Tying up loose ends

Kampala-I haven't blogged in ages. I wonder if that means I'm not a real blogger? I don’t really have one specific reason, but it has been a lot of things: I got tonsillitis last week and still haven't quite recovered; I'm in Uganda doing another week of refugee interviews; Scott and I went camping to Lake Naivasha and Lake Nakuru; and I am trying to finish up my life in Nairobi as I leave in just 3 days.

Camping was very fun. I took the bus up to Naivasha, which is horrible town, then a matatu out to the lake where I met Scott. We stayed at Fisherman's Camp, which has bandas right on the lake and hippos roam at night behind electric fences. It was beautiful. Then we drove up to Lake Nakuru, which is a National Park. On the way we stopped at Menengai Crater, a dormant volcano now it is a big lava-filled crater covered in lush greenery. You can see steam rising from cracks. There is a lot of geothermal activity in this area and the geothermal companies are all over it.

We arrived in the park in time for an evening game drive to get to the campsite near Makalia Falls. We saw rhinos and flamingos right away, which was what we came for. We set up camp in our 1-person tent and Scott made dinner. He is very handy and outdoorsy, which is good because I haven't camped since I was 11. He is also a huge nerd with GPS in hand and headlamp on his forehead. Truthfully, the headlamp is so key and my flashlight was so lame in comparison.

We woke up at 6am which was a miracle for us and the ground was covered in dew, it looked like frost. We were up in time to see over a hundred baboons run through the campsite and up a rock towards the waterfall. It was awesome.

We drove around and found giraffes that we got within 3 metres of and more rhinos and flamingos, and even hyenas humping. I also saw my first warthogs and lots of pretty coloured birds. We had late breakfast up on a viewpoint overlooking the whole lake, it was breathtaking and totally deserted. As we looked out across the entire park we couldn’t see sign of another human being.

We came home via a winding, bumpy, mostly dirt road along the Rift Valley. It was fun for the first 4 hours, but I got tired and grumpy during the last 2 as the novelty of driving in a safari truck from the 80s with no suspension wore off. Scott finally saw my bad side, luckily he thinks it is funny.

If cranky Nikki wasn't enough to turn him away, I decided to get tonsillitis. Fortunately, Scott was in the field so he wasn't there to see me curled up in a ball whimpering in my bed. My friends, Jess and Rich, who live at my second home Upperhill Campsite took me to the hospital. The first time, after waiting 2 hours, the doctor was convinced I had malaria and wouldn't even look at my throat, which according to Jess who is a trauma nurse, had pus on it. At 3am when my throat almost closed up, I went back and finally was given injectable antibiotics. I feel almost human.

Before heading to Uganda, my housemates, Scott and I, had our last supper at one of the top restaurants in Nairobi, Tamarind. It is a delicious seafood place, and although the atmosphere was slightly old school, the food was amazing. The swimming twist is that the executive chairman of Tamarind and its more famous sister, Carnivore, is none other than the father of swim-stars Jason and David Dunford who now swim for Stanford. Jason was 5th in the 100 fly in Beijing for Kenya. I had dined with all of them early on in my trip at their other restaurant Tamambo, which is also fantastic.

Kampala is a beautiful city, or at least the 10 block radius I have seen since arriving. Our hotel and the NGO where we are doing the interviews is on the top of one of 7 hills that make up the city and there are flowering gardens and perfectly manicured lawns. Mansions loom behind huge gates and hedges. We could be anywhere in the world, but we are in Uganda.

I feel like I have come full circle being here. My human rights law professor who further inspired my dream of being a human rights lawyer was from Uganda. He fled during Idi Amin's reign of terror and became a refugee in Australia before relocating to the US and teaching me Property and Human Rights at Brooklyn Law School. Now I am here, interviewing refugees, mostly from Congo and Somalia, to resettle them in Australia. In the 3 months I have worked for the Aussies here in Africa I have sent over 200 refugees on the path towards new lives in Australia. There might not be a Professor Murumbu among them, but when I get to talk about democracy and the rule of law and playing sports in their adopted country, the smiles and relief I see, is the best gift I could ever receive.

Made in Kenya

Accra-While I am excited to be in Ghana this week, I am a bit bummed that I am not in Kenya for Obama’s win. Some Kenyans are under the distinct impression that once Obama is President of the United States, he will somehow save Kenya from herself. With a Kenyan father, Obama is a god there. In fact, I just got word that they are calling a national holiday tomorrow to celebrate! A friend of mine went to a Kenya national team football match in September and there wasn’t a single football t-shirt for sale. The only goods available were Obama t-shirts. They came in English and Swahili and had his picture with the slogan, “Made in Kenya”.

Of course, Ghana has been a fun place to be this week too. They have a presidential election coming up in about a month. One candidate uses the catchphrase “Hope and Change” on his billboard, while I heard another guy on the radio likening his party to the Democrats in America.

Ghana is generally more American friendly than Kenya. Our driver has an American flag deodorizer tree hanging from his rear view mirror and I have seen a number of mini-vans sporting both American and Israeli flags. It took me a few minutes to piece that together; then I realized that they must be Jewish.

The people here are very beautiful and well dressed. The attitude is a little more laid back and carefree than Kenya, but best of all, they have proper roads and drivers actually obey the traffic lights. Kenya, it can be done!

I am here with 2 colleagues from the Aussie High Commission. We are interviewing almost 200 refugees in 1 week for possible resettlement in Australia. It is mentally and emotionally exhausting. Yesterday I interviewed 8 families from Liberia, Sierra Leone and Togo. Many have seen their parents murdered, often beheaded. Some are orphans who have lived in refugee camps for over a decade. Almost all of the women have been raped or even gang raped.

At the end of every interview I get to tell them about life in Australia. I tell them to play sports when they arrive because it will help them make friends with their classmates. I tell them I am a swimmer and then I get to give them candy. It is the only time I can find a smile. Well, that and the outfits they wear. One woman wore a “Diva” shirt. Under what scenario could she possibly think that is appropriate? Another wore a t-shirt with a British flag. I told her that she probably shouldn’t wear it in Oz…most Australians aren’t too partial to the Brits. But the kicker was a woman who walked in with an American flag scarf on her head. At least she wasn’t interviewing with the Canadians.

I feel a bit overwhelmed with the state of things here in Africa. Having given myself Wikipedia crash courses in the civil wars of the region, to go with those I learned earlier to interview my Somalis, Sudanese, Congolese and Ugandans, there doesn’t seem to be much silver lining in the clouds that dump torrential rains everyday at 3pm.

When I was about 19 I wanted to be the Prime Minister of Canada. Even at that age I was attracted to power. I am pretty sure it had nothing to do with being a public servant. Then when I realized that all politicians are crooks, I knew it wasn’t. But I would give a crappy Canadian PM or even a Republican any day of the week for the evil that runs most African governments.

It took me a while to jump on Obama’s bandwagon. I was a Hillary fan and wanted a woman in power. But even I teared up a bit during his victory speech, which I watched this morning with my Kenyan friend who was shedding her fair share of tears. I still don’t know if I actually believe that Obama is a different kind of politician, but I really hope so.

As for change, it is a like a 4-letter word over here. But a big part of me wishes that the Kenyans’ dream could actually come true. This continent could do with a man like Obama and a few ideas like hope and change.

I’m Homesick

Nairobi-It all started last week with the beginning of the short rains. I mean what is the point of being in Africa in late October if it isn’t warm and sunny? Instead it was grey and overcast all week. Then there was the mud. It got me a little depressed.

Then I started to book my ticket home to my parent’s for December. I am also toying with the idea of staying an extra week here so that I can go to Uganda or one of the Kenyan refugee camps for another refugee interview trip. All of which got me thinking about my life back home in NYC, and that is when I realized I was officially homesick.

