Girls xmas lunch gets out of hand
“I have the length but I am not very accurate”, so said Dave”Tripe” Goddard at the REGS end of year golf tournament at the Grande Bastide yesterday. I asked him if that said a lot about him and his life style but answer came there none.
In the end, after I awoke feeling quite warm, I girded my loins and reached for the lime green made-to-measure matching shorts and shirt ensemble that I had threatened to wear and resolved to play golf in it, in December. A lime green triumph is how I would describe it however I suspect that I was in a minority of one.
There was another undeniable success story in that sales of my book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” passed 100 as my hard sell tactics paid dividends (and me) and although one or two golfers managed to avoid me, or claimed impecunity, I know where they all live, so those not already in possession of a book, expect a visit soon.
A very good buffet lunch accompanied the prize giving at the golf club. The tradition at the end of season gathering is that everyone brings a bottle as a prize. The more well-heeled may bring a bottle of Tattinger or Crystal. The likes of me dig out a cheap Rioja and the winners get the first choice of the bottles, so being amongst the first to claim back a bottle is an incentive. I had my eye on a magnum of Haut Medoc 2006, but if I tell you that my reward was a 2010 vin de pays, I think you will be able to tell that I was seriously let down by my team. My thanks however must go out to financial advisor Mike Lorimer whose team was once again last, a tradition that has become established over the past three years. But for him my prize may have been the miniature bottle of egg nog. I suspect Paul Duffy may have been the culprit for this particular offering.
After a nice lunch I arrived back at home to find an impromptu girls Christmas lunch in full swing. By the time I got there they were all drunk and singing along to “Happy Christmas War Is Over” and “Merry Christmas” by Slade and dancing around. Eight girls, all of whom should know better, making an exhibition of themselves as my picture today shows.
Oh dear oh dear oh dear
How much of my wine do you think they had consumed by this point? Actually it was probably the Bailey’s to which they gravitated shortly before this picture was taken which was to blame. I think the highlight was Mellissa Graves singing “All I want for Christmas is You” whilst clutching at and gazing at a litre bottle of Baileys. Where is Jude Murray when you need her?
There are however certain rewards that are visited upon the only man in a crowd of drunken women, and I accept my debagging in the spirit in which it was intended. Once again the value of a skimpy lime green costume was underlined, I just wish I had considered the possibility of clean underpants before it occurred, or indeed and undergarments at all.
That nice lady decorator will depart for the UK today, so with luck a couple of quiet days will result. I have laid in a supply of baked beans which are of course pulses, a vital ingredient in a healthy balanced diet, so I am sure you accept that I need to be congratulated for eating healthily.
Today after taking her to the airport, I will immerse myself in work. Currencies Direct will be wanting me fully to publicise the Sophia Antipolis Xmas fair on Tuesday. Work, work, work. It never stops.
Chris France
Jolly green giant delays appearance
As it turns out, a tee off time of 8.30 at this time of the year ensured that it was just a bit too chilly to wear my lime green made-to-measure golf ensemble today. This in no way can be attributed either to the secretary of the REGS, who are staging their end of year event and lunch today at Le Grande Bastide, or specifically the secretary Brian Clark’s seeming aversion to bright colours on the golf course, nor to that nice lady decorator who I saw describe me in an email yesterday in connection with this splendid attire as “The Jolly Green Giant”. Insults like this are like water off a ducks back. I will not be downcast and I will use the fortitude exhibited by my style guru Mr Humphrey’s which he often uses when faced with people who do not understand style and individuality.
That nice lady decorator intends flying to the UK on Monday for a spot of Christmas shopping which means that she will miss the Currencies Direct Christmas Market at Sophia Antipolis this coming Tuesday. This must mean that she has enough signed copies of my book for her own needs and is generously allowing other people to get the opportunity to buy a signed copy from me on Tuesday. She has been a little under the weather since we returned, a touch of African tummy if I am not mistaken, but it did remind me of this sign that I saw when in Watamu in Kenya last week.
Wise words indeed.
