Xtreme - Riding the wind

Recently I had a strong urge to break my neck. Something suicidal that will give me that rush. The rush that comes only when you’re walking the thin line between life and death, some call it the near death experience. You know - those fleeting seconds when your whole life replays before the empty darkness? In this life, it’s probably the closest you get to God. There is something deeply spiritual when you know your next breath may be the last and God (or the devil) is waiting just beyond your silly adventure to take you “home”. God holding her breath and the devil, he is cheering, hoping you’ll break your neck and end up in Hades. It’s a crime to commit suicide, no?

Last weekend, I found me on a “Scandinavia” bus headed down south to push the extreme and tempt fate. Maybe just maybe I may run into the creator, who knows he may give me a second chance. Hans, a cool Dutch dude down in Malindi who gets the kicks from risking dear life, had organized for me to break my neck kite surfing at the Che Shale Resort. A whole horde of loose-nuts from Malindi who got nothing to live for except the next rush come down to the wind-swept beaches of Che Shale to ride the wind and get a rush. Welcome to the world of adrenal-junkies.

Don’t get me wrong, I have total respect for a guy (or a girl) who can jump out of a plane with nothing more that trust in a piece of polythene bag strapped to his back with nylon strings (sky diving); or maybe going for white water rafting in the crocodile infested Nile. They still don’t have a crocodile repellant jelly on the market, do they now? Now that’s courage. They say it’s the ability to take risks is what separates men from the boys. Everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die.

I have tried and tired of trying to get life cover. See, I there is these two little questions in the insurance forms; Do you engage in extreme sports? Are you a frequent flier? Two-edged sword! If I said I do, then I don’t get insurance. If I said I don’t, then I get the insurance but it still defeats the purpose because I got this sneaky feeling that the insurers will not pay up when I break my spine. They will claim that the contract is voidable by reason of fraudulent misrepresentation on my part. These insurers are smart guys; they assert that they will insure you against risk but will not touch anything risky themselves. And if they ever do, they will charge you obscene premiums.

From Malindi, one takes the Malindi-Lamu road pat the Sabaki river bridge which I think is really awesome. This is where the Athi River (christened Galana, then Sabaki as it meanders down to the sea) meets the Indian Ocean. The sea is murky at this point and I don’t think you want to swim here. A picture, however, is a good me moiré to show folks back home. The Che Shale resort is located 15km further up the road off the Malindi–Lamu highway. There is a rough road to the Ngomeni (San Marino) earth station that branches off to the right a little past the prestigious Mambrui Settlement. Yes we have an earth station in Kenya; I bet you didn’t know that! They don’t launch from there anymore but they still do satellite tracking from there.

And have you heard about Mambrui, the small ancient Arab town North of Malindi? Vasco da Gama landed here in the 15^th centaury and met with Arab civilization that still remains to date. At some point before the Portuguese set foot here, the little brothers from the orient must have come calling. That would explain the many ancient Chinese relics in Mambrui. There are actually folk here, descendant of the Chinese. I hear they have the peculiar tiny oriental eyes… (http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-11531398)The natives are still some of the most religious and conservative people on the Kenya coast even with the influx of Western civilization and tourist money invasion.

Five kilometers from the main road, you will need to dump you town car and jump into an all terrain 4wD. I know you can access Che Shale via the beach but an easier way it to call up Charlie (that’s the girl managing the resort) and she will send up her trusted good ol’ Land Rover to pick you up for the short trip to the resort. For those with a nose for adventure, if you talked to the Somali herdsmen, they will give you a jolly camel ride for a fee. The bumpy ride to the resort takes us just over twenty minutes through palm-lines village. Oh! It’s a beautiful sight just watching the women lazily weaving between the palms with water cans balanced on their heads. The men, well, the men are just seated under the coconuts doing mnazi (a local alcoholic brew harvested from the coconut tree).

We are met at the gate by Charlie and the concierge who promptly picks our bags and shows us to our rooms. You can call them that, but maybe cabins would be more apt. See, Che Shale is big on eco-tourism. Almost everything about it is homemade.  The floor is covered in locally made mats fashioned out of locally found reeds. The beds are made out of rough hewn wood and the tables and stools are really just tree stumps. The cabins have no doors and certainly no windows, just reed curtains that would not even stop a fly. The whole crude forest look gives Che Shale its unique eco-friendly feel.

