Although it wasn’t the smoothest of transitions, we meant to travel from Tanzania to Kenya, Kenya to Istanbul, and Istanbul to Houston.
We began by tracing our footsteps through much of our trip, as if a reminder and retelling of the story we had spun over the last two weeks. Here were the desert lands and winding roads of olduvai, and later the frigid altitudes and lush greenery of the Ngorongoro, traveling through its mountain passes with red earth and flecks of rains clinging to our windshield. In time we got up to 11 breakdowns, which is obviously a whole lot. And we ended up being delayed by about an hour and a half as the common friends of the tourism circuit came to the aid of Crispin and Uncle Mohammed. First it seemed like it was the filter, then a fuel pump. And then we all came to the realization that it was neither but in fact just a big mess (but nobody’s fault). And at the very least, it only added to the adventure and improved our stories through our suffering!
We did in fact make it to Nairobi and to the Airport 67 Hotel, a place which I felt would have been similar to “Mr. Taco” being that I wasn’t sure it was real. And although we turned down very sketchy looking streets with men burning fires on the corners, it did in fact exist. Thankfully. And there was a bed with a hot shower, and a restaurant with sodas and warm food.
The flight was nothing to write home about, but, I will actually do that anyways. I ended up watching Django Unchained and ate some yummy Turkish meals which I would struggle to remember or name, and over the 6 hours that I felt I was gaining bed sores that was all I got done beyond improving some of my previous blogs and sleepin.
Arriving in Turkey however was something else. The airline always made it seem as if it was the center of the universe, and I am beginning to think they were right (let it be known that whoever runs the tourism ads is insanely goated and needs a raise). There were street dogs and cats who were sweet and well groomed, the ancient grand bazaar with its turkish delights and handworks and myriads of glowing, fluorescent stalls called to us. I feel I should take a moment longer to discuss it. Men walked the tile floors with cigarettes in mouth and wares on their back, calling to you in native tongues and stopping to shake in your hand in hope you may stop a while longer. There was art and foods, the strong scents of spice perfumes, silks and prayer matts, the whispers of conversations and the shouts of deals made and money to be saved. And of course we dined. Pida in the afternoon and dinner on the cobbled street during the evening. The table was set and the mood lighting was on, warm sesame breads were baked and their brands of beer poured freely into our bellies. There were fresh olives covered in olive oil (I ate 13, don’t throw up) and of course the meats. Lamb and beef and chicken, prepared and cooked traditionally, being delicious and wholesome. And so I am not sure dinner is the correct word for it, but rather feast, especially as it came with a show. Ladies and gentlemen, the guest of honor at our meager table was none other than the most adorable cat in the entire universe. I feel bad to say it not only because I have one of my own, but in reality because I couldn’t take him home.
I hated to leave Turkey when I had at first been bummed about our layover; however, I am fairly confident that I will return. Now came the beast though, the dreaded coming flight – 12 hours. Despite my apprehensions, I somewhat enjoyed it, watching Top Gun Maverick and saluting the scenes when they ship out and getting goosebumps when they blow up the bunker and say bullseye (I am an American patriot come on guys). I got to stand up twice which was awesome, I ate some fantastic tres leches, and when asked at customs if I bought anything in Africa I said I wasn’t sure knowing full well there was a 5 foot Maasai spear in my bag.
Glad to be home, but sad to be gone. I will miss Africa, but certainly not the comforts of home.
Godspeed,
Kamden
