The Ducks triumph!

Last night marked that hallowed annual event: the hotly contested Civil War football game between state rivals the University of Oregon Ducks (based in Eugene, representing goodness and light and all that is right in the world) and the hated Oregon State Beavers (hailing from Corvallis, representing the misbegotten detritus of a world untethered from any moral bounds). The rivalry runs deep... and for good reason. The two programs are very different - as are the people who support them. Oregon has a very pronounced red/blue divide, corresponding roughly with the urban/rural divide. The urban educated pot smoking latte drinkers: Duck fans. The rural cattle ranching flannel wearers: Beaver fans. I would guess that upwards of 90% of Duck fans vote with the left... and the opposite obtains for the Beavs. There are exceptions (our friends the Van Fleets come to mind), but they only serve to prove the rule.

In point of fact, we always root for the Oregon team in any game with other Pac-10 rivals or teams from other conferences... whether Beavs or Ducks. And I'm not afraid to sing the Beavers' praises any other day of the year. But when the Civil War game arrives: all bets are off. Go Ducks! Skin dem Beavers! The Civil War game is always huge. But this year the stakes were even higher: the winner would be the Pac-10 Conference Champion, and would advance to the Rose Bowl in Pasadena to play the hated Ohio State Buckeyes.

I called several sports bars in the District and was assured that the game would be on. But since we had a birthday party to attend during halftime, I chose a large place near this other party: Buffalo Billiards here we come. I dressed appropriately.

We arrived and were shocked to find that the Oregon contingent... was huge! A sizeable crowd had gathered around a big screen showing the game... almost entirely Duck fans. There was one (1) Beaver fan. I delightedly explained to Jennifer the moral righteousness associated with being a Ducks fan and reveled in the crowd. She, quick learner that she is, pointed out: "Well, Beavers fans probably don't leave Oregon." True. Very true. Unpacking the implications of that statement would require more space than I'm willing to devote here...

Touchdown!


Note the Oregon paraphernelia.


We finally figured out what accounted for the crowd - they were mostly Congressional staffers representing Oregon's Congressmen. And there in the crowd: Earl Blumenauer (Rep from Portland), Peter DeFazio (Rep from both Eugene and Corvallis) and newly elected Senator Jeff Merkley. I had to say hello, and asked about my local rep from the South (Greg Walden, a Republican). DeFazio didn't miss a beat: "We aren't responsible for what the Republicans do." Classic. After some debate, Jennifer and I decided we had to take a picture; the Congressmen obliged.


Note that both DeFazio and Blumenauer are displaying their true Oregon colors. While Merkley played the diplomat (opting for flannel instead of Duck Green or Beaver Orange), when I pointed out that Myrtle Creek (his hometown) lies squarely in the heart of Beaver Country, he acknowledged: Yes, that's true.

Also: the game was amazing. Back and forth, high stakes demanding high quality play, and it did not disappoint. Check out the ESPN video recap on their homepage right now. We left at halftime to celebrate our friend's birthday at a nearby wine bar... let's just say I was the only one wearing bright yellow knee-high socks and a cutoff shirt. But they let me in. We got back just in time to watch the Ducks score the go-ahead touchdown, and stayed to celebrate the victory: 37-33 Ducks!

Someone distributed copies of the Oregon fight song - which is hilarious - and we all sang along.

"Mighty Oregon"

Oregon, our Alma Mater
We will guard thee on and on
Let us gather round and cheer her
Chant her glory Oregon
Roar the praises of her warriors
Sing the story Oregon
On to victory urge the heroes
Of our mighty Oregon!
Go Ducks Go!
Fight Ducks Fight!
Go!
Fight!
Win Ducks Win!

Huge night for the Ducks, and cool to chat with the Congressmen. I have a lot of respect for all three of them; they've done good things for the State and the country. Blumenauer's been instrumental in the health legislation, DeFazio's been a lion of Oregon politics for almost three decades, and Merkley unseated a longtime R to claim the second seat in 2008... my last election as a registered Oregonian voter.

P.S. to Kevin: We chatted up a bunch of the Oregonians, and not one but TWO different people correctly identified my T shirt as an EGO shirt. Ballers!

New York 2009

Since I arrived on the East Coast in 2000, I have sampled regularly from the ample offerings of the Big Apple. Tentatively at first, foraying down during college a couple times en route to Europe. Then more regularly post-grad to visit friends, then on an almost bi-weekly basis when Jen and I started dating. Since I moved to DC I've made an effort to hit up the City every couple/three months or so. So it was to my great dismay that I found myself facing the prospect of letting pass an entire year without taking a bite out of that unique (and oh so sinful) Apple.

Fortunately, Jennifer galvanized me into action, leading us resolutely northward for the annual Harvard-Yale game. I worked a half-day and we bailed at one, fighting traffic aboard the Bolt Bus and arriving in time for a really nice dinner with Fletcher and Lauren. They played generous host as well, putting us up even though they were leaving Saturday to head West for the holidays.


After dinner we headed out in the West Village, rendezvousing at my favorite New York bar with a quality crew. We had a mini SAIS reunion (Nikki rode up with us from DC, and Vanessa and Jason are recent DC transplants).


