tradition worth taking note of. As far as traditions go, this is one that everyone should take up). Sundowners are just as they sound - you have a cocktail as the sun goes down. Only here, you're taken by open land rover to a hilltop, a campfire is made for you and you have a "bush" gin and tonic (no ice in the bush) while watching a mother cheetah teach her almost grown cubs to hunt. Does it get any better? I don't think so (but I'm open to it).
I am so fascinated that I don't realize the sun going down means the night setting in. And our guides bringing out down jackets for themselves make me think I'm in for a long night! By the time we get back to camp, I'm hiding under layers of traditional Maasai blankets. Who turned down the hear? This is Africa! When the hell did it get to be about 40 degrees F? Huh? Before dinner we literally put on every layer of clothing we have -I totally look like a crazy person - wearing black socks with my hiking sandals, a baseball cap - yup - this is my sexy honeymoon look alright! Hot hot hot!
Another wonderful meal with Ben, a chat by the fire (warmth) and then it's off to our tent. I'm in the bathroom and Jack gets into bed and I hear a scream - "there's an animal in our bed"! Shit - what kind of little furry thing with large teeth got into the tent? Too big for a real predator - maybe a mongoose? Jack is out of the bed by now - (let's get this straight - Jack is a real guy. He flies planes for a living. He does things in the air that make me sick thinking of it. He would walk a tightrope from our building on the 16th floor to the one across the street without thinking twice. But....when it comes to critters, especially spiders - that's my department). I pull the covers and it's....a.......hot water bottle. covered in a fuzzy material to make it cuddlier, I guess. We hear the Maasai guard ask if we're alright - we say yes - I'm sure he gets this every night.
The bed is really cozy - just me, Jack and our Nanyuki pet....the hot water bottle.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Hemingway and I
I am a complete and total animal rights activist. I want animals to be protected and to live out their lives free from hunting, torturing and being caged. I could no more think of eating a burger or wearing a fur than I could eating and wearing my dog. It's that insane a thought.
So it always seems strange to me that I am so fascinated by Earnest Hemingway. There are some reasons - we share a birthday (July 21st), we share a fascination and love of Key West, Cuba, drinking and the written word. I think we might have been friends, if he could be friends with a woman (and I think he could have. In fact I think contrary to popular belief he loved and respected women. If you read his books you'll know what I mean). But he was a hunter. A fisherman. He loved bullfights. I was in Key West, as I am in Key West every July 21st for OUR birthday (mine and Hemingway's). There was a thunderstorm of biblical proportions and we ducked into the local bookstore (Island Books - wonderful place). I looked at the obligatory Hemingway section and found "Hunting with Hemingway", Hemingway on Hunting", Blood in the Afternoon" and other Hemingway books on hunting, bullfighting, etc. So interesting.
After the rain stopped, I walked over to the Hemingway House. Hemingway left a trust for his cats and their descendants to be cared for. His biography said he never got over the loss of his dog, Black Dog. And that his cats were his sole writing companions. I spoke to Hemingway (it's said his ghost is attracted by the Hemingway celebrations during his birthday and comes back to the tiny Island City of Key West). I asked him why the duality?
Well, Ernest didn't answer me (though I did get an orb in my picture), but I think I got the answer on my own. Hemingway was a product of his time and so much more. I think he loved women and animals. I think he suffered from manic depression and had suicidal tendencies. I think he was very sensitive and sad and masked that with every macho thing he could do. I think he bought into the hunting to save the animals hoo haw. To be macho. To hide the pain.
Much has been written about Hemingway - good and bad. It's been written that he hunted hyena with a machine gun, but that he respected all the large cats he killed. It's been written that he adored all his cats and dogs and tried to save the stray dogs of Cuba. It's also been written that after two failed suicide attempts, his last wife unlocked the keys to the gun chest and let him know she did it.
There are many ghost stories about Key West. In Key West it's not only possible but likely that an author who had some good years in an island paradise should want to roam the town, stopping in to Sloppy Joe's for a drink and having a good chuckle about the Hemingway lookalike contests and the riding of the bulls down Duval Street even years after his death. If Hemingway does roam Key West, we'll meet someday. And I'll finally get to tell him my theory about him - that he felt way too much.....