Yesterday, Tony “I invented the internet” Coombs kindly came around to fix the internet again. I asked why he invented something that was patently so fallible but answer came there none. Perhaps its fallibility is the reason he refused to take the credit for its invention? Talking of fallibility, I see I had the usual long boring argument in my comments section during the week from The Reverend Jeff, it always seems like good fun to goad him but as soon as I have read the first sentence (being the operative word) of any response I begin to lose the will to live and want to slash my wrists. Christmas is of course named after me and is a time for fun and parties, it is only ever dragged down by those religious sorts. It’s a bit like The France Show at Earls Court in mid January, a big celebration in my name.
Last night to dinner with Roly and Leslie Bufton with several others. Having decided to knock down a perfectly good house, they have rented the house next door whilst they build their palace complete with lifts, which after an exhausting days gardening I could have done with myself yesterday afternoon.
So with the house to myself for the next few days I was hoping for some invitations to be thoroughly badly behaved but all the really bad boys are all away at the moment so I have accepted an invitation this week to probably a very well-behaved event, the English Book Centre Staff Christmas lunch at La Pomme Rouge Deli in Valbonne. It seems that because of the repeated signing sessions for my book, “Summer In The Cote d’Azur,”, the next one is on Friday 16th between 11 and 12, that I am now considered staff. I am sure this will be a nice Christmas event, but what I had in mind was an invitation to the naked politicians new lap dancing club. He is not the owner of the club, just the building, but knowing him I am sure there was a complimentary life membership in the negotiation but when the Book Centre invitation arrived instead I was actually relieved. I must be getting old.
Chris France
Yellow suede shock
At the Carol Service at the church in Valbonne on Thursday, I forgot to mention that my style guru, Mr Humphrey’s was present. When I saw him in the congregation I asked if he was free and he was. His namesake in the popular TV series “Are You Being Served” was constantly subject to his sexuality being questioned, and indeed the answer was there for everyone to see. Of course any similarities between our Mr Humphreys and the rather camp shop assistant in the TV series are entirely coincidental, in fact a more heterosexual specimen in our Valbonne version I have yet to see, and that is precisely why he can get away with wearing a yellow suede jacket, although wearing that kind of item at any other time of the year than Christmas and I suspect questions might be asked even of him.
Talking of doubtful clothing choices, there was a real danger that I had left it too late to get a place in this Sundays end of year REGS golf tournament, but a quiet word with the secretary and space was found. However, I received a rather direct note from him claiming that the committee had met and come to a decision that no lime green or pink outfits being worn by any of the participants would be deemed fit for play, but as the golf get up I intend to wear (as long as it is warm enough) is not entirely lime green, I think I will get away with it.
With only barely two weeks to go until Christmas, the weather here is beautiful. I watched the hurricane force winds in the UK on TV last night and said a silent prayer as I was out walking this morning in the Valmasque forest where I took this picture.
A crisp winters morning in the Valmasque forest
Yesterday into Cannes. The beaches of Africa to the beaches of the Cote d’Azur in 3 days. It does not get much better, but once again I must reject any supposition that I am on holiday, far from it, indeed I had important decisions to make in respect of both Medina Palms and Currencies Direct in conjunction with Remax-Cannes before being able to get home in time for lunch, which frankly was a disappointment as that nice lady decorator was out for the day and had not deemed it necessary to provide lunch assuming wrongly that as it was a Friday, a traditional gathering day at Auberge St Donat, I would find a playmate with whom to have lunch. This was not the case as both the Wingco and Master Mariner Mundell have joined Peachy Butterfield and several others in the UK for a spot of Christmas shopping. Luckily my rusty culinary skills were dusted off and brought our of retirement and baked beans on toast followed by a clementine provided a perfectly balanced meal.
I suppose I must turn my own mind towards the festive present gathering looming up so this coming Monday is the date of the inaugural Christmas fair staged in Sophia Antipolis at the Drakkar building in Route Des Dolines, inspired by the lovely and stylish Cosette from the Currencies Direct office in this French version of Silicone Valley, and I will be there from 10am onwards attempting to relieve the pent-up demand for signed copies of my book .
A few people seem not to have got he message that the John Otway lecture originally scheduled for this Monday the 13th has been postponed indefinitely due to his wife’s illness. As soon as I have a date for the rescheduled treat, you will be the first to know.
Chris France
ET lives?
Last night then my annual brush with religion, I went to church, the proper lovely old building in Valbonne as opposed to my more usual form of “church” at Cafe Latin on a Friday morning where a number of the locals go to worship coffee and the virtues of Currencies Direct on a Friday morning, that’s today, and where I expect to be this morning.