People kept trickling in, arriving at midnight, one, and even two am. That's how they do in New York. Finally, we had a crew:


I sampled IPAs with pleasure. The Peculier Pub (Bleecker and Thompson in the Village) boasts an extensive beer selection, reasonable prices, no-nonsense service, and big oaken tables. Seg and I indulged in the Big Daddy, and showed our thug face. Well, we tried.


We finally made it back to our temporary abode well after three. Grabbed three hours of precious sleep, and stumbled awake to catch the subway to Grand Central. Oh, my head. Boarded the 8am Metro North to New Haven... along with the entire Ivy League population of NYC. Standing room only. Thank god we got a seat. Check out the scene exiting the train in New Haven.


After making our way through the hordes of high IQ football (or beer?) fans, we finally located the 2003 tailgate.


Fun to watch Jen interacting with her friends and enjoying a crisp late fall day.


I slipped away at one point with an Amherst buddy (now at Harvard law) to throw the ol' flatball.


Finally we decided we should probably watch some of the game. Why not? We passed by the fearsome (cute?) Yale Bulldog (Jen wouldn't let me puncture it).


And so we entered the hallowed Yale Bowl.


And took in the game from our privileged position in the glorious autumnal sun.


Good news for the Bulldogs! (Though like all good things, this too came to an unfortunate end).*


We made it back to the train with scant seconds to spare and were whisked back to New York. We changed clothes and reported promptly to an event hosted by the Dutch government and Humanity in Action, a human rights organization that I support. Enjoyed some brutally expensive cocktails in high style at the Tribeca Grand, then watched a cool presentation hosted by a comedian.


Said our goodbyes and slipped out to join some other friends for late night Salsa back up in the W. Village. Found our SAIS crew, and engaged in some classic NY dancing: way too crowded. Vanessa found a spot near our table and an obliging Latino...


Noa braved the trip in from Brooklyn, arriving at one am.


But Adam took "fashionably late" to a whole new level, rolling in shortly before two am and getting stopped at the door with his sneakers. Classy. We bribed the bouncer and were reunited at last. Sean gets props for finding the salsa joint and for generally representing all night. Here are three straight up thugs. In case there were any doubt.



Finally the time came to call it a night. We were operating on next to no sleep and facing the combined assault of numerous alcoholic beverages consumed continuously over about 18 straight hours. Crashed around three, enjoying another woefully insufficient five hours of sleep before heading uptown to meet up with the Gellers, in town from Seattle for their inaugural Baby Tour. Brian and Kelli are great - a fun young duo a couple years older than us. They played a crucial (and unwitting) role in convincing Jennifer and me that you could be young, married, and still cool. This was a revelation. Anyway, we did brunch at a great place on the upper East Side - and 3 month-old Gavin joined us!


I have to say: the kid is really cute. And his parents with him: also very cute.


After a tasty brunch we walked down to the East River where an obliging pedestrian took our photo. Another beautiful day in New York.


We returned with the Gellers to Brian's Mom's apartment, a beautiful place on the 46th floor of a high-rise with stunning views of the city. Check out the backdrop through the window in this shot of Kelli with Gavin:


Jen took a turn with Gavin, making me very nervous. I strictly enforced the "two minutes with baby" rule.


The whole crew:


Finally we bid farewell to the city. 42 hours, only about eight of them actually spent sleeping: standard weekend in the City. Hopped the BoltBus back south, right across from our family bar:


And sat next to Josh Lynn, a good friend from Boston who, it turns out, just took a position with Treasury and will now be back in the District. Small world.

One more day... then a long-anticipated vacation in North Carolina with the Christensons. I can't wait.

*The expression "all good things must come to an end" actually pisses me off. I use it here only loosely. Who says all good things must come to an end? What a pessimistic/fatalist approach to life. As an optimist who embraces free will, I thoroughly reject this precept. I suppose insofar as everything ends (except the universe?) it is technically accurate. But it's the tone that bothers me - don't rain on my parade.

Nationals 2009

We went, we played... we held seed.


Truck Stop undertook its annual pilgrimage to the hallowed polo fields of Sarasota, Florida for the Club Ultimate Championship. I personally expected to be in the quarterfinals, and entertained hopes of breaking into the top tier and playing in the semis. To do so would require us to take that next step, the step separating the good from the great. It would require consistent performance, mental fortitude, hunger from all our players, and the ability to execute in the clutch. (All pictures courtesy of my father).


Alas... we fell short. First game against #1 seed Revolver we started flat, with nerves and jitters prompting several unforced errors en route to a 9-3 deficit coming out of half. Then the D caught fire, reeling off four breaks to battle back to 11-10 before they pulled away. This stretch saw back-to-back Stout vs Cahill goals. Cahill is their stud cutter/thrower; both Michael and I have played against him for a couple years now, Michael when he was at Stanford and me in his current role on Revolver. I finally picked up a layout D on one of their good handlers, and in transition promptly threw a hammer to Michael past Cahill for the goal and the break.



We celebrated by rocking the cradle, much to the delight of the Truck Stop fans.



Then a play later we got another D and Jammin found me in the end zone past Cahill for another goal and another break. Moments of glory amid an otherwise disappointing loss.



