March 14-16th; Nairobi, Amsterdam, home

Suzanne meets us at Sunbird Lodge on the 14th of March and together we make our way back to Nairobi. It is a hot, brooding day. Dust devil’s whip across the plains and clouds hang limply in the dry air. We spend our last night in Kenya at the Cheetah Research Institute, this time joined by a group of researchers from the U.S. In the middle of the night the rains finally come, and they are as loud as thunder. Our flight to Amsterdam is not until tomorrow evening, and we spend the day touring Karen Blixen's coffee farm, visiting the elephant orphanage, and picking up some gifts for family and friends at the Masai Market in town. Returning to the Cheetah Research Institute, we grab our luggage, say farewell to Suzanne, and head to the airport with David.

Karen Blixen's Coffee Farm

Elephant Orphanage

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Our flight to Amsterdam is long and restless, and already I am missing the natural and cultural beauty of Kenya. We arrive to Amsterdam early in the morning of March 15th and take the train to our hotel, where we refresh ourselves with a shower and a rest before heading into the city. 

On our way to the Van Gogh Museum, we stroll through the open air flower market, where rows of vendors sell cut tulips and roses to passing tourists. As we walk past the endless plastic buckets full to the brim with pristine flowers, I think about the rows of greenhouses along Lake Nakuru where all these tulips and roses were likely grown. I imagine the animals: gazelles, shorebirds, zebras, baboons, and buffalo drinking from the lake water that is fouled with pesticides from the flower farms. I think about the countless refugees living in road side slums outside of Gilgil -- the same refugees who threw stones at passing cars on our way to the airport -- outraged and confused as to why they must leave their homes so tulips can be grown in the desert. I remember the police standing in silence beside the protesting refugees with automatic weapons slung from their shoulders.

It is also easy to imagine the endless trucks that transported the endless flowers to the endless ships that sailed them around the Atlantic; docking in Dutch, European, and American ports, where they were unloaded in crates and delivered to more trucks. Then there are the hands of the flower vendor trimming the long green stems beside the early morning canal, and, finally, the young man bicycling to work who stops to purchase a bouquet of red tulips wrapped in wet newspaper as a gift for his girlfriend. Thinking of all this, it seems that the whole world is in a single tulip.

Diego Rivera
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After visiting the Van Gogh museum and going out for dinner, Dr. Steve and I return to our room overlooking the canal to read and rest before our long flight over the Arctic Circle and back to our home in the Pacific Northwest.