choo choo

We have recently 'relocated' to Malindi, a beautiful, antiquated coastal town, different in architecture, culture, landscape, climate and pace then we have had the opportunity to experience thus far. Resting at the edge of the Indian Ocean, the town is bound by a ample strip of white sand and an east wind that pushes it back from the sea's edge. We arrived late yesterday afternoon, hit by the 32 degree heat and sunshine that has been largely hidden by the much prayed for and celebrated rain clouds in the Nairobi region for the past couple of weeks. My parents have generously given us a week's time share with huge mango trees providing a seemingly endless amount of fruity goodness and a huge pool, providing seemly endless hours of entertainment for our kids (and us). But, Dana can write more on that later... I want to write about how it is that we came to this place, and more specifically how it is Noah and I came to this place.
Two years ago when we were here, the post election violence resulted in our family being unable to experience the much anticipated (by some) overnight train from Nairobi to Mombassa, through the Tsavo park. So, Noah and I decided to seize the opportunity to fulfill a dream and ride these ancient rails.
After boarding the train at 6 PM we settled into our berth and awaited our 7 PM departure. 7, 8, 9, and 10 PM came and went with nary a lurch or whistle blowing, and while Noah and I are generally able to sustain our excitement and practice the patience of delayed gratification our faith was beginning to wane by the time our trip lurched into motion at about 10:30 PM. Our on board meal was filled with adventure of it's own as we were seated across from a British women who became increasingly agitated, muttering to herself after we had tried to exchange pleasantries, about how much she despised 'Americans'. Noah and I, uncertain if we were the cause of her distress and increasingly erratic behaviour, chose to make the best of it, though it quickly became apparent that her hostility was indeed directed at us! The escalating crisis was thankfully averted when the women asked to be seated elsewhere, informing us before she left that had she been forced to stay seated with us she would have responded by throwing her food at us. Noah, wide eyed and not a little distressed, was thankful that our interaction had ended without any flying chicken and rice, while I was sorry we weren't more obviously 'Canadian'.
After eating a 3rd class meal in a first class dining car Noah and I settled into our beds, happy with the prospect of being lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of our 1963 train car rattling it's way to the coast. Just before stumbling into the sleep of the satiated adventurer we slowed to an 'unscheduled stop' for another 2-3 hour delay. We took this in stride... (while remaining prone in our beds) and woke the next morning delighted to find ourselves in motion, albeit 6 hours behind schedule (due to multiple engine problems and a train derailment!(not us, but the train in front of us).
It was a happy mishap for the two of us, who now were able to take in the stunning countryside, and welcoming children at every station in daylight. We also had the opportunity to share a number of conversations every boy and his dad should have, but I will let Noah share more on that if he chooses...
Needless to say, the girls, and Dana's parents, who had left via the jeep the morning after we had begun our 18 hour epic, actually beat us to the coast and intercepted us in a little one mule town, making us likely the only muzungu's to have ever disembarked at the little train station since colonialism. After a little 'reunion celebration' with the girls we were spirited away in a much more efficient, though somewhat less character filled mode of transportation... destination, sunshine and palms.