Taking the Slow Train . . .

Spent a lazy Thursday morning trying to get my suitcases organized. Everything fit into two, so I wanted to leave the third one with Dorothy and avoid paying $55 to bring it back into the US.  The morning went into hyperdrive when I found out that my bags had to be out of the room by 10:00. The outside temperature was back to blistering.

I had wanted to do a bit more looking around - and possibly some shopping - in Old Town, and Stephanie agreed to come along. Her bargaining skills were invaluable in securing some interesting gifts for Bill, as well as a large bag woven of baobab fiber. This bag has turned out to be my very own Mary Poppins bag - no matter how much I put in it, there's always room for more.

One tuk-tuk, one matatu and a short walk brought us back to Stephanie's house to visit the flip-flop burial ground and for one last walk on beach. The pit Coco had dug was more than two feet across, and had yielded not only my flip-flop but four of Mr. Rooke's socks as well. More socks had been discovered in other holes, as well as childhood toys that had been missing for years.

The beach was missing, completely covered by the rising tide, so we sat on the rocks above and watched the waves climbing the rocks.

Back to the Poly to pay for my stay there, then a tuk-tuk to Dorothy's to meet up with my security force, then on to the train station. The guys helped get my heavy suitcases onto the train and into my compartment, and insisted on watching over me until just before the train left at 7PM.

The compartments in First Class are tiny, even for one person, let alone the two they're designed for. In addition to the bunk beds, there's a small closet, tiny sink, trash compartment and a ladder for reaching the top bunk.

The Camera makes the cabin look larger than it is.

The corridor is so narrow you have to move into your compartment
when someone needs to pass by.

The fans in our compartments weren't working, so it was a relief to be called to the dining car for dinner, where the fans were plentiful and operational. The meal was surprisingly good - I had read that the dinner meal was generally the more disappointing of the two - but the conversation sparkled.

At my table:

• Rupert - a businessman from Malindi (several hours north of Mombasa), and a veteran of Kenyan train travel
• Barnaby - a young independent film maker who makes short promotional films for businesses
• Lucy - a young make-up artist/costumer/special effects genius with a small British TV production company.

Rupert kept us in stitches the entire evening, and somehow managed to turn the rest of us - all quiet by nature - into clever and witty conversationalists.

Back in my room for the night, I joined in the collective cheers when the fans began working. Periodic power fluctuations would dim the lights and slow the fans. I tried to blog, but wasn't able to get a reliable Internet connection, and the motion and sound of the engine finally lulled me to sleep.

The train stopped just before 7:00 AM for what we thought was a short stop. We later learned that a train ahead of us had broken down and was awaiting assistance. My breakfast companions included a quiet Indian mother with limited English, and her son (maybe 9 or 10 years old?), who said nothing. He left the table while we were being served and his mother followed after having a few bites.

The fourth person at the table was Noemie, a young Belgian woman with Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders), who was returning from a week in Lamu. She had spent the week before that in Nairobi, interviewing local MSF medical personnel who were applying for international (traveling) MSF positions.

We talked for several hours, and tried to get train staff to give us some idea of when we might be arriving in Nairobi (responses ranged from one to three hours late – not sure how the one hour figure was arrived at as the train had been stopped for more than two hours by that time). Passengers who had planned morning or midday meetings were stressed, and nearly everyone had someone to call to change pickup arrangements. "Don't come to the station - I'll call when I get in" was the phrase of the day.

An isolated two-bungalow compound along the tracks.

After an additional few hours of conversation and several large animal sightings (unfortunately the camera operator wasn't quick enough), we finally arrived in Nairobi - just 5 hours past the scheduled 9 AM arrival time.