Game 2 was the big one: GOAT, from Canada. Until this year we had never beaten GOAT, but I felt confident that we'd finally found the answer. And Michael was a big part of it. In the past I had guarded their tall guys deep. Unfortunately, this let John Hassell (their stud thrower) run wild underneath, and whoever I was guarding would get out of the play leaving me largely obsolete. If I guarded Hassell I feared they would throw deep to their tall guys... Catch 22. Michael helped change that calculus. I picked up Hassell and turned Michael loose downfield... and the results were beautiful. Hassell didn't touch the disc much, and when he did he had almost no options downfield. When I rotated out for a point Michael picked him up... and promptly got a huge sky D when Hassell made the mistake of testing Michael deep.



Then coming back the other way Michael came down with a huge hammer in a pack, and we scored again for the break.


My cute wife helped by keeping stats... and keeping track of my hat.


Game went according to plan and we emerged victorious. Game 3 vs regional rival Pike we didn't take seriously enough, and it almost came back to bite us. But we finally settled down in the second half and took care of business, guaranteeing us a berth in the Friday Power Pools.

Mom and Dad were huge, providing much-needed Gatorade and moral support. So great for them to fly all the way out (braving a debacle of a cross-country journey). Two lady Stouts:


Friday it began: two, possibly three games that would determine whether we would play up with a shot at the semis and finals, or play down for a bid to "9als." First up: Boston's Ironside, with a bunch of my former Metal teammates. I have mixed feelings playing Boston - we never play our best. I'm not sure if they get in our head or if it's just matchup issues, but we've never given them a real game. It looked like this time would be different as we jumped out to an 8-6 lead at half. Fun to play against my friends, and always fun to score on Jeff Graham.


But it wasn't to be. They scored three times coming out of half to take the lead and never looked back.

Game 2 of the day against Texas Doublewide. We never got into it. Not sure why, but we just didn't execute - either our throws/catches or our bigger game plan. The only highlight was the Wolfpack. All season in practice I had been emphasizing to the team the importance of chasing down deep throws and helping out when hanging hucks go up... and it seems the message finally sunk in. Three Truckers dominating a deep D v Doublewide.


But we lost. Setting up the all-important high stakes Quarterfinals play-in game. Vs the veteran defending champs JAM. I felt good. I knew we had the edge in athleticism and energy and we just needed to keep the pressure on and play our game. Things started out well as the defense broke a couple times to start, opening up a 6-4 lead. (See video here).


Then the wheels came off. We gave up 7 consecutive breaks before a line-change finally stopped the bleeding.

Too little too late - relegated to the 9-12 bracket. Once again not quite there. Very disappointing. Sigh.

Saturday morning we came out loose, enjoying yet another gorgeous Florida day and determined to make the most of our waning hours on the polo fields. We faced off first against Boston Bodhi, another team with a few of my former teammates. They had our number during the regular season, handing us our worst loss of the year in Boston (following a crushing double-game point loss to GOAT) and edged us out on DGP in Chesapeake. Not this time. We came out hungry and dominated the game from the outset, opening up an 8-4 halftime lead en route to a 15-7 shellacking. My highlight came about midway through when I narrowly missed a huge layout D on an in-cut. I got back up, chased my guy up-line, and this time got the reach-through catch D as they tried to sneak a throw into a small window. Window closed. I turned and immediately fired a huck to Michael - a Stout-to-Stout connection. Check out the Boy in action.


Meanwhile, Madison (the least spirited team in Ultimate) edged out GOAT next door, setting up the 9-10 game. Mid-Atlantic vs Midwest. Madison, as usual, played a terrible game in terms of spirit, inventing travel calls and just generally playing a weak game. But that couldn't stop the rampaging Truck, as we stayed in control and had our way with them, ultimately pulling out the win and securing a 9th place finish: the best of the rest.

(Confidential: I actually didn't catch this disc. My Game 7 legs didn't quite have it in them and I landed, then reached up and caught it. Sad. But the picture looks cool...)

I sincerely believed going into this tournament that we had a shot at the semis. And I still believe that… we just didn’t execute. It’s hard to pour four months of energy, time, and commitment to a sport and come up short of your goals. That said, the tournament ended on a strong note. And I’m proud of our guys and the way we played. We played with spirit, integrity, and passion. And that’s all I can really ask for. And our fans stayed loyal to the end.


And fun to be there with Jen. Our third Nationals together.


And my parents - our fifth Nationals together? They have to rival the Grahams for most dedicated fans in the game.


I had a blast. I always do. I love this sport. The competition, the personal challenge, the camaraderie, the sheer joy of chasing plastic around the grass under a blue sky against some of the best players in the game. I love it. And this year was especially sweet for me because I got to play at the highest level with Michael. And damn but the kid was impressive. His improvement from his debut in Colorado was meteoric to the point where he was a mainstay on our D line, proving devastating on both sides of the disc. So much fun to take the field with him. Even though we’ve never really played together for any serious period of time (until this year) I feel like I understand him so perfectly that it makes the game even better. We’re just on the same page. And it looks the Girl might be heading to the District next year… so it’s just a matter of luring the Boy back for more.




