Table of Contents

Visiting Kenya

Opium. Twice while I was in college I went to visit my parents in Kenya. The two visits blur in my memory; I'm not sure I can keep them separate. In one my folks were still living in Nairobi. They'd moved back into town from Ridgeways. That was the summer I took my friend the muse on our one and only date, up in the Ngong Hills. The Ngong Hills frame Nairobi the way The Flatirons frame Boulder. A constant backdrop, a theme song played at low volume. I still had a huge crush on her, and this time she agreed to go on a date with me. I made feverish preparations, cooking all manner of delicacies and picking a nice Burgundy to set it off. This one didn't get drowned in sangria. I picked her up and we headed for the Ngong Hills. A friend told me a way to get to a particularly beautiful spot that was off the beaten path. He warned me I needed a high clearance four wheel drive vehicle. I drove a VW fastback. The road was terrifying. I could have got stuck anywhere. I somehow made it through. My muse was suitably impressed. She said she knew Safari drivers who wouldn't have driven that road. We had a lovely time. I got us back down the same track. Never made it to first base. But it was OK. I was in love. It was also the summer I stayed up two nights in a row reading War and Peace. Then there was the opium. I was looking for hash but my guy didn't have it. With an eye on future sales, he oh-so-innocently suggested I try opium. I bought a gummy ball of it. After I got home I realized I couldn't smoke it in my hash pipe so I ate it. I'd heard the title of De Quincey's book. Luckily, nothing happened. I went to sleep, had vivid dreams, lost interest. A near miss. Alcohol and pot are bad enough.

Another cobra. The other summer my parents had moved out to Voi. You'll have to zoom in to see it on the map.

That was a hot trip. Voi is not a mile high like Nairobi, it's in the Nyiri Desert, in Kilimanjaro's rain shadow. Mom must have hated it. There was a photo taken in Voi showing my dad holding up a nine foot long cobra he'd just killed. Two memories stand out. One was cooking them a fancy meal. I made a "gourmet" dish I'd made up that was really not very good, but we all ate it in good humor thanks to the sangria I made with a bottle of good Burgundy and plenty of Grand Marnier. I sliced fresh oranges and put them in the punchbowl. I sprinkled them with sugar then poured Grand Marnier over and let all that macerate. Right before dinner I poured in the chilled Burgundy and some club soda to give it a sparkle. Everyone loved it.

Ticks. The other memory is seed ticks. I had noticed reddish brown clumps on weed stalks along the trails but I didn't notice them closely enough. Those clumps were masses of seed ticks waiting for the next mammal to come along so they could fill up on nice warm blood and complete their life cycle. I went hiking in shorts like an idiot and brushed against one, getting thousands of them on my thigh. I have never endured itching anywhere close to that before or since. I took a hot bath, thinking heat might help. Bad move, for itch relief. But it probably helped kill them off. I soaked in extremely hot water.

Eurail. On one of those two trips I had big plans for the return trip, from Kenya back to the Fishfarm, my summer home all through college. I hung out with my folks in June, and my plan was to spend July and August bumming around Europe, but in style: I had a Eurail Pass and a big wad of traveler's checks, gifts from my parents. Enough for me to travel for one to two months, depending on how frugal I was. I flew into London, planning to hang out there for a while before heading south on my big adventure. London felt charming at first; I'd never been there in warm weather. I window shopped, mostly, because everything was so expensive. The only thing I bought was a set of four fabulous prints by by Richard Avedon. No words, just the Fab Four heads, each solarized with different colors. Frugality for the Europe adventure ahead was key. I already knew some of the best places to go for cheap meals: Greek joints and chip shops. Those had been my standbys for Theater in London. The chips were a revelation. Sold by the kilo, drizzled with vinegar, wrapped in greasy newspaper. They were limp, which was somehow just right. They made me think of a poem by Roger McGough from a book I had, The Mersey Sound. Sometimes / i feel like a priest / in a fish & chip queue / quietly thinking / as the vinegar runs through / how nice it would be / to buy a supper for two. I was lonely.

Krystal Burger. The closest thing to a chip shop in Nairobi was Wimpy Burger. An outlet from the British chain. I liked the burgers. They reminded me of the famous 5ยข Krystal Burger. The original slider. In the Greek joints I could make a meal out of appetizers. A plate of hummus or baba ganoush and a pita. I loved how they served those spreading out on a plate with a little pool of olive oil in the middle, sprinkled with paprika. I followed those with galaktoboureko if I could afford it. I have a thing about custard. My one culinary splurge was beef burgundy in a nice but surprisingly friendly French restaurant. I'd never tasted anything like it. I was in love. It's the bacon. After about a week of cheap touristing it felt like time to head for Europe. I decided to leave on a Monday to avoid weekend transit crowds. That Sunday afternoon I headed out for a last walk in London. There were hippies in full regalia out in the street, all heading the same direction, so I tagged along. Hyde Park was where they were headed, and as we got closer I could hear music. Pink Floyd were giving a free concert in the park.

I wandered in and listened for a while, but started feeling lonely. One comment I recall overhearing was It's become a quest to see someone you know. But at least he had a girl to say it to. All those lovely people and I was all alone. I was shy; I didn't know how to meet people. Traveling alone in Europe felt like torture rather than adventure. I ended up cashing in my Eurail Pass and using that plus my traveler's checks to buy a sweet Yamaha acoustic guitar I'd been eyeing in a music store. Then I headed home to the welcoming safety of the Fishfarm.