Getting to the Masai Mara


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Africa » Kenya » Rift Valley Province » Masai Mara NP
February 3rd 2010
Published: February 15th 2010
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Cool things that happened today:
• Actually making it to the Mara by matatu (local mini bus transport)
• Discovering that my newly purchased buy slightly small hat is passably reversible - awesome!
• Having the hippo at our campsite put on a grunting, heaving show for us before disappearing for the night

Not-so-cool things that happened today:
• Being descended on by vulture-like hasslers/hustlers at Narok matatu hub
• Realising that we'd have to rely on bottled water after finding that the camp's tap water comes seemingly direst from the seasonal hippo creek and both looks and smells unsteripennable
• Discovering, in the overnight downpour, that our supposedly waterproof tent is, in fact, NOT waterproof. Approaching wet season... hmmm.

Journeying by matatu to the Mara was waaaay better and astonishingly cheaper than either joining a tour or hiring a private transfer. Money factor aside, it was a great way to become and observe part of local life. The journey was split into two parts, with one matatu from Nairobi to Narok, and then a second matatu to Talek, where our camp ("Aruba") is located.

Getting to Narok was a piece of cake, and I whiled away the 2 1/2 hour journey looking at the scenery and landscape shifting outside the window, and relaying the London Metro-like "Daily Star" news headlines to Hero, as glimpsed from over the shoulder peeks of reading that I could steal from one of the men in front of me. Different country, same style and topics of 'news' - fun for light entertainment, but appreciating the distinctly African landscapes outside, and enjoying Hero's first-timer excitement, were the real interests and joys of the trip.

The next few hours in Narok were less peaceful, with crowds of men surrounding us, all vying for our business on one of only two options available. I'm still unsure why we had to deal with so many people, but we spent most of our Narok time trying to avoid the hassle, deciding to go with whichever matatu wound up leaving first. This was difficult to judge, as they only leave when full, and the estimated departure times of both vehicles (as well as their price and trip duration) were rather fluid and contradictory entities, shifting each time it was detailed to us.

Buying a drink from a nearby stall also bought us some respite, and we cooled down while watching our stall woman unbraiding the hair of the stall woman next door, and also observing life at the matatu hub unfold. Not sure how much more than an hour after finishing our drink we could sit at the stall bench, we moved around the horseshoe of stalls to the opposite side, almost evading the matatu touts long enough to escape into a hothouse little restaurant. It seemed we had to explain each move to the matatu touts as justification for not handing over our bags for loading and hopping onto their truck. 'Having lunch' appeared to be a satisfactory enough activity to keep them at bay a little longer, and we enjoyed yet another delicious meakl, adding beans and rice to our existing list of veg faves. The people who served us were lovely, and another diner helped us out with a few new kiswahili and masai words (most of which I have unfortunately managed to forget).

Having stretched out our stay there also, it was time to face the matatu horde one final time and we cut through all the hassling and gave our bags to the trucj that, with its engine at least on, seemed likeliest to leave first. Having seen our bags strapped to the roof we hopped on to the matatu and waited for departure... and waited. Happily, there was so much activity around us - with the loading of the matatu, and the arrival and departure of other passengers and sales people - that we were kept entertained, and by the time we actually started moving we (and the matatu!) had been in Narok for three hours. Four hours later of more shifting landscapes; countless exchanges of smiles, people watching and being watched; as well as a brief stop to change a punctured tyre, we arrived in Talek to be greeted with a big gorgeous smile by Tony, a lovely manager of "Aruba Camp."





















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