So it always seems strange to me that I am so fascinated by Earnest Hemingway. There are some reasons - we share a birthday (July 21st), we share a fascination and love of Key West, Cuba, drinking and the written word. I think we might have been friends, if he could be friends with a woman (and I think he could have. In fact I think contrary to popular belief he loved and respected women. If you read his books you'll know what I mean). But he was a hunter. A fisherman. He loved bullfights. I was in Key West, as I am in Key West every July 21st for OUR birthday (mine and Hemingway's). There was a thunderstorm of biblical proportions and we ducked into the local bookstore (Island Books - wonderful place). I looked at the obligatory Hemingway section and found "Hunting with Hemingway", Hemingway on Hunting", Blood in the Afternoon" and other Hemingway books on hunting, bullfighting, etc. So interesting.
After the rain stopped, I walked over to the Hemingway House. Hemingway left a trust for his cats and their descendants to be cared for. His biography said he never got over the loss of his dog, Black Dog. And that his cats were his sole writing companions. I spoke to Hemingway (it's said his ghost is attracted by the Hemingway celebrations during his birthday and comes back to the tiny Island City of Key West). I asked him why the duality?
Well, Ernest didn't answer me (though I did get an orb in my picture), but I think I got the answer on my own. Hemingway was a product of his time and so much more. I think he loved women and animals. I think he suffered from manic depression and had suicidal tendencies. I think he was very sensitive and sad and masked that with every macho thing he could do. I think he bought into the hunting to save the animals hoo haw. To be macho. To hide the pain.
Much has been written about Hemingway - good and bad. It's been written that he hunted hyena with a machine gun, but that he respected all the large cats he killed. It's been written that he adored all his cats and dogs and tried to save the stray dogs of Cuba. It's also been written that after two failed suicide attempts, his last wife unlocked the keys to the gun chest and let him know she did it.
There are many ghost stories about Key West. In Key West it's not only possible but likely that an author who had some good years in an island paradise should want to roam the town, stopping in to Sloppy Joe's for a drink and having a good chuckle about the Hemingway lookalike contests and the riding of the bulls down Duval Street even years after his death. If Hemingway does roam Key West, we'll meet someday. And I'll finally get to tell him my theory about him - that he felt way too much.....
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Night Pride In Kenya
First of all, let me first say that I have been fascinated and obsessed with lions all my life. And that is not an exaggeration. When I was maybe three or four I saw Born Free. I think it must have been on TV because it came out I think the year I was born. But I remember being obsessed with Elsa the lion afterward. I remember going to the bookstore and getting my first "grown up book" which was Born Free. I remember the couple that owned the bookstore (at that early age I was one of their best customers and would be taken there every Sunday for my weekly books) wasn't sure that I was ready for the foray into grown up books but sold it to me anyway.
So anyway, when I went to Kenya, I wanted to see lions. Finally lions face to face. To see a lion free like Elsa was. Not in a cage. Not in a zoo, but the way she was supposed to be. I also secretly thought that any lion in Kenya could possibly be a blood relative to my Elsa.
We had gotten to Porini Lion Camp in the Masai Mara late in the day. We were supposed to have gotten there early but our regional flight was very late and we had spent three hours at our airstrip in Nanuki, four hours in Nairobi and finally gotten to the Mara at close to dusk. I was disappointed because this was LION CAMP - I figured that if the camp was named for lion, then we would see lion and we hadn't seen lion yet.
Then we heard magic words - would you like to do for a night drive after dinner? Hell yeah! We shared the land rover with a couple from England. They were more interested in birds in the daytime, but I guess the chance to see lions at night intrigued them, too. We drove for not more than a few miles and turned off the ignition. And all lights. It was pitch black and may I remind you that the land rover was completely open on all sides. We waited, then we heard them.
The roars. They're so deep that you feel them in your chest. It's that timbre of the roar that's so impressive. And so many. The feeling that you're surrounded by these large cunning predators. And this is their land. And their time of the day - night. When they have all the advantages. Our guide Kennedy, turned on a light and sure enough we were surrounded. I counted the lions. Thirty. Thirty in all. Jack and the English Couple got in the back of the land rover and stood as if to get farther away from the lions. I got closer - almost face to face with a lioness. I might never get this experience again and I was enraptured by these magnificent beasts. The lights went out again and the roars started. Deep. Thunderous. They came at us from all sides - the deep roar of the male calling to his pride then the roars of a few dozen females answering in a lion roll call.
Amongst all this one lone gazelle managed to lose her way into the pack of lions. At hunting time. Now I have to tell you that I do not ever for a minute fool myself into thinking that nature is dark and that life and death go hand in hand. I know that for every beautiful lion cub I see, equally beautiful gazelle and zebra die to feed that cub. I get it. I just don't really want to see it. But here is the gazelle. And here comes the lioness.