I have a lot of wonderful and amazing friends and the thought of making more here in Kenya was a bit unwieldy. Although I met one of my best friends on the planet, Nia C. (and several of her friends also became great friends), when I lived in Sri Lanka, I was kind of relishing the thought of 3 months where I didn’t have any social engagements. If I wanted to sit home and watch 4 movies, I could do it and I wouldn’t be letting anyone down for missing her birthday or house party or going away party or after work drinks. I mean I love doing that, and I am often the one planning it, but I was excited to just be.

Now I would die for a good 8pm beer after swim practice with my friends, especially my girls. I miss having girl-time. I realized that for the last 3 months I have been hanging out predominately with men. While I do love men and enjoyed running hotel Nikita in Beijing and living with 3 men here in Nairobi and having a boyfriend, I miss gossiping, being silly and just laughing with the girls.

It kind of hit a head late last week when I realized that some of the people I’ve become friends with here have very, very different ideologies than me. It started with a little bit of racism, moved onto sexism, then ended at homophobia. I was so shocked that all I could do was make jokes to get out of the situation. In hindsight I realized I’ve just had enough adventure and I want to be home.

I am here for another month, and the sun is shining beautifully today. I go to Ghana next week for a refugee interview trip and then the time will fly by trying to get in a few more weekends away. Specifically, I have to see some rhinos and flamingoes before I leave! But try as hard as I can to be an internationalist, I am a New Yorker. I love my city and my busy, cozy, safe, familiar life there. Plus I am pretty sure I will be able to find enough adventures in NYC to keep me entertained…At least for a few months anyway.

Lying in Lamu

Lamu-On an island off the north-east coast of Kenya, just 40KM from the Somalia border and a pirate filled sea, I vacationed with my new safari-partner (advertised for right here on this blog), Scott M.

Lamu is the heart of Swahili culture and I had a chance to really hone my Swahili while there. Scott is fluent, so he made contact immediately. It is also his nature to ask questions, very personal questions, about leases and livelihoods, culture and language, and how the economy is going. While I tried to smile and interpret the gist of the conversation through hand signals, Scott made friends, lots of them. Yes, I am quite friendly and outgoing, but even I get tired. As the weekend went on we collected many new friends so by the final night dining at Bush Gardens on a seafood platter of lobster, shrimp, and fish, no less than 6 of our friends stopped by to chat. They were all very considerate of our time, spending only 5 minutes a piece, but by number 6 and what with the cat meowing for scraps at our feet, it kinda starts to ruin your appetite.

Most of those guys were “beach boys” or “captains” of sailboats, called dhows. We met at least 3 guys named Captain Ali, including the man who captained our dhow trip. For just over $10 a piece we joined up with a sweet and funny young duo from the University of Minnesota and cruised around Lamu and Manda islands. We came aground on Manda where we spend the day playing in the surf, walking on the deserted beach, and eating yellow snapper and biriani cooked over an open fire. We also “fished” unsuccessfully on a reef with angel fish and then snorkeled over it later.

The previous day we had hiked from Lamu town to Shela beach. We wanted to be there early and make it back for lunch. By the time we got up, ate breakfast and walked for an hour it was 11:30am. We had the beach virtually to ourselves. At one point there was no one as far as the eye could see. It was so hot we played in the water for most of the day.

We went back for an afternoon of shopping through Lamu’s narrow winding streets filled with open sewers and donkey shit. There are no cars on the island, so donkeys do all the work. In the sweltering heat this old town really heats up. You can imagine the smell, but the architecture is beautiful, and oh the doors! We passed half a dozen workshops where young men carved ornate doors by hand. We decided that by the time we have a house we will be able to afford to ship one home.

My most unfavourite part of Lamu, and unfortunately, Kenya in general, are the lies. Lies rolled off the tongues of Lamu’s residents easier than flattery at a strip club. No matter the question, no matter the true answer, they seemed to be committed to telling us what they thought we wanted to hear. I have a similar problem in many of my refugee interviews. One Somali woman with 9 dependant children said to me yesterday, “Yes, the truth, whatever truth you want.”

We met this one guy, Slim the jeweler. He was lovely. He invited us for Arabic coffee flavoured with cinnamon and another “special” ingredient he refused to provide. He talked of all the people who have come into his shop and all the elders in the town. Then he showed us all their pictures. I took a picture with him after playing the Olympian card and getting a sweet discount. His store was filled with pictures: Jimmy Carter, Oprah, and the Queen. He wore an Obama pin on his shirt.

There was also the Olympic Restaurant. Our waiter had a Canadian pin, so we told him we were Canadian. He was so delighted, he skipped to the back to tell the owner who then came out and told us his entire family lived in Vancouver. I again played the Olympic card (I couldn’t help myself it was the Olympic Restaurant!), and our dinner was cooked with extra special care. Scott took our picture and we have promised to send it along with a Canadian flag that they want to hang up inside.

The only thing that was really crummy about our stay was the hostel, the Casaurina Guest House. While Lonely Planet said its roof deck was a social paradise, it was closed, and there wasn’t even any soap in the dirty bathroom. In case you didn’t notice, I’m not what you call a real hardcore backpacker. I like clean. We did have an ocean view, so we woke up to sunrises each day.

Despite some of my complaints the trip was amazing. Having a safari partner like Scott was everything I could ask for and Lamu was the perfect destination.

Down ‘N Dirty

Nairobi-As a city-girl, I rarely came across the four basic elements: Earth, Wind, Fire and Water in my daily commute from the Upper West Side of Manhattan to Wall Street, so I assumed the same would be true in Nairobi. Yet, in a city of almost 3 million people, my life is governed by dirt, pollution, smoke, and of course, water.

In order to get to the bathroom where I work at IOM, I need to walk across a dirt path, that when it rains, turns to mud. Of course, this is nothing compared to the short walk I need to take to get to the main road to catch my matatu (where 2 days ago I got on board only to find my skirt the victim of a huge whole near my butt where I ripped it on a screw left uncovered by old upholstery.) I must navigate beside narrow roads with no sidewalks, trudging along the muddy, dusty, dirty, rocky shoulder. Sadly my cute red leather kitten heel shoes bought in the Stokey in London are ruined and will not make it back to NYC.

If you happen to walk barefoot in Kenya you could find yourself with some unwanted visitors under the skin of your feet. Affectionately known as “chiggers” these lovely guys are larvae which crawl into your feet by forming a hole in the skin and chewing up tiny parts of it, thus causing severe irritation and swelling. Once inside they inject digestive enzymes into you that break down skin cells, and then they suck up the digested tissue. Or this is at least what Wikipedia says.

Fortunately, I have yet to get a chigger, but I still itch all the time. Scott returned from his first trip to his field site with bites all over him. His sleeping bag was filled with fleas, which I have now also been attacked by. Then last night I woke up to buzzing in my ears and itching bites all over my wrists, neck and ankles. We turned on the light to find, and eventually kill, 8 mosquitoes, filled with our blood. Malaria is not so common in Nairobi, but I started taking Malarone today for my trip to the coast tomorrow. I cannot wait for beach and sun!

But back to the elements. I come home each day, filthy. I have zits and dirty hair, both of which I thought the end of puberty had curtailed. I try to wash my locks, but the water is so hard, I can’t get my Pantene to sud-up properly. It’s a combination of dust and air pollution which fills the sky from every car, truck and motorbike that zooms past me as I try to balance precariously on the edge of the traffic.

The air is not just filled with car fumes though. Over the radio waves, the morning DJ asks callers to debate such hot topics as: multiple sex partners in marriage and whether women like men circumcised or untouched. The wind also carries the smell of burning plastic at all hours of the day. As garbage piles up in roadside ditches, it is simply set on fire. From Tetra Paks to plastic Coke bottles, the whole lot burns, while the denizens of Nairobi choke.