The occasion was of course the annual Carol Service staged by the International Riviera Singers, supported by the Mougins School choir, at a proper church where they do all that hallelujah stuff, singing about our Lord, and I don’t think they mean Voldermart. Continuing the stream of consciousness, could that be a good collective name for an American chain store? Voldermart, anything you need for the mystic man in your life? But I digress.
As many of you know I do not have a religious bone in my body and as I have not heard from my old god bothering pal the Reverend Jeff for some time this seems as good a time as any to air my views on religion at Christmas; I am always up for a good sing-song, and the Valbonne Carol Service is a great event for that, particularly as they serve free vin chaud to the congregation afterwards, although I think they should serve it before hand to get the atmosphere really charged up. The village church is cosy and packed (I would venture to suggest that the only time it is full is for weddings, funerals and the Carol Service which incidentally is repeated tonight, entry 10 Euros, 8pm kick off) and it is quite a social event. I took a photo of the interior whilst people were gathering without being struck down by a thunderbolt.
Is it me or can I see the ghostly form of ET? look at the picture on a small screen and you may see what I mean
Many of the attendees including myself would not be seen dead in a church, and I mean that literally. When I head off to infinity and beyond, the last place I want my passing to be celebrated would be at a church, No, I intend to leave strict instructions for a large party to be held, with loads of drinks and where black apparel is banned. The reason for avoiding church events, apart of course from my status as a confirmed non believer, is the normally po-faced serious of it all, and the fact that Darwin proved them all wrong with his proof of evolution being at the root of life rather than the old tall story about Adam and Eve.
Anyway it was a jolly gathering to sing some traditional Christmas Carols with a few mates and then after a couple of vin chaud courtesy of god, to wander up to The Queens Legs for a couple of pints of Guinness and to catch up on the Christmas spirit which to be frank was quite hard to capture in the heat of Africa last week. Suzanne Butterfield and her man mountain husband Peachy Butterfield were propping up that bar alongside Simon and Sarah Howes and a mystery was solved. Simon is renowned for stocking Chateau Gloria as his house wine and when we were all singing the long refrain of “Glorrrria” at the pause at the end of that word, I could have sworn I heard a cork popping from a bottle. It appears that I was not imagining it and indeed Peachy was enjoying himself by catching Simon’s eye and sticking his finger in his cheek and making a cork popping noise at the end of the line. This was until Suzanne put an end to his childish (but very funny) antics.
Chris France
Thatcherism lives!
Well, there are now 5 BA long haul pilots off my Xmas card list. As suspected, having grown quickly accustomed to the quality if the service in First Class on the way out to Nairobi, by way of contrast we were left to languish in economy for the flight back. It was not all bad as the plane was half empty so we had more space that expected, but those promised copies of my book contingent upon the right treatment being applied hang on a shoestring.
Arriving back in France in mid morning, it was very gratifying that my diary, which had been left clear in case of a delay on my way out of Africa was, within an hour, infilled with a celebratory mid day drink with Paul and Lisa Thornton Allan and then further adorned by an invitation to lunch at Auberge St Donat, our old favourite.
Present were the usual tennis suspects, the Wingco, Peter “Misty” Milsted and Greg “Thirsty” Harris, head of Cote d’Azur Villa Rentals. Tennis was at least discussed, if not played. The Wingco, excellent wordsmith that he normally is, inadvertently made a rather thoughtless comment about breast cancer, specifically suggesting that a sufferer might like to “get it off her chest” but otherwise it was reasonably uneventful, yet great to be back in the bosom of the south of France ex pat humour.
I have so many pictures from my trip to use in the coming weeks, but this was one of my favourites, showing some local Kenyans repairing a roof of their home. I did not know that Thatcherism was rife in Kenya (this one specially for the Reverend Jeff).
Roof repairs, Kenyan style
Today, straight back to more work, after a tiring 11 days of work in Africa. I have talked much in the past if my missionary Zeal for ensuring that no one I come across is left in the hands of their banks when contemplating foreign exchange conversions, and extolling the virtues of Currencies Direct, but it was nice to learn a new skill, the representation of the wonderful investment opportunity that is Medina Palms. Given the current problems in the Eurozone, and the pressure that disaster will have on just about all banks, an investment in real estate down in Kenya looks a good bet to me.
