Low life
Wish you were here
Jeffrey Bernard
IMombasa must say that I find it a little irritating that I should have to desert my sun-bed on the edge of the Indian Ocean to come inside to the cool of my room at the Whitesands Hotel, Mombasa, to write to you lot. Up till now it had been a good 85-degree siesta after a soothing lunch of curry. And it was needed, since the all- night train journey from Nairobi took 12 hours.
Yesterday morning I set out from Lake Naivasha, 75 miles north of Nairobi, where I had spent two days and nights at the best hotel I have ever stayed in, on a par with the three I know in Barbados that were unforgettable.
The food at Naivasha was amazing. You could have dived into the fruit salads from a high board, and I had my own cabin in a luxurious garden by the edge of the lake. I went over to the island by boat the day before I left and wandered on foot to see herds of Thompson's gazelle and water buffalo, and fish eagles.
But the thrill was on the return journey when the skipper of the boat went out of his way to get us up close to some wallowing hippopotami. What extraordin- ary animals they are. And God knows how they manage to swim being as badly designed by God as they are. How differ- ent Africa is to Regent's Park zoo.
A good man had given me his car and driver to get to the Lake Naivasha Hotel, but the journey back in a bus no bigger than a Range Rover was amazing and probably the most uncomfortable one I have ever made. There were 14 of us in the back and the driver had another three in the front with him. Eighteen of us in one van. But there was another good moment: we saw a giraffe by the side of the road, another out of the Regent's Park context.
When we got to Nairobi, I got a taxi straight to the Muthaiga Country Club, White Mischief country, where they have made me a member. I feel quite flattered about that. It is odd to sit there drinking and eating and thinking of people like Lord Delamere, Lord Erroll and Diana having been there misbehaving and going slightly mad 50 years ago. It is very English still and I had steak and kidney pie for lunch. There are no cash transactions in the Muthaiga and the chits you sign for food and drink fly like snowflakes in December. Until it was time to catch the train to Mombasa I got quite chit-happy. A lot of people in that place read The Spectator and the chit, like the plastic card, is not real.
The biggest hazard, though, that I have found so far in Kenya is to light a cigarette in bed beneath a mosquito net. You could go up in flames like Miss Haversham and your expectations would be nil.
Mombasa itself at first glance looks to be extremely tatty, but seaports are generally the best towns and cities in the world. The Whitesands Hotel here is about ten miles out. Its posh-ish in a touristy way and very comfortable. I sit at a beach bar — the neighbouring bar advertises barbecued lobster — sipping cold drinks, roasting in the sun by the palm trees, and watching my companion swimming by the coral reef. Occasionally I give a thought to Taki freezing in New York and to Alice Thomas Ellis recycling last Sunday's lunch in Wales. Mostly I fry in the sun, eager for the next meal. I have been eating like a guardsman. Sitting here on the first-floor balcony and gazing at the ocean, I wonder if life can get any lower.
Where next? I have been thinking of India and I have.also been considering the reality of returning to Marble Arch in two weeks' time. It is difficult to know what to do at all. I do not miss the Coach and Horses and I am rather grateful that Norman isn't the manager of this hotel or anything near the Taj Mahal or the next hiding-place.
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