26/09/2008
The night was spent in the Pavilion, a building opposite the school used for the Cricket/Rugby Clubs, which resulted in the worst nights sleep I’ve had in a long time. If you want my advice, if you are asked to spend the night in a room with twenty or so Over-Excited boys – do what you can to get out of it. It should really go without saying, actually.
We awoke several hours later (those of us that slept), and left around five-thirty. We said goodbye to Windsor and were at Heathrow just before six. My bag, in a socially-risky flecktarn camouflage, rather than being heavy, was an awkward shape, and the attached sleeping bag was massive in comparison to everyone else’s. It actually completely messed up the balance of the bag. Nothing some duct tape couldn't fix, and I ended up using most of a roll, but everything still looked slightly lop-sided(and DIY Nazi). I would be walking around the airport at a slant for the rest of today. I also managed to get the trolley with the wonky wheel...
The line to the check in kiosk was by no means short, but between Neil (porter) & Sam (Nutt), we were able to keep ourselves amused. Now Neil I had known forever, but this was the first time I’d ever spoken to Sam – but we got on like fire and Amy Winehouse's face. The fact that we both liked Muse sparked the flame, and we spoke about music and bands for ages. He then introduced me to Mark (churchman), another guy I would come to get rather close to over the space of the month.
After the nerve-racking experience that always is Customs, We were welcomed by the familiar sights and sounds of the airport’s Duty free shopping zones and the gates, each one a portal to another world, in my eyes, anyway. To most, they must have looked like a gaudy plastic-looking tunnel with a rather bored looking airline staff member at a temporary desk.
We had all of about an hour of time to spend (and a little money), so I went straight to HMV, the last media outlet we may see for some time, and invest in some UMDs(those stupid PSP disc things). Neil & I then ate in Costa, again, for the last time in a long time (how I am to survive without all day breakfast toasted sandwiches and double chocolate frescatos, I do not know…). In hindsight, I should have spent less and bought more books, but The Motorcycle Diaries(Che Guevara) would last me a short while, and this diary should keep me occupied.
After food we went straight to gate 5, Heathrow to Nairobi. One of our group members suffered a great personal tragedy, and had only been told a few minutes previously. Due to the circumstances, he was in two minds whether to leave and go home or not, but decided to stay. The news(I would write more about it, but I don’t want to seem disrespectful by writing this in my diary.) dampened the spirits of the whole group, and I couldn’t bring myself to imagine what was going through his mind.
aha. i'm glad we are not on board a tin can with sheet metal wings, being propelled towards our country of choice at 500 miles per hour.
On the plane I was seated between Josh(Lovell, from which a good percentage of the great photos are produced) and Tom(Horsefield). The flight was pleasant enough. I chatted with both guys throughout, and by the end of one of the in-flight movies, we could see what we assumed was the Sahara Desert. All there was, all the way to the horizon, was sand and waving dunes. We arrived at Nairobi International airport at ten, and headed through to the National airport, which was across the road.
and now, for a skilled, practiced and graceful dismount.
We had been warned, but didn’t think it would happen quite like this.
We were walking across the road, with all our bags on trolleys, when a small man with a shirt that was too bright a shade of green(seriously, glow in the dark) pushed right up against me, grabbed the handlebars and tried to pry my grip from the trolley, using all his bodyweight to force me off(attempted to, anyway).
My instant reaction to this breach of security was to use my bodyweight and forced him off with one quick shoulder barge. He lost his grip, and his balance, and was launched a meter or so to my right. He turned to me and said “no, no, I am a porter, this is my profession”.
I would hear “this is my profession” a lot more throughout the month. After telling him I couldn’t (wouldn’t) pay him, he escorted me to the pavement, asked me for money in every currency he could think of, and then buggered off to pester someone else.
After waiting for the others to catch up, I saw Sam, strolling alongside his trolley, in conversation with its new pilot, the little man with is fluorescent shirt. It took some explaining, but the small man soon left without Sam’s money. Sam now had a new phobia of porters. Let’s hope Neil doesn’t count.
Mombasa airport was deserted, save for a couple of hopeful taxi drivers. We made our way across the car park, loaded our bags on top of the minibus, boarded, in time to see the large digital clock above the driver’s compartment change from 11.59 to 12.00.
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