Today, I must attend a planning meeting for the Currencies Direct Xmas Fair which will take place at Sophia Antipolis next Tuesday 13th at Drakkar on the route Des Dolines. This will be one of those rare moments when I shall be in the presence of some of my books, and will enable those looking for an individual Xmas present for friends, family and even people they don’t like; my book “Summer In The Cote D’Azur”. Of course if the rush is too much, you have two further signing opportunities at the English Book Centre in Valbonne on Friday 16th and 23rd December, the last two Fridays (and therefore the last two market days in Valbonne before Xmas).
One of the items that I purchased in Kenya was a made to measure lime green matching shorts and shirt outfit that I was hoping to wear at the forthcoming Riviera Ex Pats Golf Society event this Saturday at the Grande Bastide but it seems I may have missed the deadline for registration, a deadline of which I had not been previously aware and I half suspect was imposed only after the secretary got wind of my intended golf apparel. It is no good however, if that is the case then they are only postponing the ieevitable. Isn’t it amazing what jealousy can engender?
Talking turtle
Turtles are protected in Kenya and especially in Watamu as the beach and surrounding area has been designated a National Park by the Kenyan Government and they have an area where they talk turtle, at the Watamu Turtle Protection Association. Just before leaving Watamu yesterday morning we had an opportunity to get out of our shells, visit the centre and get that particular load off our backs. If there is one thing it tortoise it was that there are several very poor puns available when talking turtle.
I took this picture of a three foot specimen which was rescued with a curvature of the spine, but has been nursed into a position where it is almost ready to be released back into the wild. I worry that one day that I myself shall be released back into the wild by that nice lady decorator, especially if she read some of my columns.
Bit of a flap on
The short one hour hop to Nairobi was uneventful, if you ignore the storm clouds that were gathering around Malindi airport as we left (which caused that nice lady decorator to cling to me in a very satisfying way) and we arrived into the city and then to our hotel at the very sociable hour of gin and tonic o clock. The whole Medina Palms experience is behind us, unless we take the plunge and buy one of their penthouses ourselves, which we may well do. In fact I have some work to do on figures in the coming weeks and if we proceed it will require the excellent services of Currencies Direct if we are to realise a dream.
Because of flying restrictions, which despite my protests preclude the use of the internet in flight, this post was created last evening before I am able to report success with my attempts to browbeat some of my BA pilot mates into pulling strings and securing an upgrade. With luck, we shall have been sleeping like babies in fully reclining seats in First Class, however the more likely scenario is that we will not have slept and will be gruesomely grumpy due to squatting in economy for eight hours. In those circumstances I thought it best to post this whilst in the glow of several large gin and tonics and a nice helping of a cheeky Bordeaux, yes they have Bordeaux in Africa.
Whilst waiting to discover our fate, we remained at the excellent Fairview Hotel for several followed by dinner at their sushi bar having looked in their shop where the guy running it was listening to “Coward of The County” by Kenny Rogers, a little incongruous in the middle of Africa, you have to admit.
So back to reality, if you can call it that, the south of France after the challenges of Africa and actually I am looking forward to it. There are any number of Christmas events upcoming and my job tomorrow will be to collate them in to some sense of order. Obviously in terms of importance, the top of the tree will be the Currencies Direct event in Sophia Antipolis on 13th December, where I shall be found at the head of a queue of people desperate for signed copies of “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” by yours truly, the new publishing sensation of the south of France, at least in my own mind.
The high spot of the evening was that nice lady being serenaded by an ageing African Lothario of uncertain age, well, in my estimation he was over 70, but when one is in the thrall of admiration, age is not important. I know because she told me.
Chris France
Lime green golf sensation
As we watched the monkeys swinging through the trees just after dawn from the comfort of our enormous private terrace at Alhamra on our last morning in Africa, it seemed hard to believe that within 24 hours we will be back in France having landed first in London. I will also miss what Nigel Rowley, our host, describes as “The Millwall Contingent”, a reference to the noisy ibis which are daily visitors, landing on our roof and making as much noise as a gaggle of Millwall Football Club supporters.