We watch the stalk, the stealth involved. Then, the chase. The lioness speeds up, she almost makes contact with the gazelle and then gets down to swipe the gazelles long legs out from under it with a giant paw.....and misses. The gazelle trots away and the lioness walks it off as if to say "I meant to let it get away". just like that the hunt is over. No second attempt. You get one chance and one chance only to be the hunter or the hunted. Life and death so close to each other you would think they are lovers.
We then leave the pride to a night of hunting and feeding. Amazing.
So anyway, when I went to Kenya, I wanted to see lions. Finally lions face to face. To see a lion free like Elsa was. Not in a cage. Not in a zoo, but the way she was supposed to be. I also secretly thought that any lion in Kenya could possibly be a blood relative to my Elsa.
We had gotten to Porini Lion Camp in the Masai Mara late in the day. We were supposed to have gotten there early but our regional flight was very late and we had spent three hours at our airstrip in Nanuki, four hours in Nairobi and finally gotten to the Mara at close to dusk. I was disappointed because this was LION CAMP - I figured that if the camp was named for lion, then we would see lion and we hadn't seen lion yet.
Then we heard magic words - would you like to do for a night drive after dinner? Hell yeah! We shared the land rover with a couple from England. They were more interested in birds in the daytime, but I guess the chance to see lions at night intrigued them, too. We drove for not more than a few miles and turned off the ignition. And all lights. It was pitch black and may I remind you that the land rover was completely open on all sides. We waited, then we heard them.
The roars. They're so deep that you feel them in your chest. It's that timbre of the roar that's so impressive. And so many. The feeling that you're surrounded by these large cunning predators. And this is their land. And their time of the day - night. When they have all the advantages. Our guide Kennedy, turned on a light and sure enough we were surrounded. I counted the lions. Thirty. Thirty in all. Jack and the English Couple got in the back of the land rover and stood as if to get farther away from the lions. I got closer - almost face to face with a lioness. I might never get this experience again and I was enraptured by these magnificent beasts. The lights went out again and the roars started. Deep. Thunderous. They came at us from all sides - the deep roar of the male calling to his pride then the roars of a few dozen females answering in a lion roll call.
Amongst all this one lone gazelle managed to lose her way into the pack of lions. At hunting time. Now I have to tell you that I do not ever for a minute fool myself into thinking that nature is dark and that life and death go hand in hand. I know that for every beautiful lion cub I see, equally beautiful gazelle and zebra die to feed that cub. I get it. I just don't really want to see it. But here is the gazelle. And here comes the lioness.
We watch the stalk, the stealth involved. Then, the chase. The lioness speeds up, she almost makes contact with the gazelle and then gets down to swipe the gazelles long legs out from under it with a giant paw.....and misses. The gazelle trots away and the lioness walks it off as if to say "I meant to let it get away". just like that the hunt is over. No second attempt. You get one chance and one chance only to be the hunter or the hunted. Life and death so close to each other you would think they are lovers.
We then leave the pride to a night of hunting and feeding. Amazing.
Friday, July 17, 2009
The Bat Cave
The thing I liked best about Nicaragua is that Granada, one of the main little towns in this country, has no gift shops, no souvenir shops and only one tour operator in the entire town. Perhaps because people still think of Contras and Sandinistas and poverty when they think of Nicaragua. I think of volcanos and lakes and Tona beer that's so cold you get a beer brain freeze.
We had spent the day climbing and exploring Mambacho, the largest volcano in that area. Mombacho is impressive and still considered active but no lava and no sulphur. I want my volcanos to be all hellish with fire and lava and acidic steam. I love volcanos. Obsessed with them. I wanted more. As we passed the tour operator on the way back to the little lodge we were staying at, I noticed a sign. This sign to me like probably heroin to an addict. The sign simply said - See the Bats and Lava at Volcan' Masaya at Night. OK - we had been to Masaya volcano already - impressive in that it was very active and stank of sulphur and everything around it was dead because of the poisonous gasses. But we hadn't seen lava and we hadn't seen bats. I was in! Jack opted to go to the little pool and have a caprihiana. Most people would have agreed with his plans.
So I get on a bus, myself. The lone female american tourista off to see the bats and the lava. We stopped at the Masaya Market (a traditional place where you can but everything from fruit to fish to clay pots to god-awful fake Mickey Mouse Pinatas) and picked up some more americans - mostly missionaries that took the evening off from feeding orphans and preaching gospel to see some real fire and brimstone and creatures of the night.