I will say one good thing about Nairobi's environment; the water is drinkable. At our house we still do one quick boil of the tap water before drinking, but I use it to brush my teeth and wash my food with no problems. Out in the bush, that’s not the case. Being a polite guest who doesn’t refuse tea with conversation, over the past 4 years in Kenya, Scott has gotten giardiasis 4 times. Fully knowing that the water hasn’t been boiled for 10 minutes, or worse, that the tea cups were just washed in dirty water, he still takes the tea and then gets infected with parasites that colonize in his small intestine. You can imagine what happens next.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some glorious parts of Nairobi. There are huge trees with purple flowering limbs and ones with big orange blossoms. There aren’t that many stray dogs and you can buy beautiful fresh cut flowers on many street corners. Best of all the people are lovely. When Nairobians smile (which takes a little prompting) it lights up my day and I (almost) forget that my feet are smelly, my hair flat, my skin dull, and my clothes coated in dust.

Ps-In retribution for my negative post about the dirtier side of Nairobi, it poured rain right when I was about to leave work today. Rivers of mud flowed down the streets and I had to wade through pools of filthy water to get to my matatu stop. At one point there were 23 drenched people crammed into the 15 passenger van, including 4 schoolgirls whose polyester skirts and nylon sweaters were sopping wet. So much for building up good Karma.

Kenya versus Sri Lanka

Nairobi-It was inevitable that I would need to compare one experience to the next; I think it is human nature to look for similarities and differences. I lived in Sri Lanka for almost a year after finishing law school and when I returned I know I talked incessantly about what life was like there. I compared and contrasted away, surely driving my friends crazy. Now I'm doing it again. Every adventure I have here, from driving to the store, posting a letter, or learning the local language, I immediately compare it to my time in Sri Lanka. Strangely I rarely contrast things to life in NYC, perhaps because there are some things that are too dissimilar to try and find parallels.

Food

For almost 15 years I was a vegetarian. I grew up on meat and potatoes, then in 1992 right after the Olympics, and at least 6 books on the subject of nutrition, I decided to make the commitment. I didn't do it for the animals, I mean we are at the top of the food chain, but I did do it for my health and for ecological reasons. Somehow, now that the rest of the world has jumped onto the "green" bandwagon, I have jumped off into the world of meat. It is a good thing too, because in Kenya, meat is king.

Nyama choma is roasted goat meat, which I've really only had once and that was at an Ethiopian restaurant with Scott and this cool British couple we met at Upperhill who took a year off from their lives to drive from England to India before shipping their car to Mombassa and driving around Africa and back up to Europe.

I love Indian food, but I must admit that as a vegetarian back in '06 in Lanka, my choices were very limited. Unlike Indians who venerate those who abstain from meat, Sri Lankans just look at you real funny. The curries there are very hot and my palate did grow accustomed to it, but hotness doesn't mean goodness and other than Kotthu Roti, a noodle-like stir-fry dish that is great late-night, I didn’t take any favourites home with me.

Language

Mate Sinhala tikkak puluwan: I can speak a little Sinhala. That was after a year and one round of lessons at the British Council during my last 6 weeks on the island. I didn't want to make the same mistake I made in Sri Lanka where I tried to learn the language too late in my stay, so I bought my Swahili Made Easy book and got off to a roaring start. Sadly, that sputtered and died quickly. The book I bought wasn't making Swahili easy, in fact it has made me almost give up. Normally when you learn a language they teach you important things at the start, like what to say when you go to the market and need to buy 5 tomatoes. This book is teaching me complex verbs that I will never use in the next 2 months and I still can't go shopping. My swimmer girls did teach me to say ninataka ku-ogelea: I want to swim.

The worst and most embarrassing part of my language problem in Sri Lanka was not knowing until I was there for 9 months that "O" means yes. I spent months talking to co-workers who would nod their head side to side in the South Asian fashion saying O, O. I thought they had no idea what I was talking about. Turns out I was the idiot.

Transportation

The greatest thing for me in Colombo were tuk-tuks, 2 stroke diesel powered 3-wheelers which took me everywhere I wanted to go. They were cheap too, which made them perfect for getting to work and to coaching. It was also pretty safe to travel at night. As long as I was in a tuk-tuk I felt safe, even when the drivers tried to ask me to marry them. I always relied on my made-up fiancé back in the US to dissuade them. Once I learned to speak with a bit of a Sinhala accent it certainly helped.

I thought there would be tuk-tuks in Nairobi since there were pictures of them in the Lonely Planet. Sadly those pictures are old and there are no tuk-tuks which has forced me to use public matatus, of which you can read about my last post.

Clothing

When not dressed in traditional saris, unfortunately, Sri Lankan women are quite possibly the worst dressed in the world. Their style is non-existent when trying to dress Western; they combine polyester shirts from the 70s and 80s with long narrow skirts, sandals and UV protection umbrellas. I don't understand this at all since price is not the issue: Sri Lanka is home to dozens of factories which produce everything from Gap and Victoria Secret to Speedo and several UK store brands. The prices are low, and it is just as cheap to buy this stuff as it is the ugly stuff. I wish they all wore saris or even shalwar kameez because they look so much more beautiful when they do.

While in Colombo, I got to tour a clothing factory that made swimwear, including Speedo. It was really cool to see the FastSkins being made and I was given several after the tour. I was also relieved to see that the place was not a sweatshop, in fact things looked very civilized for all the workers. The weirdest part, and what for a feminist is a bit hard to swallow, was how the pregnant women had to wear pink smocks to differentiate them. On the one hand it seemed sweet that people were warned to treat these women with a little TLC, on the other it is quite offensive to think that just because a woman is pregnant she somehow cannot do her job the same way.

In Nairobi, the style is a lot more revealing that conservative Colombo. There are women wearing shorter skirts and showing much more cleavage. I am dressing much like I would in NYC. There are a few women who I see wearing more traditional African dresses, but for the most part everyone is wearing western clothes. Men cannot wear shorts though and Scott is often the teased by schoolboys who see him in shorts and think he looks like a young boy. Personally, I can't stand wearing jeans when it is so hot, so shorts are usually part of my weekend wardrobe.

Up next week: Prices, Swimming, Tourism, Development, Animals and of course, Men.

Space and Time (Warps)

Nairobi-You would think space was at a premium here in Kenya the way everyone bunches up into unnecessarily small spaces. I don’t think that the concept of spatial relations really exists here. Both on the road and in the pool, as far as I can gather, Kenyans’ ideas of space and time are very different than a girl who grew up in one of the most under-populated countries in the world and was kicked out of swim practice if she arrived a minute late. Whether it is being on time or being sent back in time as pirates rule the shores, I wonder whether anyone is wearing a watch or using a clock.

Kenya occupies 582,650 sq km, or twice the size of 2 Nevadas, with a population of about 38 million people. Canada, where I grew up, is the second largest country geographically (behind Russia) and occupies 9,984,670 sq km, just larger than the size of the US, with a population of just over 33 million. Of that total, 90% are concentrated within 160 km of the US border. Sure, that’s a lot more space for a similar amount of people, but still Kenya is doing pretty good when it comes to space. Yet still, I can’t get anyone to spread out.

The girls I am coaching have some serious problems with space! One issue is that they don’t have any goggles, which means they cannot swim up the sides and down the middle to save their lives. It is a nightmare; not dissimilar to Nairobi’s infamous traffic jams.