And so another season ends – my ninth. And though thoughts of Ultimate will continue to percolate throughout the off-season, it’s time to turn to new pastures for a few months. The basketball court awaits.

Paris

So I went to Paris for a two-day World-Bank hosted conference on Burundi. I didn’t realize when I signed up that my East Africa position would take me to Paris, but I selflessly volunteered to take one for the team.

Flight was smooth – Ambien might not be physically addictive, but I can’t imagine intercontinental flights without it. Glass of wine and… voila! Touchdown at Charles De Gaulle. Though I have to say: United sucks. Who charges for booze on an international flight? Honestly. European airlines at least still respect some of our basic human rights (like the right to free red wine with my crappy in-flight meal). Spent a couple hours getting into Sophie’s Choice, the William Styron classic. One of those books that crops up in pop culture references now and again, and I knew at some point I’d have to read it… so far, so good. Extraordinarily well written, by a guy who clearly loves the language and knows how to manipulate it. Impressive.

Rolled through customs and hopped a shuttle into the city. The hotel room wasn’t ready (imagine that, at 8am), so I dropped my stuff and headed out to see the city. This marks my third trip to Paris – did one with Kevin after freshman year, and then with Trina after my junior year. Both times were quick three-day jaunts, tourist heavy… and I didn’t speak a lick of French. As Trina memorably said: crowded, dirty, godforsaken, and expensive. I think the godforsaken might have been a bit strong, but she had a point.

Turns out Paris is awesome. I mean really. So much history, so much culture, and it’s alive. And it really helps to understand the language. Helps get around the fact that much of the city is a tourist trap. It’s impossible to differentiate between the innumerable brasseries, all charging $20 for a cup of coffee and a croissant, so asking locals for recommendations actually helps provide a much better experience.

I started my tour at a classic Parisien newstand (these things stand guard over just about every metro entrance in the city).


Then I took the metro to Franklin D. Roosevelt stop (expertly navigating the underground with my new command of French) and heading away from the Arc de Triomphe down the sprawling Champs d'Elysees.


I crossed Pont Alexandre III, views of the Eiffel Tower fading into the overcast sky.


Strolled along the Quay d’Orsay before meandering down Blvd San Germain. Took a shot of a sidestreet: a classic Rue Francais.


Still operating on only three-ish hours of sleep, I refueled on coffee near the Place St. Michel. Just in time too, cuz I had to dodge hordes of tourists as I made my way across another famous pont to the Notre Dame. At this point I donned the iPod and enjoyed a podcast audio tour hosted by Rick Steves that I had downloaded online. Generally I don’t like tours (ignorance is bliss), but it was nice to actually know what the hell was going on.


Then I got lost for an hour or so, somewhat deliberately. Was great. Wandered through the Jewish district, the “marais.” Lamented that I had already eaten as I walked past falafel and shawarma joints, and window-shopped a bunch of cool little craft stores. All while mingling among Parisiens of all stripes.
I decided I should hit up at least one museum. Knowing I didn’t have the stamina to handle the Louvre or the Orsay, I opted for the Picasso – a new experience. And of course, in typical French fashion… it was closed. For renovations. Until 2012. Not sure what they’re planning to do in three years of renovations – probably accounting for the inevitable strikes that seem to periodically cripple French productivity.

Finished my walk at the monument to La Bastille, juxtaposed in stark contrast against the ultra-modern Opera house.


This is one of my favorite aspects of European cities - the juxtaposition of old and new, of past and present. Turkey, Italy, and Greece are great for that. But I digress.

After meeting with the Mission rep to Burundi to prepare for the conference, the real challenge became staying awake until dinner. We had a recommendation from a USAID colleague, and we violated French tradition by securing an unconscionably early reservation for 6:30. A good choice. Great little hole-in-the-wall: L’Ardoise.


After a succulent three course meal (I went with the scampis, then lamb, then chocolate mousse) and some wine, I made it back to the hotel in time to video chat w/ Jen. And had to sign off early because I was in imminent danger of falling asleep mid-sentence.

Another shockingly expensive French breakfast, then a short metro to the Arc (the nearest stop to the conference location). Beautiful in the morning light – Jim obliged with a quick photo while we waited for the light to turn.


After a full day discussing the poverty reduction strategy for Burundi (all in French, I might add) I ventured back to Le Marais in search of a little Parisien nightlife. Ended up at Cafe L'Industrial, a very chill little jazz joint occupying opposing corners of a street near Bastille.


I meandered back home as sleep deprivation began to kick in, stopping en route to check out prices of local real estate (after all, Jen and I would consider a year or two in France). The prices were... trop cher. But to give you an idea, I took a photo of this piece of prime real estate: a parking spot. For the equivalent of $75,000. For a PARKING SPOT. Unreal.


Tuesday we closed the conference early (to everyone's delight) and after a delicious lunch courtesy of the Bank we retired to our hotels. I did some shopping for Jen's birthday (happy 29th!), then met up with Jim (the Burundi USAID Rep) for a summation dinner.

Jim called it a night to catch an early flight... and I did not. I had exchanged Facebook messages with Silvia, the only person I knew in Paris. I suggested we meet at the Eiffel Tower at 8pm. Not hearing back and figuring she was busy, I opted instead for Sacre Coeur, an old Catholic Basilica on Montmartre overlooking the city. I'd never been. Um, beautiful.