Masaya Volcano is more impressive at dusk. There are three craters and a large cross off to the side. The cross was put up because the volcano is believed to be the gateway to hell and that is supposed to stop the devil from burning the local villages to the ground. The cross has been replaced several times after eruptions burned it to the ground. I'll let you form your own opinion of that. The most active crater spews out toxic sulphur and it's recommended you stay only 15 minutes by this crater. The air is moist and stinks and it's hard to breathe - it's awesome! But in this poisonous atmosphere life finds a way. Parrots live in the walls of the craters. They go out foraging all day and at night they come back to their toxic home. And sure enough we hear in the distance the caws and screams of hundreds of birds. And in an instant as if on cue, they fly past and into the small holes in the side of the crater.
We then trek up to the other crater - past a DANGER FALLING ROCK sign. This is Nicaragua and really, if you fell into a volcano would anyone know? No. No safety rope, no signs. I love this.
And then time to see the caves and the bats. Which is interesting becauce it's night. And pitch black. And we have to climb DOWN a tree to get down to the caves - which are wet, slippery and pitch black. We are given flashlights and then told to shut them off and stay still. You cant see the hand in front of you. It's that kind of dark that hurts your eyes.
And then...we feel them and hear them. Whooshes right near your ears. Little screeches. Then more. Then hundreds of little bodies that go at you in kamakazi fashion and veer off to the right or left at the last second to avoid a head on collision with you. Thousands of little bats - not seen but felt, heard. This must be what it feels like to have a bullet whizzing by you. the rustle and wind of tiny wings flying by your ears. I take a single flash picture and when I look at it afterward, there's a dozen bats in front of me - small, furry yellow bodies, red eyes, leathery black wings and smiling fanged grins - amazing. What an experience.
As for the lava? Well, in for a penny, I guess. I was the only one who wanted to still see the lava after being shown where it was. Walk in the pitch blackness to the end of the crater. There's a stick in the lava. Hold it and lean into the crater - be careful - that's 50 ft. down and the lava is about 450 degrees. Hey - I drive in Miami - this is way safer. And I am rewarded with the soft glow of fire. Lava at last.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foOfC52WiDM
We had spent the day climbing and exploring Mambacho, the largest volcano in that area. Mombacho is impressive and still considered active but no lava and no sulphur. I want my volcanos to be all hellish with fire and lava and acidic steam. I love volcanos. Obsessed with them. I wanted more. As we passed the tour operator on the way back to the little lodge we were staying at, I noticed a sign. This sign to me like probably heroin to an addict. The sign simply said - See the Bats and Lava at Volcan' Masaya at Night. OK - we had been to Masaya volcano already - impressive in that it was very active and stank of sulphur and everything around it was dead because of the poisonous gasses. But we hadn't seen lava and we hadn't seen bats. I was in! Jack opted to go to the little pool and have a caprihiana. Most people would have agreed with his plans.
So I get on a bus, myself. The lone female american tourista off to see the bats and the lava. We stopped at the Masaya Market (a traditional place where you can but everything from fruit to fish to clay pots to god-awful fake Mickey Mouse Pinatas) and picked up some more americans - mostly missionaries that took the evening off from feeding orphans and preaching gospel to see some real fire and brimstone and creatures of the night.
Masaya Volcano is more impressive at dusk. There are three craters and a large cross off to the side. The cross was put up because the volcano is believed to be the gateway to hell and that is supposed to stop the devil from burning the local villages to the ground. The cross has been replaced several times after eruptions burned it to the ground. I'll let you form your own opinion of that. The most active crater spews out toxic sulphur and it's recommended you stay only 15 minutes by this crater. The air is moist and stinks and it's hard to breathe - it's awesome! But in this poisonous atmosphere life finds a way. Parrots live in the walls of the craters. They go out foraging all day and at night they come back to their toxic home. And sure enough we hear in the distance the caws and screams of hundreds of birds. And in an instant as if on cue, they fly past and into the small holes in the side of the crater.
We then trek up to the other crater - past a DANGER FALLING ROCK sign. This is Nicaragua and really, if you fell into a volcano would anyone know? No. No safety rope, no signs. I love this.
