Again, things are volatile. We fly back to the Wilson airport to board to the Masai Mara, and without time to pull out cash, are whisked on to a plane waiting for us, and I SEE RICHARD!!! The plane is full of white people with southern accents and terrible dye jobs and tourist outfits. Emma and I are unhappy. We are going to the Mara for the migration - a national park with rules, regulations, way more animals, but also, way more people. This is expected. On a layover, I leave to use the bathroom and while I am running back, Giant Richard tells me “pole pole,” and compliments my necklace from Emma I have worn. Next thing I know I am crying to him too now and we are holding hands and hugging. I want him around me all the time. I come back to the plane, can’t find Emma, get the attendant involved ‘WHERE DID SHE GO??” and upon further investigation, find her adorably sleeping with her other necklace in hand.
We land in the Mara and it feels like we are going to war - cruisers surrounding us waiting for pick up, guides in traditional outfits, a free for all. Our next guide, Vinnie, plucks us and our baggage out of the mix, along with a few other passengers who will BE IN OUR TOUR GROUP UGGGHHHHHH and we make small talk and assert ourselves and the alpha’s of the group (or as the guides call them “The Big Boys” - in our case, girls). At one point one of the guests in our group points out a hibiscus flower and Vinnie kills the engine for us to look at it. What …. the fuck, Vinnie? Emma and I shoot each other glances and just know. We know. We know that even though we are staying at one of the best camps in the Mara, we are not in Kansas (Ol Donyo) anymore. The kid of the group is not even acting excited, despite this being his first trip ever to Africa, and Emma and I know we are not going to be able to do this.
The camp is a glamorous tent set up, overlooking the Mara River, with crocodiles and hippos feet away from you (and that sound like they are in your room at night). There is great food and staff (Lenny and Isaac), and we pull the camp director aside regarding our cruiser mates and try our hand at the negotiations we have come to love in this country. I will save the details but at one point I let him know “The gig … is up.” They understand and the next morning after our balloon ride, we will have Vinnie to ourselves for about 7 hours of a combination I can only describe as bliss and hell. We settle into our room, have tea and cake, I call my family who are on an early morning walk, and have a passion fruit cocktail. At 4:30, we head out on a game drive with Vinnie who is driving about 5 miles an hour, which we give him infinite shit about, and see some wildebeast, zebras, and then a LEOPARD EATING A GAZELLE IN A TREE!! (Leopards can carry 3 times their weight up trees).
When we approach, it is a murder scene of only the half eaten gazelle hanging (no Leopard), and about 30 cars with lenses propped, waiting for the right moment to click the shutter. Emma puts her hair up in a gorgeous wraps and we ask Vinnie how many cows our dowry would be worth. He says 18 for me, 19 for Emma if she wears her hair like that. We celebrate. Sure enough, the cub comes bouncing up adorably and greets his mom, who has been sleeping under the tree like a lazy bum the whole time. Up he goes for his snack, and eventually the rest of the gazelle snaps in half (they eat from the soft belly meat) and lands on the ground and a HYENA comes to eat it. We miss this all because of the stupid RULES OF THE PARK and learn from a family at dinner who is very proud of themselves for seeing it.
Back at the lodge, we are met with our hot air balloon guy, Joseph to suss out plans for tomorrow’s 4am wake up call and share insider information (Emma, you know what I am talking about). At this time, Emma and I have decided the only way to deal with all the tourists is to get drunk on bad wine. We are eventually seated for dinner across from each other where we will clear the air with everyone who thought we might be lesbians. Myth busted! Lenny pours more wine. We sit with a progressive British family who have great stories of travel, taking a car cross country in the US and then dumping it and not allowed back in the states, and their three adorable, one especially flirtatious, boys. The youngest one is the sweetest, softest, roundest boy of all time ( “Ned”…) who I love the most and find myself just smiling at. More, immeasurable wine poured by LENNYYYYY. There is a girl there who only eats pasta and butter for the entire trip and I find myself equal parts appalled and jealous. More wine. People find out who Emma worked and the floor is now ours, which is about the same time, coincidentally we leave early because we 1. are brats 2. have slept an average 4 hours of the entire trip 3. are now blitzed and are waking up at the butt-crack of dawn 4. don’t like anyone there to begin with.
I try to sleep to the sound of what sounds like hippos being murdered in the night and am awoken finally at 4am by our wake up call for the balloon, which is just a man with fresh pressed coffee letting himself into our tent via the giant zipper. We find out about 4 different kind of animals trapsed through the camp that night, which we never know if it is a tall tale or not, but appreciate Isaac and his spear and flashlight nonetheless. We get in the covered cruiser with Joe, wrap ourselves in shukas, bounce around while suffering exhaustion and only the plausible negative effects of the quickly guzzled but not effective coffee. “Taylor, this might be the time.”
After an hour of torture, we get to Governers camp and a river with a string across it. “Are you guys sisters?” Emma asks if this is African’s way of tongue in cheek asking if we are gay, WHICH WE ARE SICK OF, because of course we aren’t sisters, but I guess they really just do think we are sisters. We get in a gondola and a guy pulls us across the string and it feels like we are going to an enchanted castle. We are so, so sososo tired. We walk past some camp quarters and get to the balloons, hear some rules, drink more ineffective coffee, and then realized how incredibly blessed we are because the only people we have to share a basket with are Spanish tourists. A language barrier. No small talk. Just us, our Australian captain, our hot air balloon, and 14 pleasant strangers speaking a romance language. We find out there is going to be a crash landing which we did not know about, and watch the balloons heat up and expand. It is so beautiful. The men in jumpsuits, the anticipation of the flight, the contrast of their darkness with the fire behind them. In a row, the balloons one after another heat up, expand, fill with people, and take off. And then it is our turn. With a translator talking all the while, we tuck into our basket and take off. We are lucky to be able to witness one more balloon after us, see it from above and become smaller as we drift away, the sheer size of it minimizing in seconds. It is so overwhelming, and of course I am crying.
