It all started towards the end of the nineteenth century. A British colonial type sweating gently in East Africa gazed towards the interior of Africa and with a vague sweep of his hand suggested that they put a railway out there. His colleagues paused for a moment to see if a combination of pink gins and malaria had finally robbed the man of his wits and upon determining that he was serious started rounding up Indian labourers and any loose lengths of railway track lying about the place.
Some years, a (for the time) ridiculous amount of money and a serious man eating lion toll later the railway was built. It started in Mombasa on the coast of what is now Kenya and went, somewhere. Most of the places it went to were actually built because there was a railway there rather than the other way round. Along the way it signalled British intentions to dominate the east African interior (the French and Germans were snooping around and you can't trust those beggars) and accidentally helped to end slavery.
Time passes, the wheel turns, the British eventually left and what is now Kenya started being called Kenya but the railway remained. It's still there; a decrepit collection of colonial era rolling stock trundling slowly and not terribly reliably along a colonial era railway. I found out about it by accident and immediately decided that I had to ride on it. So I started checking airline prices for Kenya.
At some point in my largely incoherent planning stage it was pointed out to me that east Africa might have other attractions apart from an old and slow railway. There were, for instance, large animals. Large, photogenic animals. Since I was in the area why didn't I drop by and take a look at some of them? Even photograph them if I felt so inclined. I thought about this for a while and decided that I was so inclined. I even went to the effort of asking for a camera as a birthday present to ease the large animal photography process.
Naturally things got out of control and soon I was fitting in a safari, a balloon ride and hanging around in Zanzibar ostensibly to purchase spices for my mother. My mother, having a fair appreciation of my level of competence probably won't be too surprised if I turn up on her doorstep with a selection of Masterfoods products from the local supermarket. The actual train trip has been tacked on to the end of my holiday when I catch it from Mombasa back to Nairobi to meet my plane.
The preparations were many, I needed a yellow fever injection (thanks Amanda for arranging that), I needed to change my hair colour from purple to blonde so that I vaguely resembled my passport photo (thanks Rachelle for arranging that) I needed visas for Kenya and Tanzania (I arranged that myself, I feel so proud) and various outdoorsy types of clothing needed to be purchased if only so a lion doesn't maul my best pants.
Now the months have passed and the last minute preliminaries are almost completed. I have had the last minute, expensive dental emergency. I have caught a severe cold which I am currently dosing with enough pseudo ephedrine to get me arrested and I have acquired a money belt in the hopes that I don't get robbed of all my valuables at one time (thanks again Amanda). Copies of all of my documents have been lodged in a safe place and enough prescription drugs have been provided by my travel doctor to enable me to open a pharmacy when I return. Assuming I make it to the airport without incident I should at least be able to get to Africa without an issue. Getting back again will depend on the goodwill and smooth running time of a train famous for running up to 29 hours late.
My first stop is Nairobi where I shall flop into a bed and attempt to recover from jetlag. If I'm feeling adventurous I will step out into the city for a bit of sight seeing. Alternatively I could lounge by the pool until the safari starts. I think I've already made my decision. So subsequently blog entries will be determined by the availability of internet access (and possibly electricity). If I do see big animals I will attempt to let you know.
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