Ah, transportation in Kenya! I must say, I was completely shocked at the state of Kenya’s roads upon arrival. I really thought they would be decent, but they are the worst I have ever seen. Supposedly the problem is political, you only get proper roads if there is a politician in power from your area, and even then, most contractors pour only 1 of 4 inches of tar and pocket the cost of the other 3 inches. In addition to bad roads, there are unlimited “jams,” caused by a myriad of factors: old cars that break down, accidents, and then just plain old running out of gas scenarios.

Everyday I take a matatu to work. These are mini-vans that seat 15, including the driver and conductor who leans out the window shouting for new passengers. Most often another 2 are squeezed in and when this happens, the conductor sits on your lap. Matatus are famous for pickpockets, but so far, so good. My bigger problem is sharing my lap with the conductor, bumping my forehead on the way out, or having to sit in the back row and hitting my head on the roof as we bump along over potholes and curbs. The good news is that it only costs 20 Kenyan Shillings ( 27 cents). So far I have avoided the front seat up with the driver. It is lovingly referred to as the “death seat.”

Did I mention they blast hi- hop and rap music, and quite often videos if they are retrofitted with screens? If you are really lucky the seats have actual cushions and don’t have wires sticking out. Most are also decorated with appropriate urban design, complete with pictures of Missy Elliot, Dre, and Lil Wayne. When the traffic is backed up drivers take matters into their own hands, sometimes crossing into on-coming traffic to pass the long line of backed up vehicles. Even better is when they meet another car, they shift not back into their lane, but onto the sidewalk of the on-coming lane and drive right up. At least I get to work on time.

I must admit that after I gave my swimmers a little chat about coming to workout before it starts, they have been very punctual. When they are late they come up and say, “I am sorry Miss, but I was in class.” I don’t think I have ever been called “Miss” in all my life, but it sure beats “Ma’am.”

My swimmer girls don’t have pace clocks, which makes it near impossible for me to get them to give each other sufficient space to swim. Not only do they swim crooked, but they insist on swimming on top of one another; my two biggest pet peeves in the pool. Alas, without a clock, how can I teach them to leave 10 or even 5 apart? On Friday I tried to teach them dives since they had a meet this weekend (which was possibly the most painful experience I have had here. I had to sit through 4 hours of aged 7-17 year olds swimming just to watch my girls in about 6 races). So, I had them spread out across the length of the pool and said that every other girl would be in the first wave, and then the others in the second. Do you think they could figure that out even after we counted out 1, 3, 5, etc.?

There are also times when I feel like I have been sent back in time, and I don’t mean the hunter-gatherer tribes or pastoralists who populate Kenya. Last week Somalian pirates took over an Ukrainian ship filled to the brink with 22 battle tanks, grenade launchers, and a “substantial amount of ammunition.” The pirates’ ransom for the 21 member crew and its cargo has fallen from 35 million to 20 million now that it is surrounded by ships including a US destroyer. This is the 24th attack by pirates this year off the coast of Somalia.

I thought piracy went out with the 19th century. Yet somehow, the seas are filled with them here, and unfortunately these guys don’t look much like Johnny Depp.

Nairobi Checklist

Ngong Hills, Kenya- I went hiking (more like steep walking) in Ngong Hills (S01 degrees 26.136' E036 degrees 38.402'), just west of Nairobi and realized that things here in Nairobi are going rather well. Right before I left NYC for Beijing I was carrying around a 75 point checklist of things to do before I left on this adventure. Shannon S. said it was giving her a migraine just looking at it, while other friends just shook their heads in disbelieve. But this is a checklist I think you will appreciate.

1-Jobs: I have 2 jobs here in Nairobi. I will be working part-time with the Australian High Commission doing refugee resettlement, which means I will most likely get to travel out of Kenya to refugee camps throughout the region. I should also get to do some interviews in the camps here. We have our first social “bar night” on Thursday and I volunteered to lend my skills acquired at New York Bartending School, Class of 1998. I am also working for an United Nations agency called the International Office of Migration helping to create a migration policy for Somalia, which is a pretty big endeavour being that it is not really a functioning nation-state at the present time.

2-Roof over my head: Through a friend from my last job I was introduced to a lovely man named Terry W. who kindly offered me shelter until I get settled. He has a beautiful home near both my jobs, which makes getting to work (transportation gets an entire blog posting on its own coming shortly) fairly easy. There are 2 others living there, 1 permanent, his name is Martin, and Bob who is visiting from the US like me.

3-Swimming: I finally made it to the pool! I found one 5 minutes from my house and it only costs 150 Kenyan shillings ($2.30) for a swim. The pool isn't heated, but the weather has warmed up now and the sun was shining! I had to dodge a few learn-to-swimmers who were swimming widths, but otherwise, it was so nice to be in the water after about 3 weeks of nothing but walking.

4-Volunteering: I had my first practice last week with the girls at Kenya High School. They are at a pretty basic level…some have just learned to swim, but I hope I can do some good. None of them have goggles so I might be doing a big online Speedo purchase before the month is out. We started on Friday with the importance of "time-management" i.e. if they are late for workout they don't get in. I hate being the bad guy, but I also hate tardiness. Monday we do streamlining and how to climb out the pool like a swimmer. I really wish my coaching partner Jamie B. was here, I think that is going to take a lot of practice.

5-Safari Partner: Note to self: Don't ever, ever, ever do online dating again. Okay, that was a given after my disastrous over 40-only responses on Match, but posting want-ads for men in your blog seems to be a do! Not 1 week after I asked for a man over 6'2" to be my safari partner, but one appeared. It turns out that "Simon" the anthropologist from Canada I mentioned the other day put in an application for a part-time safari partner and, while I didn't know it, safari is actually more than just riding around looking at wild animals. Ku-safiri is Swahili for 'to travel'.

Simon, whose real name is Scott M., was my Ngong Hills’ travel partner and his Maa language skills came in handy when throngs of Maasai children accosted us with beaded goods on our way up and our way down. They were pretty darn cute though and we bought a few bracelets and keychains. Then we drove them down the hill to where they lived. I thought it was a bit risky for us to drive them around in the Land Rover, but since Scott lives in the community and they go to school with the children of the family he lives with, he said it would be fine. So far no charges of 2 "wazungu" (people who are white) kidnapping local children have been laid.

As far as Ngong Hills go, on the one end of the range if you go hiking there is a chance you could get mugged. Martin went there with a big group last year. When 2 of the guys walked ahead they were mugged, and I mean everything was taken, including their clothes. They walked back in bare-feet and their underwear. Suffice to say, we went walking on the other end of the range; I don’t need mugging to be added to my checklist of things to do in “Nairobbery” as it is affectionately known in Lonely Planet.

To the ends of the Earth

Masai Mara-A week and a half ago I was swimming off the northeast coast of Australia on the Great Barrier Reef; today I am here in western Kenya in the Masai Mara chasing lions and elephants as easily as I swam with sharks and turtles. At one point I stood up in the Safari truck yesterday and exclaimed that I couldn't believe where I'd been and where I now was. It really feels like I have traveled to the ends of the Earth.

Things have been coming together rather well for me here in terms of work, so I realized that if I didn't go on Safari this weekend, I might never have a chance. So off I went with 3 other people from Upperhill to the Masai Mara, a game reserve that is over 1800 square km. Bordering the Serengeti in Tanzania, the Mara is a vast grassland full of animals and rolling hills.

We started out the trip with a spectacular view atop the escarpment just 45 minutes outside of Nairobi of the Rift Valley (thought by many to be the home of the first human beings). We then bumped and bounced our way to the Mara along some of the worst roads I have rode on. I was surprised by this; while they are in the process of widening and re-taring the road, I couldn't believe how bad it had become. The last hour or so was dirt, but that got us ready for the Safari.