I got a little carried away framing various pictures - the plump moon juxtaposed against the ornate facade, the gargoyles shooting off the walls, the vibrant autumnal leaves illuminated in the Parisien night. Here's a couple.



After a sobering visit inside (no pictures allowed), I returned out front where a number of youth had gathered to gaze out at the city... and drink. Another one of those contrasts - unspeakable ancient beauty, a panorama of the city - and kids doing what kids have done since someone discovered fermentation. Here's me, the kids... and Sacre Coeur.


I made my way back down the hill, stopping in a few souvenir shops. A decision: back to the hotel? To the Eiffel Tower? To a bar? Fully an hour past my supposed rendezvous with Silvia, I decided to go after all. I descended into the metro and engaged the ticket guy in conversation... when I felt a tug on my arm. I looked over: Silvia. Literally the only person I know in Paris, a city of who knows how many millions of people, is standing right next to me. I'm stunned - I had blown off our meeting (as had she, it turned out) and yet we met up after all.

Turns out she lives nearby. After she dropped off her stuff, we journeyed to the Eiffel after all. I'd been there before, but not all the way to the top. Why not? And I don't care what they say, that big-ass thing is still impressive. We emerged at Trocadero, turned the corner, and: voila. The Eiffel Tower.


Apparently in honor of its 120th anniversary it lights up blue at night (instead of the traditional yellow/gold). After a lengthy wait in line (even at ten pm!) we took the elevator to the first floor. Not a bad view.


And then a second elevator all the way to the top. A little breezy.


Views of the city. Click to enlarge... Seine, Arc, Champs...


After ogling our fill, we descended again, and were crossing the Seine once again when 11pm struck... and the tower went crazy. Apparently since the millenium they do a strobe show every hour on the hour at night.


But doubly cool is that this year to honor the 120th anniversary of the Tower they then follow the strobe show with a longer light show. And triply cool is that for the last show of the evening (11pm) it goes really crazy. The designer of the show must be a Radiohead fan who toured with Pink Floyd in the 70s and wears a hemp necklace... cuz it was awesome. Borderline psychedelic. I was into it...




Got to bed after 2am, caught the 7:45 shuttle to CDG, and a smooth flight back across the Atlantic. A mercifully quick trip through customs at Dulles and another cab... straight to National Airport. And off to Nationals!

I made Google Maps! I exist!

Well, I’ve made it. The big time. Google maps. A few months ago I was walking down Albemarle street in our neighborhood in Washington to go pick up the car(we park it a few blocks away in an unzoned area) when an odd-looking car drove by with a bunch of cameras jutting out of it – the Google mapping car! Crazy.

So today I was searching directions and went to street view... and voila – there I am. Right around 3022 Albemarle St NW, Washington, DC 20008.


I took a screen shot - a candid. Shirtless (of course), on the phone, wrist still in a cast, and looking at the camera. Click on the pic to check it out.

I'm not sure what else to look forward to in life now. What more glorious affirmation of my existence?

And I confess I've been otherwise negligent of my faithful followers on this blog. A quick synopsis: Concerts, outdoors, and Ultimate.

Jen and I went to see Snow Patrol and U2. Also hit up Seneca Rocks, climbed Old Rag, and scoped the National Arboretum. Also dominated competition at Sectionals and won our first ever Regionals Championship. And wouldn't you know it but I actually have photographic evidence of all of the above.

And life is about to get crazy again: a week in DC, then to Paris for four days, then straight to Florida for Nationals. So let's get to it.

Kenya (well, Nairobi, anyway)

Intra-African travel continued to prove challenging. Kenya Airways, apparently for the first time ever, decided to go on strike on Friday. This did not bode well for my Sunday flight. Facing hundreds of people needing to be rebooked and ambiguity concerning when the strike would end, I leveraged out-of-pocket for a one-way ticket to Nairobi on Air Burundi via Kigali to AiRwanda. (And by leveraged out-of-pocket, I mean I wrote a personal check to the Mission Director, who gave me cash from his emergency fund – this is because there are NO ATMS in the entire country, and the Embassy check-cashing facilities were closed on the weekend). I knew it was going to be dicey when my Mission Director, who’d been in-country for two years, had never heard of Air Burundi. Oh boy.

Here is my plane out of Bujumbura…


UPDATE: Per the news today, Air Burundi has grounded "all flights" (on its ONLY PLANE), per regularly scheduled maintenance. Not sure whether to be encouraged or terrified that I made it under the wire.

And the view of the cockpit. I could see right out the front window.


But we made it to Kigali.


And ultimately Nairobi. Unlike Bujumbura, Nairobi is a huge Mission – so you’re kind of on your own when you arrive. I hopped a cab to my hotel, dropped my stuff off while the guy waited, grabbed my Ultimate gear, and got back in: International School of Kenya, please. A colleague based in Nairobi had told me two weeks previous that there was a pickup game Sunday afternoon. But when I arrived no one knew what I was talking about. I wandered campus, and voila! A bunch of expats playing Ultimate. Sweet!


