Lamu: Part One

The rainy season, one would think, covers more than one city. This was my logic as I threw my black pants on and wonderfully warm, purple sweater on the coolish, rainy morning we left for Lamu. The plane ride was less than eventful. The steward was a mousey looking Latino that the ladies had fun giggling about and secretly snapping pictures of. I don't know how you take a secret photo on a plane that only sits 20 women but it was amusing non the less.
So as the plane rose into the chilly rain clouds and began it's journey to Malindi I dozed off after a dozen or so head bobs. When I awoke (from a flash of someone trying to catch the unattractive sleep pose) I noticed that the lush land of Nairobi had turned into a scorched, desert of dying and thirsty trees. I unzipped my sweater slinging it over my bag feeling twinge angst at my weather judgment.
We landed on the mainland and the first thing I noticed was the heat and the clear absence of rain. The next was the cats. A whole line of them were laying in the sun of the duty free shop that met us outside the exit of the tiny airport. One was nestling in a cracker box and another was on the front counter displayed beside the softdrinks. I looked around rather unimpressed as the heat was making any emotion to much work including amazment. "Excuse me, excuse me" I jumped out of the way as a man pulling a donkey cart came flying in to collect the bags. I trudged along behind sulking about the heat making my jeans stick to my legs and the heavy bags I had criss crossed over my shoulders. A gaggle of girls trailed along as well with cameras and giggles. I frowned at them and wiped my forhead. Everything is annoying when your hot and sweaty
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Two hours later I sat reclined in a lovely chair with a glass of passion fruit juice in my hand and a beautiful view of the Indian Ocean layed out before me. The world is beautiful place when the ocean is present and the sweat glands of the body can breathe
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That evening I stepped onto the deck of a cosy sail boat with all my mothers and prepared for a sunset cruise. The boat leaked a little and the captain was a 26 year old rastafarian. I knew right away that there would be no pesty life jackets handed out or no annoying wavers to sign and so I hoped up on to the side of boat and leaned over the edge hanging off the frayed rope holding the sail down. The sunset was breath taking; a giant orange bubble melting like butter into the horizon and from that moment I was in love with Lamu.