We stayed in a tented camp (with beds in the tent and electricity), and my roommate was a nice young woman from Hong Kong. She had 2 other friends with her, I am not sure how she drew the short stick, but I was happy to know her and she was very kind. They had brought gigantic lenses and fancy cameras (they each had 3) for the Safari and must have taken at least 900 pictures a day. I tried to take 1 good shot of each animal, then sit back and watch the show.

My favourite moments were watching nature unfold. Twice we were privy to the hunt of the lion and lioness and I got so excited to watch it so closely. The first time, man got in the way, which was a theme running throughout. The plethora of Safari vans often outnumbered the animals and I couldn't help but feel a bit dirty about the whole thing. On the one hand, I wasn't about to turn around and not be a part of an opportunity to see such beautiful animals, but I did wonder if I was part of the problem or the solution. I guess being there means the animals are protected in a reserve and safe from poachers. But when we drove up just a metre from a sleeping lion, revving our engines and smoking black fumes, I wondered if I was just part of a giant zoo.

Did I mention lions? Well, we saw plenty! On the third morning we saw 7: the sleeping lion who had awoken, a mother and her 2 cubs, and 3 other female lions from another pride. At one point I watched as the mother came from the underbrush to challenge the other female lions who were getting to close. She came right out and leaped with open mouth at 1, who then ran off to hunt. We watched the day before as another lion sat atop a rock overlooking the plain. A lone zebra wandered away from his heard and I got so excited at the thought of seeing a kill. But as the zebra approached I started to panic and hoped it would escape. Not to fear, for another 4 vans pulled up parking themselves directly between the lion and the zebra, thwarting the hunt's conclusion.

My favourite animals were the giraffes and zebras for their coats are just too cool. Plus I am tall, so I like giraffes for their height. When we stopped on the long middle day for our picnic lunch, monkeys arrived to steal the banana peels. We also saw elephants, gazelles, jackals, hyenas, ostriches, hippos, and a croc. I watched as lions ate a zebra, then saw vultures as they scavenged for the remains. It is also the season for "The Migration" which involves the movement of 2 million wildebeest and other grazers from the Serengeti to Lake Victoria. At times as we gazed about, thousands filled my view. It was pretty spectacular.

The final day was not without it's irritations. In Swahili they say "hakuna matata" which basically means “no worries.” I understand when you are paying 30 cents to take a beaten up old van around town and it breaks down, then you can say hakuna matata. But when you are paying Western prices ($90 a day), and you are left in your camp for 2 hours, then finally picked up by another Safari company whose van breaks down and you are stranded for an hour and a half, then you are dropped off for another car to pick you up after a 30 minute wait to be taken the final stretch to Nairobi, only to encounter rush hour traffic, where you sit for 2 hours, just half a kilometre from home, but you can't walk because you might get mugged, then it is hard to say hakuna matata.

But hey, this ain't New York City.

Jambo!

Nairobi-"So, what is it that you, would like to do in our country?" said the receptionist at Upperhill on my first morning in Kenya. When I explained I planned on doing refugee work and help with local swimmers she replied approvingly, "Oh, okay."

Upperhill Campsite and Backpackers is a hodgepodge of accommodations: camping, cabins, and rooms in the main building. My first 2 nights were in the main building, I even had my own bathroom, but the extra price wasn't worth it to me, so today I switched to a cabin outside. It is not nearly as warm here as I had thought it would be. Last night I slept with 2 blankets. Supposedly the coldest months are ending and as we are at altitude (about the same as Denver), it never gets as hot in Nairobi as it does in other parts of the country. There is talk of a drought, but the "troubles" are for now, somewhat under check.

I still haven't gotten out much yet. Just 2 trips on 2 days to the "western" mall called YaYa shopping center ("y shop anywhere else?"), to check my email and play on Facebook. Tomorrow I have 2 job interviews and lunch with Kenya's first family of swimming: the 2 brothers, David and Jason D. both swam great in Beijing, but leave for school in the states tomorrow. I am happy I get to meet them before they go. The best part of my life in Sri Lanka was being involved with the swimming community and hopefully I will find a place to fit in here too.

I have also been invited to a dinner party tomorrow night by a friend of a friend who also needs a house-sitter so things are improving from Day 1!

Since I have nothing to really report, I thought I'd tell you about the people who I've met here at Upperhill. There is Jen who is a trauma nurse from the US/UK/Zimbabwe/World. She is widowed, but no more than 30. She has a biological son and is trying to adopt 2 Kenyan children who suffered some horrible, horrible abuse at the hands of their families. It is some of the most grotesque abuse that I have ever heard, which says a lot since I represented victims of torture and persecution for 2 years. The children are adorable, the boys have mohawks. Jen is pretty amazing and her life impressive.

The first woman I met was Claire from Yorkshire. She lives in a tent and is here volunteering with a UK children's charity. She has lived in Africa on and off for years. She is a very lovely woman. As we were chatting, me at the top of my voice (no surprises there) and complaining about the Chinese Communist Party, a young man from the Czech Republic asked to sit with us. His name is Jamie and he is a video game programmer. He and I thought up one yesterday as we lazed about perusing maps of Nairobi and Kenya. He was planning his safaris and left this morning for one to Masai Mara.

As dusk fell, and my day had somehow been eaten up, Simon from Montreal, via Edmonton, arrived. Simon is an anthropologist Ph.D candidate who has been here on and off for 4 years studying the implications on social behaviour from structural changes to a group of people in western Kenya (or something to that effect!). He speaks Swahili and Maa.

Everyone is so different and adventurous here. This is just what I needed to shake things up a bit. I mean, I love my life in NYC; I love the luxuries and the lifestyle that I am very lucky to have, but Jen and Simon made fun of me when they saw how big my bag was! I thought I was doing well because I only brought 1. I certainly don't think I could live in a tent for the next 3 months (let alone 1 night) however, a cabin and a share toilet, I can do. At least for a little while. But I do need to do something about finding a pool…

Fear

35,000 ft in the air somewhere over an ocean-Fear is a powerful thing that comes in so many different forms. The last time I experienced body-changing, heart-pounding fear, was when I thought someone was breaking into my apartment in Brooklyn. That was 5 years ago, but it doesn't mean I haven't been afraid since then. Fear of the unknown is especially paralyzing. Will getting my hair cut short look good on me or will it look terrible? Will I find another job if I quit my current one? Sometimes you just have to jump; you have to get your haircut all off or quit your job. That is part of the adventure, and this trip to Africa was a big, big jump that involved quitting my job, moving out of my apartment, and leaving all stability behind for a few months.

But the fear is still there, even after you make the commitment to jump. It slowly creeps in, and in my case, it makes me cry. I get overwhelmed with emotion at the smallest things, but behind it is fear. It is not just my fear that overwhelms. Many times it comes from others who are worried about me. Back in 2005 I went to Pakistan to work with the Pakistani Women's National Swim Team and to visit Right To Play programs. While I was worried about going to Peshawar on the Afghan border, I didn't think I was afraid of Pakistan. That was until the words of everyone started to build up inside me on the flight to Karachi from Istanbul. I had whipped myself into such a state that when I walked out into the airport and no one tried to kidnap me at gunpoint I cried with relief.

Sometimes the fear comes from saying goodbye. I've had to do that a lot lately. Goodbye to friends, co-workers, family and even new friends made along the way. That can make you sad and afraid that you will never see them again, never be able to replicate the memories.

Nairobi-Even now, I wonder why am I here and what am I doing? I woke up this, my first morning in Nairobi, with a different kind of fear: worry. Would I find a place to live in Nairobi, what about when I get back to NYC? Will the job I want work out, here and in NYC? Will I make friends? Will I have enough money to fund all this? Will I have enough money to pay all my bills, that pile up in NYC even though I'm half a world away? When is the next time I will get to swim and wash away these worries?