Good to get a bit of a workout in (Nairobi is around 5,600 feet, so the altitude is a factor), and fun to meet a bunch of the ex-pat crowd. Played until dark and got a ride back to the hotel. So the Botanika was sweet. But the Tribe… was outrageous. Here’s my room:


The view out the window:


And the customer service was flawless. But honestly… I think I liked Botanika better. It suits me. And they do free laundry (as opposed to charging $4 for a pair of socks).

I reported to work Monday morning, not really having any idea what was going on or what was expected of me. The Mission is huge, meaning that I am anonymous. People don’t necessarily know each other, so no one knows if I am new or not – a very different vibe from Buj where it’s only 8 people. The Mission (USAID) and the Embassy (State Dept) are housed on this massive heavily fortified compound, built in the wake of the al Qaeda embassy bombing of 1998 that killed 43 Americans and Kenyans.

Security permeates every aspect of the ex-pat life in Nairobi. Carjackings are unfortunately common, and violent crime is a fact of life. So everyone lives in these barbed-wire enclosed compounds with armed guards at the gate. It’s normal, there – but still weird. At least in Buj I had my colleague Liz to hang with at night, and the Embassy/Mission crowd was more accessible to go out and chill. In NBO, I felt isolated. I was warned against going into town alone at night. But my hotel was on the outskirts of town near the Embassy, meaning that I could easily spend my entire stay in the city without ever actually seeing. I would sit outside at night, enjoying a cold Tusker, but it wasn’t the same.


After two days of fruitlessly trying to convince people to go out with me so I could see the city, I said fuck it.


First I went for a run, up to a nearby private school that allegedly had a track. Convinced the gate guard to let me in, and proceeded to get my ass kicked by a track workout. Hard to do at altitude, by myself, on a dirt track. Walked back at night, glad at least to have escaped the confines of my hotel.

The next day, armed with a credit card and a modest amount of Shillings (in NBO places actually accept credit), I took a cab north to one of the wealthy suburbs (where the proscription against solitary activity at night still applies). And I wandered through the Masai curio market as dusk fell. Very cool – an entire city block of artisans and vendors occupying identical little stalls crammed with every imaginable souvenir gift.


Carved animals, baskets, fabrics, drums, masks. I arrived a little after five – sun sets at six, and is dark shortly thereafter. In the enclosed market, darkness arrived early, shrouding the place in shadows well before light waned outside. I was the only customer. Literally – there were perhaps 200 different stalls… and me. And I, ah, did NOT blend in. Every few steps I would be invited into the stall for a “special evening price.” There seemed to be an unspoken rule that as long as I was in the halls I was fair game – three or four people would be begging/pulling me into their shops. But once you enter someone’s stall, you’re off-limits. I let myself go with the flow.


Competition is cutthroat because all the goods are undifferentiated. They’re all selling the same stuff, so there’s no reason to buy it one place over the other. So they outdid themselves beseeching me as their “only customer all day,” telling me about the starving children they had to feed, and all kinds of shit. The wares were actually pretty cool. But I only had a bit of cash, and I was very conscious of taking my camera out of my pocket. Twenty pairs of eyes followed me everywhere I went, and I was acutely aware that once within this maze, I really had no idea where I was or the nearest exit.

Despite my SAIS training in bargaining and negotiation, I promptly forgot the lessons and adopted an ineffective strategy of naming my price and refusing to budge. I should have deliberately lowballed then gradually worked back to the middle, but I didn’t want to insult people (even though their initial offers were insulting). So I laughed at myself afterwards, but I also held all the cards. You don’t want to sell me your elephant carving for 800 shillings? I bet the guy next door will.


I picked up some goods and made my way out into the encroaching darkness. The expats who had been among the throngs on the sidewalks an hour before had disappeared – I was back among locals. I walked the short distance down to Haandi, widely celebrated as the best Indian restaurant in Kenya, and proceeded to indulge in a veritable feast. Greg Mortenson’s Three Cups of Tea kept me company – a fascinating book about a guy who builds schools in rural Pakistan. As a development worker, some interesting food for thought, and some powerful lessons about how we wage (and should wage) the war on terror.

Thursday I went for another run, with the director of our Somalia programs. A few people met in the forest that runs behind the UN compound, and we ran a 10k (more than I bargained for, but the pace was right). Cool to get out in nature and run among the trees. Back to the hotel for a quick shower, and met up with two USAID colleagues, both recent transfers from Washington and one whom I knew already. Enjoyed a drink in the lobby.


We were picked up by our limited presence country (LPC) director and went to his house for another cocktail and met his family. Very cool. I could get used to the expat lifestyle (though it’s still weird to have armed guards stationed outside your house). And into the city we went, to a cool little middle-class bar with a local band.


Ate the local meal, chayangoma or something like that – grilled meats. Goat and chicken in this case, accompanied by a maize thing that you compressed in your hand and ate with salt. Tasty. Washed down with a couple cold Tuskers.


Friday arrived – my last day in Kenya. Maura, my running partner, made an extraordinary offer: I could use her personal car and driver to visit Nairobi National Park on the outskirts of the city, as she was going out of town for the weekend. Um, yes please! We only work a half-day on Friday. So I hustled back to the hotel, packed up and checked out, walked through the mobile Masai Market (not nearly as cool as the real deal I had seen at the curios), and met the driver.