To date I have not managed to get a decent picture of either, so in its place I have a photo of the wonderful beach at Papa Remos, on the northern fringe of Watamu which we decided to give the swerve yesterday, simply because of the lack of shade and a little too much sun on earlier beach visits.
Phew, what a scorcher
We are promised a visit this morning to the Watamu Turtle Sanctuary, where they protect the giant turtles which use the local beaches to lay their eggs. Apparently one can adopt a turtle (for a small fee, naturally, just how small appears to be the subject of negotiation). Thereafter a flight to Nairobi from Malandi this afternoon, dinner at the Fairview Hotel, in the capital, renowned for its suchi apparently, then off to Jomo Kenyatta airport to secure our First Class (BA pilot friends permitting) seats for the trip back to Europe the continuance of my work for Currencies Direct.
Yesterday, despite a short-term reverse in the tuk tuk wars where I was just about to take an unassailable 3-0 lead before an appalling blunder by our driver, Terrance The Tuk Tuk who under pressure mistook right for left, I will still leave Africa having royally “Tuked” up the opposition. Whining and whingeing is to be expected but nothing will change the fact that a draw later on, when we shared a bigger version leaves us at three and half two and a half, so unassailable.
Yesterday I took delivery of my matching lime green shorts and trousers which I have had made for golf. I expect the members of the REGS (the Rivera Ex Pats Golf Society) with any taste will be salivating at the prospect, and I do hope that if I see my style guru Mr Humphreys (if he is free) then he will immediately notice that the green is almost the same shade of the lime green trim on my silver golf shoes. I also collected some brightly coloured slopping about trousers and some bright orange shorts, which that nice lady decorator who chose the colour suggested were a good match for my current colour, which due to te strength of the sun out here in Africa is just a little more orange than David Dickenson the perma-tanned TV personality.
In celebration of these purchases, it seemed only right to adjourn to lunch at our favourite beach restaurant Mapangoes on Watamu Beach for another excellent seafood linguine, and several bottles of a Grand Cru South African crisp and dry white wine called Bellingham of which I had not been previously aware, followed by the afternoon tea ritual I have come to love back at our far from humble abode Alhamra. The freshest giant king prawns cooked in front of us on a barbecue and a cream of vegetable soup finished the eating, but there was sufficient drinking (this being our last evening with our hosts before departing to Nairobi this morning) for the injudicious removal of clothing by certain parties and some skinny dipping and less than controlled behaviour by one of our party (as was his want when I first met him 25 years ago), but whose name I cannot reveal. However Nigel Rowley may well be feeling a little sheepish this morning.
Chris France
Tusker, tusker, tusker
The ultimate African beach experience is how Papa Remo’s beach just on the northern edge of Watamu was billed. As it was Sunday, you may think that I deserved some hours of rest and relaxation, but that was not to be the case. Obviously, in order properly to promote Medina Palms, for whom I am a sales agent, then I must be able to answer fully any questions about the local amenities, and such was my task yesterday. Talking of tasks, the first was the Tusker task. Were the Tusker beers cold enough, was the service of a standard to which one would like to be accustomed? The answer to the first was yes, but to the second sadly not really. Was the beach with its picturesque islands within wading distance as pretty and as exotically charming as we had been led to believe, yes, as I hope my picture today conveys at least in some part.
The food and wine list also needed to be scrutinized in some minute detail and although the menu looked great, the prices were higher than Mapengo’s yesterday and the food and service of a lower standard. although my barbecued king fish was good, that nice lady decorator was unhappy with her salad, so clouds began to develop not only at the lunch table but down the coast where clouds were building and a massive storm loomed. Luckily I was able to extract her and the threatened storm abated on both fronts but only just, so nothing for it but back to afternoon tea by the pool at Alhamra.
This is a quintessentially colonial experience, with china cups and tea in a pot requiring a strainer, served by the charming Kenyan staff beside the pool. All that missing was the cucumber sandwiches. I needed some time thereafter to send some emails and texts to some, well, all of my BA long haul pilot friends to remind them of their clear duty in terms of an upgrade for our trip back, all too soon, on Tuesday evening if they wish to secure their signed copies of my book in time for Christmas. That nice lady decorator remarked rather uncharitably that perhaps we might be better off not threatening them with such a gift, but I know she was only joking.