My first view of Africa was out the plane window and all I could see was red soil to the horizon. The only dark spots on the landscape were shadows from the clouds. At one point, somewhere over Somalia, I saw this huge dry riverbed, then I saw the river running about 1/50th the width of the riverbed. Rainy season comes in October. I wonder if that will help.

I left Lee's apartment in Rushcutter's Bay at noon on September 1st. I arrived at Upperhill Campsite in Nairobi 38 hours later at 8PM September 2nd (which is 2AM September 3rd in Sydney) after 2, 9 hour flights and a night in Bangkok. By the time I arrived at my hotel it was dark, but Nairobi looks big and even at 7:30 at night there was bumper to bumper traffic.

It is now morning and I am afraid to leave my room because then I must face the reality of what I have done. I need to jump to get over this last hurdle. Hunger and a minor caffeine-withdrawal headache might help. I know these thoughts will seem crazy in a few weeks, but this is where I am right now: in Africa, alone in my room, and wondering what I'm doing here. I think writing this has helped me. Acknowledging these fears reminds me that no good adventure can happen without them, or without overcoming them.

PS-I came out of my room (had to post this!) and I already made new friends! One has brought me to the mall and the world wide web for which I am ever so grateful. No need to fear.

Open Water

Sydney-Fifteen thousand three hundred and three kilometres from home and over 12,000 to where I'm headed found me in Port Douglas, Queensland this weekend with my brother and his girlfriend along with turtles, sharks, stingrays, fish (lots and lots of fish), whales, and green ants. Our trip to Port Douglas included day trips in the Daintree Rainforest and to the Great Barrier Reef.

Sadly, I wasn't able to scuba dive on the Reef because we had to fly out the same day, however my snorkel skills, honed during my freshman summer at Florida where I took an 'A' in skin-diving, came in handy. Visiting the Reef was amazing, you don't snorkel over the reef, just beside it. The colours were vibrant once you dove down a few metres and the fish! I have never seen so many different species. I was also one of the lucky few who saw a small (it was really small I promise) reef shark, as well as a stingray and a hawk's-bill turtle. I bought an underwater camera…hopefully I will have proof of what I speak. There was a lot of concern onboard about keeping count of all of us. While I have not seen the movie Open Water, I get the idea. Plus last month on a different section of the Reef, another couple was left behind. They survived the night, but I really think I've spent enough time in the water in pain, I don't need to be picked up by search and rescue.

Poseidon Cruises took us to the Outer Edge for 3 stops on the Agincourt Ribbon Reefs (Anybody and Turtle Bay), and the guides were fun and educated about the sea life and how to protect the coral. On the way back to shore we saw 2 pods of humpback whales off in the distance. I saw tail! I still have never been able to swim with wild dolphins, but at the rate my adventures are going, I'm not too worried.

Note to self: Please try not to travel to romantic destinations solo or with a couple anymore. Before the Athens Olympics I spent 5 days on the breathtaking Greek island of Santorini by myself. I stayed in this cute bed and breakfast on the beach. The owner was sweet, he talked to me at breakfast and fed me fresh figs and homemade honey. At lunch I dined on Greek salad while couple after couple gazed into each other's eyes at surrounding tables. But it was my only option…I was already missing a week of law school to be at the Games, my only choice was to go it alone. This time, it was me, my brother and his girlfriend spending the weekend in Northern Queensland. The place we stayed, aptly named Pool, was romantic (sans the children screaming in said pool), but the rest of the trip was very active so I didn't feel too much like a third wheel. Plus Lee and Kate rock. But seriously, how hard is it to find a suitable romantic travel partner to join me on my swim adventures? Men over 6'2" please Facebook me if interested…I'm currently looking for an African Safari partner.

In the Daintree Rainforest, the oldest forest in the world, we went sailing 22 metres in the air through the jungle canopy on ziplines, with the lovely men of Jungle Surfing: Jay, Tristan, and Ian. My brother said I was flirting with them, but really what else was I supposed to do? We headed from Port (as the locals call it) into the Rainforest, where only solar power and generators are used. The Daintree is over 135 million years old and where it meets the coast and the Great Barrier Reef, it is the only place in the world where 2 World Heritage sites sit side by side. Everywhere we saw these ants with big bulbous behinds that are green in colour. Supposedly if you eat that bulbous behind it tastes like lime. Lee and Kate have both done it, before they even met one another. I decided to take a rain-check on this unique experience.

The best part of the day (sorry Jungle boys) was the burgers we had at this roadside take-away called Mason's. Located in the Daintree, Lee and Kate had meat burgers with the works and I had the veggie burger. I put Lee's pineapple on mine and it was the best burger I have ever eaten. The sesame seed bun was covered in dill-mayonnaise. There were carrots, tomatoes, lettuce and cheese to go with the pineapple and it was delicious! Lee and Kate agreed. We also stopped for dessert at the Daintree Ice Cream Company, flavoured by rainforest fruits: apricot, coconut, wattleseed (tasted like coffee), and black sapote (chocolate pudding fruit). I am no foodie, that title goes to the wonderful Mona of Mona's Apple, but I do now what I like and Mason knows how to cook up a burger. You can read Mona's blog about our Valentines' Day dinner at an Aussie restaurant in NYC, where the burgers were also pretty yummy.

Swimming Really Is Popular Down Here

Sydney-I arrived safely into Sydney after another 12 hour flight. I really thought that Australia was close to China, but somehow the distance was the same as NYC to Beijing. Being half-Aussie (or maybe it's full Aussie since both my parents are from here) I had an idea of the popularity of swimming and swimmers here in Australia. Just how popular wasn't apparent until a classroom full of 7 year olds really did seem pleased to meet a Canadian Olympic swimmer, and I was able to have my own longcourse lane for 45 minutes of swimming in the heart of Sydney.

Today was eventful, I went and spoke to my cousin's grade 2 class at Narraweena Public School. They had been studying the Olympic Games and Beijing for sometime, and they were a very inquisitive bunch. I have spoken to kids all over the world, and never have I had a class ask so many questions. From "what is your favourite fruit ?" (dragonfruit) to "did you win a medal?" (asked by 4 different kids, all with the same answer, "no, I got 6th"), their questions were very colourful. When I spoke about making friends from all over the world because of swimming, they proceeded to tell me where they were from: New Zealand, Italy, Spain, Greece, Malaysia, England, and China. The Chinese boy kept speaking to me in Chinese. It was like I was back in Beijing.

Then Lee and I met up with an old swimmer friend, Chloe F. who has just had a baby boy. Chloe swam for Australia, but we really only became friends when she moved to NYC. Prior to that we met on a pooldeck in Vancouver…turns out that she lived on the same street in Sydney as my mum's best friend from primary school.

Next up was a visit to the aquarium with Lee and Clare. It is the best aquarium in the world, with a massive shark tank filled with sharks and stingrays bigger than an area rug from Ikea. They swim overhead as you walk through an underwater tunnel. I also saw seahorses, which are my favourites. I thought they were magical creatures like unicorns until I saw them at the Sydney Aquarium 4 years ago.

Lee lives in Rushcutter's Bay, but we have gotten out, doing (half of) the coastal walk yesterday from Bondi to Bronte Beach. My mum grew up in Bondi, so we posed for pictures by the Bondi Baths where my mum learned to swim. Sea water fills the pool, and yesterday there were only a few brave souls in wetsuits trying to swim laps as huge waves broke over the side of the pool.

The first day I was here, Lee, his girlfriend Kate and I went to see my cousins for a BBQ. They are loads of fun. Sally B. is actually my second cousin and her 3 kids are my second cousins once removed. The next night Lee and Kate had a BBQ at their flat on the rooftop overlooking the bay. Yes, 2 BBQs in 2 days; that is Australia for you. Remember, it is winter, so it gets pretty cold out of the sun, but this does not seem to phase the Aussie BBQers.