There is an upstairs and a down stairs to the cabins. I think is natural (for security reasons) to sleep upstairs. Why tempt a shark grabbing you out of bed in the middle of the night while you could make it sweat a little for its dinner. There is a camping site about 500m down the beach from Che Shale called Kanjama.  Beyond Kanjama there are the rolling dune fields, descendants to the wind that brings surfers to Che Shale. Kanjama echoes the same bare simplicity that is reminiscent of Che Shale. The camp has some five or so cabins that offer a heaven of a retreat. If you ever want to get away from the world, you may want to come hide here for a few days. ‘Hans the terrible’ opted for the peace at the camp. And heaven could not have been more benevolent to the man. There was just him and three Australian girls all to himself. I am not sure that they are Aussie, but they speak British English with a funny accent.

Che Shale is a truly tropical paradise. There are miles upon miles of white, palm-fringed beaches, gently caressed by the balmy trade winds and protected by a coral reef running within a kilometer or two off shore. The reef creates a series of blue lagoons for safe swimming and surfing. Che Shale is perfect for kite surfing. The reef is sufficiently away from the shore, the water deep enough and the wind speeds are perfect. That is the one reason why I came all the way, to meet my destiny.  Standing there by the beach, with the wind in my face, my mind raced back centauries to imagine the Arab merchants in their dhows riding the steady monsoon winds blowing in from the sea.

The surfers are out in droves. There is good wind speed and the expert surfers are having a great time indeed. The adrenaline is beginning to build up and my blood pressure must surely be rising. I have never ridden the kite before. But deep down I know I can do this. I feel it. Some things are simple primal instinct. Just like the eaglet knows that he will one day take to the sky, I feel it too. It is destiny. This kite shall be my wings.

You know the Lenny Kravitz song? I want to fly away? I wish I could fly, into the sky, so very high, just like a dragon fly… over the seas in all degrees, to where I please. Let’s go and see the stars, the milky way or even mars… let’s just fade into the sun, let your spirit fly, just for a little fun… That’s what I am talking about! Growing wings and flying. That’s what kite surfing is all about.

There is an amiable man called Charlie (that’s two Charlies in the same small place, one male, the other female) who has been charged with teaching me how to fly. He begins the lessons by showing me how to inflate the kite and how to tie the strings just right. My first go has to be a tiny training kite, not one of them big bully kites that could easily tear off your arm. The trick is not to use power but the direction of the wind and balance to achieve motion and control. You need to know about on-shore winds and off shore winds about the ‘power zone’ and the ‘no power zone’, the control bar, the harness, the leading edge… That’s a lot of gibberish, to cut the long story short; Kite surfing is kind of like judo. In judo, you don’t use your strength to fight the enemy rather you channel the enemy’s energy into an efficient weapon.

It is getting late and the tide was going out. I am quite sad to leave the beach to the solitude of the cabin. Dinner is a simple meal of chicken, roast potatoes and pasta washed down with wine. I soon retire for the night; I need to rejuvenate my energies because tomorrow, I fly.

Early Sunday morning is good time to take a jog on the beach. Peace still reigns, the tide is not fully back and the surfers are not here yet. My jog takes me to the marvelous sand dunes several kilometers from the lodge. Jogging by the waterline and feeling the splash, splash on my face is a most awesome feeling. After breakfast, I am ready to take lesson two.

Today Charlie (the man) lets me into the water. I get to fly the big kite like the big boys. I quickly learn how to dive and rise and pretty soon, he lets me do just a bit of wave-riding as he hangs onto me. It’s not a piece of cake but boy, oh boy! The rush is heavenly. After the initial baby steps, with a bit of courage I am able to glide over water. The rest comes naturally. I feel like I am growing wings right under my arms. For an adrenoholic like me, nothing whets my senses like the thought of the wind rushing past as I glide over the waves like a graceful albatross.

The wind today is violent and the big boys are thoroughly enjoying themselves. Sad but I have to pack up and head back home. Day job awaits! I get to Malindi airport just before seven o’clock, bid my hosts goodbyes and quickly check in. The flight is delayed by 30 minutes. My dreamy mid-flight slumber is interrupted by the pilot who informs us that Wilson airport closes at 8.30pm. We are running late but he is trying to negotiate so that those underpaid civil servants up the ivory tower don’t switch off the landing lights. Imagine that. Landing on a dark airstrip with no landing lights and no land-based navigation. Wow! I don’t think it gets more extreme than that; unless you are a skydiver. Remind me to take the skydiving course next. Lucky for us, one kind air traffic controller doesn’t like hospitals and decides to stay on until we are landed. Please remember to clap for the pilot every time those gawky birds land. 

Hasta la vista!

I found this piece tacked away at the bottom of my collection. This was a great milestone for me but my editor wouldn't understand. I am not entirely sure that the guy has a bucket list, but for me this was another tick on mine. The piece never ran and today marks the first time it sees the light of day. Yabaa dabaa dooooh!