First stop, the Giraffe breeding center. I didn’t know what to expect from the national park; hard to imagine much wildlife right outside the city, and I’ll be damned if I’m leaving Kenya without seeing a giraffe. So we stopped off – giraffes!


And you get to feed them. And they’re huge! My head didn’t even each their asses, never mind their enormous necks. Check out the tongue on this fella.


Into the park we went. The first bit of the road is paved, and I’m wondering if we’ll actually get to see any animals. I’m looking out my window (passenger-side is on the left in Kenya) when Steven hits the brakes. I look forward: a giraffe. Just standing there in the road.


Awesome! I love giraffes. It lopes gently away. Which looks hilarious. We press on. Dirt road now, zebras occasionally lining the roadside.



Another turn… another giraffe. Just standing there. Patrolling the road. Gazing at us.

The park was awesome. Terrain varied from forested hills to broad flat plains. Buffalo, zebra, giraffe, all kinds of unidentified horned creatures (UDC), antelope, impala… and ostrich.


You have to click on this pic to see, but there are definitely giraffes just lounging out there. Giraffes!


We kept our eyes peeled for rhino and lion, but they did not make an appearance. Steven was disappointed. Lots of vultures.


And occasionally, lining the roadside, the victims of nature: bleached white bones illuminated by the setting sun. The work of lions… and then vultures.

As we prepared to exit, a couple cool scenes. First, this giraffe silhouetted against the sky as he grazed from a tree. Notice how far away it has to stand.


Then we encountered a huge herd of animals – wildebeest, buffalo, antelope, ibek (I’m not really sure what an ibek is, but I think it’s what we saw), and zebras. I got out of the car for a closer look, and turned the camera to video mode. We only saw like four other cars the whole time, but as the camera rolled another one approached, sending the animals into flight. But for the incongruity of approaching headlights, it felt like something out of a Discovery show, animals running across the African savannah. Cool.


And to conclude: a solitary ostrich, standing on one leg, staring at us. Goodbye, Kenya.


Actually, one more parting shot: an inadvertent advertisement... or is it?

Burundi

I left our apartment in Washington DC at 3pm on Saturday… and arrived in Bujumbura, Burundi at 3am on Monday. Got shepherded through the VIP entrance by a generous “expeditor” from the Embassy who had patiently waited through my four hours of flight delays, and off we went.

Told it was a short drive, I inquired politely of the driver “how much farther to downtown?” He looked at me inquisitively – “this is it” and pulled to a stop in front of my hotel. Not what I expected. My analog for a capital city in a developing country was La Paz – chaotic, dirty, polluted, sure – but with infrastructure, commerce, streets, and buildings arranged according to some plan. Bujumbura, to my initial glance, offered a few paved streets connecting disjointed efforts at enterprise: small shops, a couple restaurants/bars, some government buildings, but nothing comprising what one would typically associate with a “downtown.”

Here’s the view in front of my hotel looking north up the main street, hills shrouded in summer haze in the background.



Burundi is considered a danger post for US Government employees, in part a carryover from its years of violence. The situation has improved dramatically, but the gains remain fragile, particularly in advance of next year’s local, parliamentary, and presidential elections. Background: after cycles of massive interethnic violence (between majority Hutu and minority Tutsi) dating back to independence in the early 1960s, the country finally held its first democratic elections in 1993, electing a moderate Hutu leader – the first time Hutus had been in charge of the government. After a promising three months, he was assassinated in an aborted military coup, ultimately spawning a decade-long civil war that formally ended with a series of peace agreements signed in 2003. New elections were held in 2005, bringing into power the current president, also Hutu, Pierre Nkurunziza.

But in fact the people are remarkably chill. Everyone stared at me – not a whole lot of white people (muzungu) there. And even fewer who are 6’4.” But no malice – just curiosity. And no one hassled me. They’d just look. [This stands in stark contrast to my only other African experience, in Morocco, where I definitely felt like more of a target]. Anyway, for security reasons the US imposes a 6pm curfew for its employees in Bujumbura, meaning that we cannot walk around the city after dark (being close to the equator, daylight is like clockwork: 6am to 6pm, with no twilight. By 6:30 it’s dark, by 6:40 pitch black). Given that we’d work until 5:30, this didn’t leave much time to check out the city.


The place grew on me. Buj sprawls out in all directions, bounded to the west by mighty Lake Tanganyika, climbing into the hills north and east, and petering out southward. The “downtown” itself is quite small and easily walkable. The morning would kick off with a leisurely breakfast at quaint little Hotel Botanika, a mellow little place right on the main drag. Check out my room, complete with mosquito net:


Here’s my CMM colleague Liz (whose own temporary duty (TDY) overlapped with mine) in front of the Botanika entrance.



Buj had crazy traffic. Not necessarily in terms of quantity (though there was that too) but more in terms of chaos. There must be unspoken rules about who yields at what road, because there sure as shit aren’t any signs to indicate regulations. Usually, it works. Chaotic, often nerve-wracking, but effective.

Occasionally, it doesn’t, and the inevitable happens.