I went swimming at the Cook and Phillip pool as well. I just showed up and paid $6.20 for a swim. There is no need to call ahead and find out when adult lap swimming is because there is always lap swimming in Australian pools. It was a 50 metre pool, which was tough after having been out of the water for 4 weeks, but I felt I had to do at least 2KM to get my $6.20 worth.

Having arrived before the Aussie Swim Team returned from Beijing, I have been glued to the TV to watch their homecoming. You wouldn't believe the reception. The airport was packed for their arrival. First out, Stephanie Rice, who is the darling of Australia after winning 3 golds in Beijing and carrying the flag for Australia at closing ceremonies. The first person to greet her was Aussie PM Kevin Rudd (a.k.a. K-Rudd). While I knew swimmers were big-time down under, I really didn't understand their celebrity until I went out for coffee with Ian T. yesterday. We had to sit at the back of a local coffee shop so as not to attract attention. I really had no idea how different their lives are here in Oz.

Tomorrow I head up to Port Douglas on the Great Barrier Reef for 3 days of R&R. I can't wait to scuba at the reef; it is a livelong dream and certainly something that no swimmer should miss.

Dance, Dance, Revolution

August 21, 2008

Dance, Dance, Revolution

Beijing-My last night here in Beijing and I hit up GT Bananas with the Canadians and my temporary roomie Christine M. It was bananas! Not quite as good as the banana split I had earlier in the week when I went out with the Brazilians, but still fun. The dance-floor was like a trampoline, there were bubbles, and when I used my credit card to pay for a round, I had to follow the waiter all the way to the kitchen where a woman was sitting to process my payment: 9 beers for $30. I only asked for 6, but they kept giving us extras. We also weren't allowed to take our purses in, but after "speaking to the manager" (the only way to get anyone to break the rules for you), they let us in after a $5 cover.

It is supposed to be the hottest club in Beijing and it was certainly going off last night. In between dances with locals who performed perfect video game dance moves, here we were, a group of 10 giant awkward swimmers crowding the bouncy dance-floor. Our night was filled with fun and humour.

Bud House parties take place every other evening, which is why we were going bananas last night. The Speedo party was hot, and Oakley threw a fun one on the roof of a bar, complete with sand and beach umbrellas…I forgot for a moment I was in Beijing. I've been eating dinners at London House, a beautiful venue that welcomed me many nights. Canada House on the other hand is very strict; despite being a two-time Canadian Olympian, I could only get a day pass to visit my friend, swimmer Adam S. The Olympian Reunion Center was in the palace of the grandson of an emperor. It was a breathtaking location, and lovely respite.

Of course, getting to your destination is another story.

The subways here are clean and timely, but there is absolutely no chivalry going on. Men dive-bomb for open seats knocking old ladies out of the way. When Elliot M. tried to give his seat to an elderly woman she blushed and waved her hand no. When I told my taxi driver one day, "Wou ai nee" he too blushed, and put his palm against his cheek giggling with embarrassment. I mean, I really did love him. He actually got me to the place I wanted to go. This is a huge feat in a place where the drivers need the location spelled out in Chinese script and even then they don't know where they are going. While taxis were cheap, I longed for the educated New York cabbie. After handing my hotel's business card with directions in Chinese to each taxi driver, every single one of them proceeded to talk to himself for 5 minutes out loud, then back to me in Chinese, as if I had better instructions for him than the card.

I can't believe it's been 4 days since MP won 8, and the swimming has come to an end. It flew by, especially with the daze that surrounded me for the first half of the meet. I've been to see waterpolo, Dream Team basketball, and Usain Bolt at track to fill the void, but nothing compares to swimming.

I went to the Great Wall with Adam S. and his family. We took a gondola ride up and then a toboggan ride down; it was very fun. I have been to Beijing before, way back in 1993 for World Cup. I also went to Shanghai, and I couldn't tell you if either city has changed. I do remember the Great Wall and the Forbidden City, but I did not go to Tiananmen Square as I did yesterday. I stood there surrounded by Chinese people happily snapping photos in front of Olympic inspired shrubbery and signs. I felt sick and left.

The 2008 Olympic Games were amazing, but I will not miss China. I do not speak Mandarin, and no one speaks English. It takes 10 people to make a decision and at least 20 minutes to discuss it as a collective. If I had had to fill out another form in triplicate just to buy a phone card, I think I would have lost it completely. Everyone was very friendly and I cannot fault the Chinese people for the system thrust upon them, but Communism sucks. The inefficiency is mind-boggling. I have a lot more views on this issue. I blogged for Team Darfur if you are interested: http://www.teamdarfur.org/node/596

Most people shopped until they dropped, buying fake Tumi suitcases to store all their new wares. I didn’t buy anything because I'm not down with counterfeit thievery. But I do have some wonderful memories and stories to tell. The new friends I made and the old friends I got to hang with have made this an amazing 4th Olympic Games. I can't decide if it's the best; it is impossible to measure fun, friendship and swimming adventures. But it certainly was full of great times.

Glamour continued...

Beijing-Life is tough for us small media outlets. As a contributing writer for SwimNews magazine (circulation 4000) I don't have a lot of pull. We have a website, which I think is read by a few dozen die-hard swim fans, but I was told that websites don't count when it comes to who gets priority here at the Water Cube. Although I have accreditation that gets me into the pool, every single swim accredited journo also needs a ticket for finals. I arrived too late to sign up for the first day and was almost out of luck. Canada only got 13 tickets from the IOC for 140 journos. After pleading my case, an extra ticket was found for me. Phew, crisis averted. Since then it's been no problem, which is good, otherwise I would have come all the way to Beijing to watch the swimming on TV in my hotel room.

There is also no free internet access anywhere. You'd think at the Olympic Games there would be, but no, it costs $500. I cannot function without internet access, nor can I do my job. How is one supposed to file her stories on the internet without access to said internet? So I took myself to the Rate Card Help Desk to fill out the required paperwork (in triplicate), then walked to the other end of the MPC to the Bank of China, pulled out my VISA, which is the only card accepted at the Olympic Games, paid a week's salary to the IOC, then marched back to the Rate Card Help Desk to pick up my internet code. I hope that the IOC members enjoy that steak dinner tonight with my hard earned money.

There are a lot of rules here. No hot drinks in the Press Tribunes, no food either. No entry from that entrance and no exit from this one. They do give us free coffee, which is nice and moon cakes, which taste a lot different than they smell. This is definitely a good thing because they smell disgusting. (Why I still tried it, shows the level of my hunger had surpassed rational thought.)

The media areas are divided up into several parts: the Press Tribunes where the press journos sit and the TV and radio people do their thing, the press conference room, the mixed zone and 2 work rooms. The mixed zone is the pit of the pool, where swimmers must walk a mile long gauntlet, often dodging questions being hurled at them by the info starved media. Swimmers must talk to the Broadcast rights holders first (those TV stations that paid the big bucks), then they hit the wire guys and flash quote people, before getting to the print media. By then they are tired, irritated, and usually need to go to warm down or pee in a cup. As a swimmer I understand their pain and personally I hate going down there. It's sad, but most of the newspaper articles you read are written by poor writers stuck in the mixed zone all day, never watching a single race live.

The 2 works zones have naturally divided themselves into areas for real journalists and the area for ex-swimmers who come together once every 4 years to report on swimming. I am of the later even though I do this more often than every 4 years. Upstairs, we prepare for the session, sharing tidbits on athletes and for some, placing bets. There are 4 guys, past Olympic greats from Brazil, Israel, Mexico, and Belgium who have been betting on races. One is up $80. The rest of us, from Britain, Australia, Italy and Canada are happy to talk the talk without walking the walk.

