Hell's Gate

So at Lake Naivasha we just relaxed at Fisherman's camp, a really nice camping place right on the lake with small rooms (bandas) and a biggish cottage. The bandas (all 4 four them) were all full and the cottage was too expensive (even after extensive haggling), so we decided to camp. At first they gave us a tiny tent with no room at all for our bags (and it was raining). It reminded me of my first camping expedition, cycling around Europe nearly 20 years ago. My tent then was labeled as a 'One-man tent, or two close friends', but even it still managed to 'comfortably' house myself, Frankie Dunne and Alan Pyne years later in West Cork - I suppose we must have been very close friends back then.

Anyway, this tent was ridiculous, so after a bit of arguing and pleading they upgraded us to a four-man tent. It was certainly better, and we could fit our bags in, but it was still a very uncomfortable night. Luckily the next day we got chatting to the English lady who ran the place, and she told us that she felt sorry for not offering us the cottage at a more reasonable rate the day before. So she relented and we moved into the cottage with the two Dutch girls. This was
a great relief, especially as our tent has leaked a good bit during the night and another night in there would have been a damp and miserable nightmare.

We spent most of that day cycling through the nearby, but small, national park of Hell's Gate. There was a gang of us Westeners (us, the Maaike's and English girl Sarah and her fella Henry) with a guide, George, and it was a great day out. The gorge was small but still very impressive and we even passed a poor Aardvark that had gotten caught in a flash flood and drowned the night before (he had bloody impressive claws, very Freddie Krugger!).

There wasn't much animal life in this park, but it was still a great feeling to cycle through it rather than sitting in a minivan - far more engaging and liberating. We also passed by a number of geo-thermal power stations in the hills too - good to know that they're harnessing the natural hot springs in the area (although there are none you can swim in or anything). Poor Sarah got a puncture towards the end, but luckily George gave her his bike and he got a lift back to the camp.

Next day we left for Nairobi (on more disastrous roads), where the Dutch girls got train tickets to Mombasa, enroute to the island of Lamu (we were hoping to fly directly to Lamu). After dinner in the expensive Tratorria, we bade the girls farewell and headed back to our base in Nairobi, the Terminal Hotel and the same room as before, number 207.