For the ride, you are a bird. Everything is quiet, it is peaceful, and you are perfectly focused soaking up every single single second of the miracle that you are somehow in the sky. You go as high or as low as you want. Everywhere you look is beautiful. The colors of the balloon, the fire, the morning light on the skin of happy people’s faces, the trees and animals below. We don’t see trees like that ever. Ever! And then the basket gently spins. You get different views and perspectives and then the sun is rising and you cannot believe how lucky you are and what you did right in this life or another to have an opportunity to experience this, ever. You are so thankful.
We see wide open plains, forests, the Mara River. We see hippos (who make natural sunscreen), plains game, crocodiles, giraffes. We realize the last balloon to leave has somehow passed us, and that we are going both higher and lower than all the other balloons. We realize we scored the best captain with the tenure to do these maneuvers and also is keeping us in the sky the longest. We love him.
It’s time to land. The basket scoots a couple times on the ground and then tips, we are howling all the while. We find out later there have been plenty of animal encounters during this portion of the flight - one of them requiring all passengers to get back in the basket and take off again (lion!). We are gathered by Joe and head to an open plains breakfast with champagne and sausage and crepes, hear incredible stories from our captain, and get sold on a rhino encounter GUARANTEE FOR THE DAY. We don’t see a rhino, because the rhino runs into the forest. We will make Vinnie take us to see baby elephants basically the entire day instead.
Okay so breakfast is over and Vinnie shows up alone, (TG for Rekero staff), but the joke is on us because Vinnie takes us around the entire fucking national park for the next 8 hours with no breaks. Again, most of it is us pointing to baby elephants, but still, it is extremely tiring. We crawl up into the front seat, trying desperately to recreate a semblance of what we had with the boys, but just can’t seem to spark a flame. I crawl into the back seat as I can feel my energy tapping out; Emma knows exactly what is happening and lets me be me, and explains to Vinnie what I need. He takes us to some wide open spaces that I will always be thankful for - in the delusion of exhaustion and clarity that comes with complete surrender, I realize feeling this small and fabulously insignificant in this world, that my problems don’t matter, and that I am a very small piece of this great big puzzle that has so much more than my problems - is exactly what I have been looking for. It’s breathing space. It’s one of my favorite moments.
We get back to the camp at 3. They have saved us dinner. We are dragging. Dragging in new ways. We can’t even speak English anymore, formulate a thought, we can’t ask for what we want. Emma drinks regular water so you know she’s on death's doorstep. I leave to the bathroom and miss a mini-migration. Emma can feel her legs start to go and says “Taylor, if I were to fall right now, I would cry. Almost anything, at all, right now will make me cry.” We eat, we decide we are NOT going on the game drive, and nap instead.
Upon our wake up, we hunt down Lenny. Lenny is our age, very thin, has a doll like face, and is from the same tribe as Isaac. HE IS FUNNY. He tells us about the drinks, (“A croc… on the rocks….”), we make fun of how he always says my name (imagine I am getting in trouble, like “Taaaaaayyyllooooorrrrr…..!”), and tell him to meet us in the hideaway reading tent so we can get the juice. We also do ask for a croc on the rocs which is basically a White Russian with Amurulo. While he is there we start to get PERSONAL. What do you like to do, why this, why that, why do you have these scars. Lenny has these three little scars on each of side of the bridge of his nose, so faint you can barely even see them. I find them to be exquisite. He tells us when he was little, he cried a lot. Maasai believe the cuts there, will make you stop crying. Vinnie confirms later its because your SALTY TEARS pour into the OPEN WOUND and it hurts so bad that you STOP CRYING. We are shocked. We count the burn scars on his legs and arms (toughening), and realize Lenny is pretty unbelievable. He tries to talk to us about soccer but we don’t care. We ask him why he is Maasai but doesnt have a “J name” but find out his name has been Jalenny, not Lenny, this whole fucking time. He points to his bracelet as proof. It says “J-A-L-E-N-N-Y”) He tries to give me said bracelet but it snaps when while he is removing it and then we just have to look at each other, wincing while beads roll off into every direction into the jungle.
Paul comes in to help set the table and we notice he has a very, very cool beaded belt with alternating Kenyan and American flags. “I got this when Barack Obama was president.” The manager comes in, we agree to a sundowner, and some outspoken, uninvited person tags along who is getting on my nerves and I say I have to go get a sweater and just leave. I will find my melted croc on the rocks there, hours later. Emma comes in after getting off the phone and is now trapped, which was incredibly poor form as far as friendship goes on my part.
We have our last dinner, which Vinnie comes out for (”Vinne… do you…. like to play video games…??”) and we sleep well and wake up for out last game drive, see some cheetahs and a “big boy” lion that walks behind our car, and have a beautiful last meal outside. We run back to the camp to hug everyone goodbye, but mostly Jalenny, and make our flight to the Island of Lamu.