Okay, so you are starting to see that through my complaining, I'm having a blast. I get to hang out with a bunch of swimmers and talk swimming all day. On top of it, I get to watch the greatest breakthroughs our sport has ever seen and then write about it for swim junkies like myself.

I'm not going to lie, the nights are also pretty darn fun. Sleep deprivation is occurring, but it's worth it. Everything is a destination here: the first night it was the Budweiser House with free Bud (and fortunately Coronas), then there are the national houses; tonight I am hitting up Canada House, and of course the corporate sponsor parties. Last night Jenny T., Sean J., and I went from Oakley to Nike meeting up with all sorts of old friends. Elliot M., and Sean R., are having a blast so all is well at Hotel Dryden. The only sad thing is that this year there are no Sports Illustrated parties. Trust me, the one I went to in Athens was the best party of my life. I have a feeling the 'Bud House' will not quite reach that level.

So maybe I'm wrong, maybe my life is pretty glamorous. Sometimes it feels like that, sometimes, it doesn't, but in the end it's all part of the ride.

A Day in the Life-Glamorous You Say?

Beijing-It is raining today, which is already not very glamorous, but it is time to put to rest those rumours of my charmed life. Yes, I have posed in Glamour magazine wearing a "tent" dress and yes I am here at the Water Cube watching history unfold, however this post will be about the not-so-glam side of being a press accredited member of the Olympic Games.

My hotel is great this year, which is a far cry from the brothel I stayed at in Athens. It really was a brothel that had been "renovated" for the Games. The first night Duncan W., swimmer friend from Brown was going to be crashing on my floor for a few hours before he caught a boat to the islands. He called from the airport to say he had landed and I said, "Okay, call from the lobby when you get here and I will come down and get you." At about 3am the door to my hotel room opened (there was no way to lock it from the inside) and the front desk guy was letting my friend into my room. Sweet.

So, my hotel here is great and breakfast is included, but we pre-clear security at the hotel before boarding the bus to the Olympic Green. I beep every time and I don't think the woman who "wands" me realizes that the wand is used to detect metal, not as a pat down technique. Nevertheless, it is fast and easy, just like the woman makes me feel.

Did I mention that there are no less than 12 people who facilitate the process of me going through pre-security clearance and getting on my bus? I am usually the one of about 3 people being serviced. The nice thing about the bus is we get to drive in the "Olympic Lane" which means no traffic.

We are dropped off at the Main Press Center or MPC as it is known. Then we must walk a mile to get to the pool. Every 10th time I make this walk a golf cart drives by and I hitch a ride, but it is getting to be a really long walk when I don't. NBC has their own fleet of carts, some with TODAY show on the side. Despite seeing my forlorn face standing in the rain, the yahoos driving whiz by with empty seats ignoring my pleas to stop. My first job in NYC was at NBC news. I think I will start watching Good Morning America.

To be continued…

Lost in Translation

Beijing, the Water Cube-It has been a whirlwind since I arrived in Beijing almost 4 days ago. I wasn't sure if I was suffering jetlag or it was just the smog, but I've been lightheaded the whole time. It could also be the ridiculous swimming I'm privileged to watch here each day at the Water Cube, which sends goose-bumps up my whole body. In my 18 years of competitive swimming, I have never seen a race like the men's 4x100 free this morning. Jason L. shot himself to god-like status with that effort. I was shaking with such excitement; I could barely type for the next hour. Unlike many of the other journos here in the press tribunes, I am unabashedly biased and will let my emotions go when I see something like that. It was awesome.

Sadly, I'm not kidding about the smog…it is actually in the pool too. Yesterday it rained so today you could actually see about 200 metres in front of you and the haze inside the Water Cube had lifted, but the first 2 days was pretty depressing. I have yet to wear the mask I bought at Duane Reade (that is made in China), but if things don't clear up my lungs might force my hand.

The pool is right in the heart of the Olympic Green, and the stadium, a.k.a. the Bird's Nest, is as breathtaking as the Water Cube is unique. The only problem with the pool is that once inside you can't really see the bubbles unless you are in the pool. It is a special treat just for backstrokers.

There are way too many volunteers and workers here. I can't walk 5 metres without someone saying "Ni Hao" and jumping on me to examine my accreditation. It is very easy for me (while suffering from sleep deprivation) to get highly irritated by this and it's taking everything I have to try to be nice. I mean they are only doing their jobs, but it is already my most unfavourite visible effect of the Communist system. Too many workers, too few things to do.

And that's just the volunteers. There are at least 6 different types of security personnel here. The army guys in full camo, even have camouflage high top sneakers. Mona, I will try to trade a pair and bring them back for you. Other guards wear little white gloves when they search through my bag and make me drink the water in my bottle.

Of course, everyone is extremely lovely here. And if they can, they are ready and willing to help. The only problem is that I don't speak Chinese and they don't speak English. Sign language is my new form of "communication," a term I use very lightly. Picture me miming "where is the toilet?" and you will start to get an idea of my life here.

I must go watch swimming now, but I will end with my favourite Chinese-ism that comes from my hotel bathroom shower door: "Pays attention to the stair, before the use, invites the shop well turban, thanks." Ten points for anyone who can decipher that one.

Wherever I go, I will always have swimming

Somewhere over the North Pole-In case you didn't get it from the title, I'm a swimmer and I have adventures. Most of the time my adventures are because of swimming. Today is the beginning of a new set of just these adventures.

I'm on the plane on my way to Beijing for my 4th Olympic Games. It's my second as an observer after two as a participant. As I took my seat for my 13 hour flight, my college swim coach Matt K. appears and sits down beside me. I am absolutely giddy.

But this is par for the course with my swimming adventures. Our world is small and interconnected. Before I start on the present, I will tell you my favourite story from the past.

In 2005, after the bar exam, I was in the midst of planning a trip to Pakistan. I was going to visit Right To Play programs and I had promised the head coach of the Pakistan Women's National Team I would come visit her and her swimmers. I had met Veena M. back in 2002 at the Commonwealth Games in Manchester, which was the first time Pakistani women were able to compete in mixed (i.e. men and women) competition. The reason? The new Speedo bodysuits covered their bodies sufficiently to conform to Islamic Code, allowing them to swim in front of men.

Since I was going to Pakistan, I thought, I would also visit a friend who was living in Sri Lanka (another swimmer who I met in Athens). Since I was now doing a South Asia tour, I figured I had to hit up India as well, however I was lamenting to my parents on the phone that while I had swim connections in Pakistan and Sri Lanka, I didn’t know anyone in India. My Dad, who lives in western Canada with my Mum, said that his old high school coach in Australia had spent some time in India and maybe he knew someone. My Dad then called up his coach Eric A. in Australia who said, why yes, he did know someone, a famous Indian swimmer named Khajan S. Unfortunately they had lost touch and he didn't know how to find him.

My Dad called me back in New York with this information and I set about Googling Khajan S. All I could find was the email address of the Youth Minister for Sport in India and emailed them asking for Mr. Khajan S.'s phone number. Within a day they had emailed me back with 3 numbers. I forwarded them on to my Dad, who took it upon himself to cold call New Delhi. When he got on the phone with Mr. Khajan S, and introduced himself as the swimmer of Eric A. from Australia and the father of an Olympic swimmer, Khajan S. didn't lose a beat. He welcomed me into his home and asked for my flight arrival details. He was there to pick me up and I stayed with him and his family for one incredible week. Everywhere I went, I was introduced as the daughter of a man who also swam for the great Australian coach, Eric A.

Now you can see why I named my blog with the longest and most ridiculous title in the world. It is the only one that fits.