And then time to see the caves and the bats. Which is interesting becauce it's night. And pitch black. And we have to climb DOWN a tree to get down to the caves - which are wet, slippery and pitch black. We are given flashlights and then told to shut them off and stay still. You cant see the hand in front of you. It's that kind of dark that hurts your eyes.
And then...we feel them and hear them. Whooshes right near your ears. Little screeches. Then more. Then hundreds of little bodies that go at you in kamakazi fashion and veer off to the right or left at the last second to avoid a head on collision with you. Thousands of little bats - not seen but felt, heard. This must be what it feels like to have a bullet whizzing by you. the rustle and wind of tiny wings flying by your ears. I take a single flash picture and when I look at it afterward, there's a dozen bats in front of me - small, furry yellow bodies, red eyes, leathery black wings and smiling fanged grins - amazing. What an experience.
As for the lava? Well, in for a penny, I guess. I was the only one who wanted to still see the lava after being shown where it was. Walk in the pitch blackness to the end of the crater. There's a stick in the lava. Hold it and lean into the crater - be careful - that's 50 ft. down and the lava is about 450 degrees. Hey - I drive in Miami - this is way safer. And I am rewarded with the soft glow of fire. Lava at last.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foOfC52WiDM
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Scrabble Tournament in Kenya
November, 2008
Jack and I were at our first camp of three in Kenya. I was in heaven - wildlife, amazing people, sleeping in a tent and being awakened by Maasai bringing coffee in bed. I mean this was the fantasy come to life. Our camp was Porini Amboselli Camp - situated near the famous Amboselli National Park - home to elephant and dust devils.
The camp Manager was named Tony. He was a little aloof and in this heat in the bush (very dusty) he wore a white sport jacket. Jack nicknamed him Mr. Rourke (from Fantasy Island). Tony didn't really mingle with us - he left us to our own accord - possibly because he knew we were on out honeymoon, possibly because he had better things to do than talking to American tourists - like run the camp. On our last day at this particular camp, I asked Jack if he wanted to play scrabble with me. I always bring my portable scrabble game with me everywhere I go. And I always force Jack to play. And he always loses and when he starts losing he gets a little whiny and he sabotages the game so he will lose faster. It's kind of a game within a game. We play. Jack gets bored. Loses big time. Starts with the abbreviations (FAA is not a word, honey).
Sooooo I mention to Jack that we have to play scrabble and Tony the aloof camp manager overhears and says "scramble? I love scramble". Jack volunteers him to play with me. OK before dinner TOny and I will play scramble (I love scramble. so much a more appropriate name for the game, don't you think?).....So we get changed for dinner and Tony and I play scramble. Tony is good. And takes it seriously. There is no scramble dictionary so we make some new rules. No Swahili. English only, please. And if someone challenges a word and the other player can't use it in a sentence and give a definition it goes off the board. This makes up for a slight language and culture (Kenyans are schooled in the British way and spelling is British rules) difference.
Anyway, we play. And Tony is good. But I am winning. By now, there are about a dozen Maasai warriors around the game. And the chef is yelling that the soup is burning. Doesn't matter - what matters is the game. I finally found someone who takes this seriously and he's in Kenya....go figure. Well, I'm thinking is it OK for the camp manager to get beaten by an American woman? Will the Maasai give him respect? Hell with that - I'm winning! So I win. TOny shakes my hand and asks for a rematch. I'd love to, I explain, but our flight out of Amboselli is at like 10 am and it's a 2 hour trip to the airstrip and so sad, too bad, maybe next time. So Tony says, I will wake you up at 4am so we can play. Sure, buddy. Go for it I say.
Four AM. Jack and I see a lantern in our sleep traveling toward the tent. "That's your wake up call", Jack says. Oh damn - this guy was serious. I throw on some shorts and my glasses, stumble out of the nice warm tent and into the night trailing a Maasai warrior with a lantern and a spear. There is a fire burning, strong hot coffee waiting and a table with.....the scrabble board all set up. Tony is there with his sport jacket - how the hell does he look dapper at 4am in the middle of Kenya?
We play and to make it more interesting we make a bet. If he wins he gets the scrabble (ahem, scramble) board. We play. Again more Maasai show up. Jack shows up to watch. This is an epic battle - wars were fought over less - woman vs. man. US vs. Kenya. City vs. Savannah. Some words are challenged (apoem is not a word, Tony. yes it is - I wrote apoem. Nooooo)...