A short walk to the USAID Mission (neighboring the US Embassy). Monday and Tuesday I spent in the office, meeting with colleagues and contacts in civil society and at the Embassy. Wednesday and Thursday I traveled up-country to visit some USAID-funded projects: a coffee washing station and a rural health clinic. Friday we only worked a half-day, after which I reported to the beach (la plage!) along Lac Tanganyika.

Posing at the Mission with Jean-Claude.


The trip up-country was awesome. I went to visit a USAID-funded coffee-washing station and to a rural maternal health clinic. There’s really only one road heading north, climbing up through the hills of Buj Rural and into the interior. People make that trek every day – walking miles into the city, and miles back out of it. The lucky few had bikes – and some of those tried their odds with an even easier form of transportation.

Trailing bike pic.


They would carry huge loads of fruit or other goods, or strap them onto their bikes. Impressive.

The land itself was beautiful. Rolling hills, gentle valleys, everywhere the imprimature of human presence in the form of cultivation.


We surveyed the coffee plantation, and they explained to me the process. Time-intensive, to say the least.




We went to the dry mill, where a bunch of people were outside sorting beans.


Everyone seemed to have an infant – or several. Burundi boasts a ratio of 6.33 live births per woman (not all survive to adulthood). Accordingly, the population growth rate is phenomenal. We visited a rural maternal health clinic, which I was pleased to see was seeing heavy use. Ladies lined up with babies.


Check out this little guy.


And though I’m bigger than the average Burundian, I am MUCH bigger than the average female rural Burundian. Granted, in this picture I’m standing on higher ground… but still.


And here’s the nearby village.


Also checked out a family planning discussion, hosted informally on a hillside.


Back at our hotel for the night, I actually stumbled across a basketball game. Finally, some tall people! And they were pretty good, too. I was sorely tempted to join in, but with tennis shoes and no ankle support, I feared prematurely ending my Ultimate season. Instead I just bullshitted with some local kids, practicing my French.


We awoke to a spectacular sunrise over the valley.


The kind of valley that looks like it should have giraffes. When I made this point to the Burundians I was traveling with, one looked down and replied ruefully, “Ils ont fui.” They fled. In fact, that was a weird feature of Burundi: the almost total lack of livestock. It’s all farms… but very few animals. Most killed or fled during the war, and the numbers just haven’t kept up with population growth.

Back to Bujumbura. A weekend in Africa: time to take advantage. In the morning I searched out and found the artisan’s market. Browsed some stores, bargained a bit, and came away with some Burundian souvenirs.


On the walk back I stopped through the central market – just to check it out. I was acutely aware of the expensive camera in my pocket and my unavoidably muzungu appearance. It was cool – hopping with people, teeming with wares, mostly produce.


Big meat section too. I surreptitiously snapped some photos… but not surreptitiously enough. The voice called out, “Oy, Muzungu!” I turned, camera still in hand, and saw a Burundian with a cell phone camera open pointing at me. I laughed and struck a pose: each of us photographing what to us was new about the other.

As I traversed the last few blocks back to the hotel two children scurried out of my path; one pointed and said “muzungu!” Yep. That’s me: muzungu.

From there I went to Bora Bora, a hip beach bar along Tanganyika. With no willing throwing partners I played Frisbee in the wind to myself for awhile, took a dip, and relaxed alongside the pool.

Where I was immediately surrounded by a horde of small children. After we chatted a bit (in French), I took their pic. Cuties.


After a quick shower I headed to Buja en Fete, a commercial exhibition with a bunch of traveling vendors. Made a couple more shrewd purchases and hung out with a big bottle of Tusker.


Cool sunlight filtering down over the field.


This left one question: the musée des animaux vivant, or no? Zoo or no zoo? A SAIS friend recommended it (thanks Nikki), but I was skeptical. How cool could it be? And then I ran into a colleague from the Embassy just leaving the zoo. Is it worth it? She seemed ambivalent, but then in the same sentence she told me that I could feed a live guinea pig to the crocodile. Sold!

So I went. And for an extra 5,000 Frambu (Burundian francs – about $4) I purchased a live guinea pig. It was not happy to be selected from its cage. And to the crocodile we went. I rolled the video, and was disappointed when my guide said, “Ici non – le leopard!” Oh. I guess I’m okay with that – we’ll feed it to the leopard.

And it was awesome. The cage was enclosed by a mesh wire, with squares about 2 inches square. The guide tossed the guinea pig onto the roof, atop the wire. A half second later the leopard was pulling it through with its teeth, having covered the 8 foot vertical distance in one aggressive bound. Amazing. If you don’t want to see a guinea pig violently give up its life, do NOT click on the video. But the initial jump is really impressive. Check it out.


Also got to hold some snakes.


And pose with a model of ancient Burundian life.


And shot a cool sunset through the trees.


Enjoyed a nice dinner with the Mission Representative for USAID that night up on the hill overlooking the water. He’s a great guy. Food was excellent, conversation good, views spectacular. Here's a shot from inside the house.


Goodbye, Bujumbura. Goodbye, Burundi. Kenya awaits.

My plane out... (more on that in the Nairobi post)


A few parting pics.