In Bruges

The most beautiful city I visited this year is Bruges. I wanted to go to Italy, but running low on my student’s allowance, it seemed I would have to postpone that plan. Then one of my classmates suggested, “Why don’t you go to Bruges? It is regarded as the Venice of the North”. My mind went back to the movie In Bruges with Colin Farrell, and I thought it would be a good enough compromise. So off I went, on a four hour train ride with four friends.

As soon as you arrive, the saying that old is gold comes to mind. You get off the train, cross the highway, walk a few metres and it already feels as if you just stepped into a past era: You walk on cobbled streets, the echo of your footsteps and those of other tourists reverberating through the narrow streets. You cross water canals that meander through picturesque buildings, and on the horizon, your eyes follow the spire of a church. And as if this is not enough, horse-drawn carriages pass you by on the streets, side by side with bicycles and cars.

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Bruges is located in the northwest, Flemish region of Belgium. The historic city centre is a UNESCO World Heritage site.  Its medieval architecture has been lovingly maintained: Old brick buildings, narrow cobbled streets, monuments and numerous museums are a testament to the city’s rich history. Judging from the crowds of tourists streaming in everyday, it’s obvious what the main livelihood of the city residents is.

We stayed at a small family run hotel (breakfast included), and I swear there was so much delicious bread and coffee every morning, that I couldn’t believe that I still had space for hot chocolate and waffles… but I did. We squeezed in a day trip to nearby Gent as well. I know I will go back. You see, I did not take a boat ride, and I imagine how heavenly that would feel like on a nice summer day. Furthermore, if the city centre is that beautiful, I imagine a tour of the countryside will be as well, and I just have to find out.

Cooling off in Haller Park, Mombasa

Now that the alcohol law is back in effect, I bet some of the visitors who used to jam the bars in Mombasa will finally have to look for alternative ways to cool off.  I have often found that a visit to Haller Park is a cost-effective way to clear the head and hide from the exhausting heat. It is also known as Bamburi Nature Trail. For those who don’t know it, it’s located off the Mombasa – Malindi road and is right after Nakumatt Nyali.

The best time to get to Haller Park is at 3 pm. This is when the sun is at its hottest, and a walk in the woods most refreshing. It is also the best time to catch the feeding hours and catch a glimpse of all the park residents. Standing on top of the flight of concrete stairs at the entrance, the only thing that can be heard is the sound of the rustling leaves, the chirping of birds and the buzzing of insects. The cool shade beckons and literally forces your feet to descend into the forest below. It is hard to believe that where this lush vegetation stands was once a barren limestone quarry.

The guides are always ready to welcome visitors and take them on a guided tour, which is planned in a way that ensures that they see all the animals. Haller Park is not for those after a wild and free experience. This is an intimate family, where all the animals are known by name and live in a cozy, almost domestic environment. That is what makes this park special.

The tour begins with an encounter with the giraffes. There is something soothing about the rough tongue of a giraffe’s tongue licking one’s palm. The graceful swing of their necks as they lower their heads to your level, the trusting connection that you make with them for just a little while is nice.

I remember reading about the amazing friendship between Owen and Mzee. They are arguably still the most famous inhabitants of the park, having shot to the limelight in 2005 when the old tortoise Mzee, adopted the orphaned hippo, Owen. It seems that in his enthusiastic playfulness, Owen often put Mzee’s head into his mouth, jumped on his back and scratched his neck. As he grew older and as his teeth grew sharper, he invariably started causing his best friend actual bodily harm and the two had to be separated! Or so the guide told us. It is awe inspiring to watch an older pair of fully grown female hippos arise out of the dark water, whose greenish tint lends the entire enclosure a magical hue. Coaxed out into the heat by the fortified food that the handlers give them, they stand side by side to enjoy their afternoon snack, oblivious to the hundreds of eyes trained on them and the dozen or so monkeys that inevitably sneak off with some of their food.

The stories in Haller Park are of tragedy and triumph, and the guides enthrall you with the emotion in their voices when they talk of the Haller Park residents. Take the two elands that live in the field next to the hippos. “The larger one is the father to the smaller one. Having grown old and frail, the older one was dethroned from his prided position as head of his herd and banished to live a solitary life. The son, seeing the sad state in to which his father had descended, chose to desert the herd and spend the rest of his days as a companion for his father.” Well, that is the story as I remember it from our guide.

I am fascinated by crocodiles, and I make sure I don’t miss the feeding frenzy as they are taunted with small pieces of meat hung on a string. Even more interesting about Haller Park is that one can see albino crocodiles. Again, our guide excitedly informed us that this was not a birth defect, but something that was determined by the mode of incubation.

I’ve always liked snakes, so long as they are behind a cage. Unfortunately, the snakes in Haller Park did not give me the “Oh” feeling that I had expected. I didn’t mind, as the rest of the park adequately compensated for this.

I may have forgotten to mention that as you walk along the forest trails, you are likely to be accompanied by the chattering of monkeys. You glimpse their dangling tails in the trees, you watch them have ferocious fights with each other, steal food from the other park inhabitants or just follow you with their eyes. Their presence, as well as the sound of birds and insects makes the park less lonely for the solitary visitor.

But whether alone, or with company, the tales told by the guides at the park leave you feeling like you know each and every one of the animals. The memory of the park and its inhabitants lingers, and you are bound to come back just to see how they are all faring.

Taking a low-cost culinary excursion in Mombasa

Deep fried potatoes

Whenever my friend Ray travels to Mombasa, I have to overcome my hang-ups about diarrhoea, cholera, worm infestations, amoeba and bacterial infections and join her to sample ‘mapochopocho’, as she calls the snacks that are displayed on most streets. I often accompany her on a culinary excursion with a difference – easy on the pocket, but not for those with easy stomachs.

Our first stop is Mama Ngina drive, near the Likoni ferry crossing. At sunset, this is the place to cool off while catching up on the latest gossip and watching the ships that are coming into and out of the Kilindini harbour. The main reason we go there is for the cassava: roasted cassava, dry on top and soft on the inside; deep fried cassava served with red hot chili and lemon or cassava chips, drained so that they crunch when you bite into them. For the more adventurous, there is plenty of madafu – fresh coconut water.  One must allow for about half an hour to lounge on the stone benches and let the food settle before hoping on to a Nissan matatu or tuk tuk and he ading down town.

The streets are teeming with people in a hurry to get home as dusk descends over this old, historic city. We have our sights firmly set on the large heaps of mahamri, which taste like spicy doughnuts to me. Around Mwembe Tayari, tables are lined on the streets, with benches on either side. Usually occupied by men, the heaps of mahamri tend to be so high that one can barely see the person sitting across from him. That does not inhibit the flow of conversation. Although we’re not courageous enough to sit, we let the sing-song of their native Swahili cascade gently over our eardrums as we folk out some cash for take-away mahamri. We pretend that they’ll be our breakfast the next morning, but we know very well that we’ll bite into them as soon as we step away from the table.

Next, we stroll onwards down Jomo Kenyatta Avenue towards Majengo, where we’ve been informed that we can find the sweetest and freshest mabuyu. It’s worth the long walk when we finally suck on them and find that the tangy taste is exactly as we imagined.

To cap off our culinary excursion, we find a lady selling deep fried flavoured potatoes coated with wheat flour. A queue has already built up, and the potatoes seem to disappear as soon as they leave the frying pan. It is with happy mouths and stomachs that we finally receive our share – a bagful of viazi karai, with tamarind juice, popularly known as mkwaju, and chili sauce.