As the sun starts to rise, the birds join the tournament. Thousands of birds, millions of birds. Singing and waking. Chattering and flying. As we play scrabble by the fire, the firey sun rises over the African plain. And as I play, I am aware that this incredible and surreal moment in my life will certainly never come again. I am in Africa. I am playing scrabble by the firelight as the sun rises over the land I have dreamed about all my life. I am losing this game that is being watched by Maasai - the most beautiful and majestic people I have ever seen.
I wind up losing. And shaking Tony's hand. And presenting him with the game. He is a formidable opponent and a new friend. We promise each other a rematch. I will make good. Someday.
July 2009 - Just received a message from Wilson, our guide at Amboselli Porini Camp in Kenya. He was playing scrabble. I smiled.
Jack and I were at our first camp of three in Kenya. I was in heaven - wildlife, amazing people, sleeping in a tent and being awakened by Maasai bringing coffee in bed. I mean this was the fantasy come to life. Our camp was Porini Amboselli Camp - situated near the famous Amboselli National Park - home to elephant and dust devils.
The camp Manager was named Tony. He was a little aloof and in this heat in the bush (very dusty) he wore a white sport jacket. Jack nicknamed him Mr. Rourke (from Fantasy Island). Tony didn't really mingle with us - he left us to our own accord - possibly because he knew we were on out honeymoon, possibly because he had better things to do than talking to American tourists - like run the camp. On our last day at this particular camp, I asked Jack if he wanted to play scrabble with me. I always bring my portable scrabble game with me everywhere I go. And I always force Jack to play. And he always loses and when he starts losing he gets a little whiny and he sabotages the game so he will lose faster. It's kind of a game within a game. We play. Jack gets bored. Loses big time. Starts with the abbreviations (FAA is not a word, honey).
Sooooo I mention to Jack that we have to play scrabble and Tony the aloof camp manager overhears and says "scramble? I love scramble". Jack volunteers him to play with me. OK before dinner TOny and I will play scramble (I love scramble. so much a more appropriate name for the game, don't you think?).....So we get changed for dinner and Tony and I play scramble. Tony is good. And takes it seriously. There is no scramble dictionary so we make some new rules. No Swahili. English only, please. And if someone challenges a word and the other player can't use it in a sentence and give a definition it goes off the board. This makes up for a slight language and culture (Kenyans are schooled in the British way and spelling is British rules) difference.
Anyway, we play. And Tony is good. But I am winning. By now, there are about a dozen Maasai warriors around the game. And the chef is yelling that the soup is burning. Doesn't matter - what matters is the game. I finally found someone who takes this seriously and he's in Kenya....go figure. Well, I'm thinking is it OK for the camp manager to get beaten by an American woman? Will the Maasai give him respect? Hell with that - I'm winning! So I win. TOny shakes my hand and asks for a rematch. I'd love to, I explain, but our flight out of Amboselli is at like 10 am and it's a 2 hour trip to the airstrip and so sad, too bad, maybe next time. So Tony says, I will wake you up at 4am so we can play. Sure, buddy. Go for it I say.
Four AM. Jack and I see a lantern in our sleep traveling toward the tent. "That's your wake up call", Jack says. Oh damn - this guy was serious. I throw on some shorts and my glasses, stumble out of the nice warm tent and into the night trailing a Maasai warrior with a lantern and a spear. There is a fire burning, strong hot coffee waiting and a table with.....the scrabble board all set up. Tony is there with his sport jacket - how the hell does he look dapper at 4am in the middle of Kenya?
We play and to make it more interesting we make a bet. If he wins he gets the scrabble (ahem, scramble) board. We play. Again more Maasai show up. Jack shows up to watch. This is an epic battle - wars were fought over less - woman vs. man. US vs. Kenya. City vs. Savannah. Some words are challenged (apoem is not a word, Tony. yes it is - I wrote apoem. Nooooo)...
As the sun starts to rise, the birds join the tournament. Thousands of birds, millions of birds. Singing and waking. Chattering and flying. As we play scrabble by the fire, the firey sun rises over the African plain. And as I play, I am aware that this incredible and surreal moment in my life will certainly never come again. I am in Africa. I am playing scrabble by the firelight as the sun rises over the land I have dreamed about all my life. I am losing this game that is being watched by Maasai - the most beautiful and majestic people I have ever seen.
I wind up losing. And shaking Tony's hand. And presenting him with the game. He is a formidable opponent and a new friend. We promise each other a rematch. I will make good. Someday.
July 2009 - Just received a message from Wilson, our guide at Amboselli Porini Camp in Kenya. He was playing scrabble. I smiled.
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