With packing likely to rear its ugly head in the near future, I began to collect up my various items of clothing strewn throughout the house. Amongst those were my black deck shoes of the type much favoured by us old salty sea dogs but I could not find them anywhere and the thought that they may have been stolen crossed my mind. With some resignation, I asked one of the staff and was told that they had taken them away for polishing, so that call to the police to seal the ports was not required.
Last full day then, so to the tailors to collect my stunning lime green golf shorts and shirt ensemble and some other brightly coloured lounging about trousers, and of course to find a few more cushion covers. I think we already have in the region of 60, but according to that nice lady decorator you can never have too many.
Thereafter, we have provisionally decided to give Pape Remo a chance to redeem himself, mainly as he has one of the best beach spots in Watamu and on-the-beach waiter service for those all important Tuskers plus quite good gins and tonic although that could change as it is rOasting down there. If we go we shall be getting there via tuk tuk, and as I have never been beaten in this mode of transport I am certain that I shall remain unbeaten and remain tuk tuk triumphant in Africa.
Chris France
Tesco Dave and Harrods
What would Christmas be without M and S? well the simple answer is Chrita. There are a number of collections of beach traders on the beach here at Watamu in Kenya, where I have just three days left before returning to the tender embrace of the south of France. They enjoy giving themselves famous names and the claiming to be the official Kenyan outlet for, amongst others, Harrods, Peter Jones, Fortnum and Mason (didn’t know they had shops?) Debenhams and of course Marks and Spencers. The most believable though was the guy who rushed out from beneath his roughly thatched open fronted establishment claiming to be the local Tesco’s. He was more convincing because he was proudly displaying his Tesco’s staff badge with his name; Tesco Dave.
I have a picture of the type of establishment purporting to be the local branches of these exalted names which is my first photo of the day. They have any number of bargains on offer and in fact I think I am going back to Harrods in the morning to get that carved ebony giraffe which was on offer at 500 Kenyan shillings, about £3.50 at today’s exchange rates according to the best forex provider Currencies Direct. It is amazing how much cheaper Harrods Kenya is that Harrods Knightsbridge.
Harrods, Kenya next door to the Kenyan Tesco
The shopping in these outlets has been a revelation. I have been lucky enough to buy Oakley sunglasses for under £2 and even some Nike shades for around £1.50, both pairs originals, at least that is what Tesco Dave told me they were. There was a few more top quality outlets just below Mapangos, our venue for lunch yesterday, in the next beach just past the headland to the north of Medina Palms.
Mapangos is set in a beautiful horseshoe bay of white sand with two large islands in the mouth, the biggest of which is accessible by paddling over at low tide. I took this picture from the pool area looking out on to the Indian Ocean. My chosen repast of lobster linguine was divine as was its price, some £6. Catering mostly for the Italian ex pat community and holiday makers, pizza and pasta loomed large, but every restaurant we have been to has also had fantastic seafood available.
Mapengos at Turtle Bay, Watamu
After lunch a dip in the warm Indian Ocean preceded early evening cocktails, eschewed myself in favour a gin and tonic of the highest quality. I suspect that neither the Gordons gin nor the Schweppes tonics had been sourced from Tesco Dave.
Last night, dinner at Alhamra under the stars watching the anvil shaped clouds hovering on the horizon expel the occasional flash of lightning. Another culinary triumph of the most delicious fish caked in a ginger sauce unaided by the distant storm, this time sadly without being offered black pudding for desert as we had on the previous evening.
Today, being Sunday, we are being prepared for a special treat, a Sunday lunch in the finest African tradition. We have not been told where it will be or what it entails, but if our hosts are excited about it, then so am I, because none of the meals, vistas or venues that they have shown us since we arrived in Africa about a week ago has been anything other than exceptional. I expect to be enjoying writing about today’s experience in tomorrows column.
We still have a few tasks to perform before flying to Nairobi on Tuesday, we have to go turtle watching, to collect my lime green hand made matching golf shorts and shirt made from the local material, and of course I must tap up all my long haul BA pilot frinds to ensure our return is also the subject of an upgrade.
Chris France
Only one predator on the golf course
Our host at Alhamra, Nigel Rowley, head honcho at Medina Palms has spent 25 years in Kenya, and has done a great deal in the community and trained his staff impeccably, but just occasionally something goes slightly wrong and it upsets him. The Kenyan staff have been exemplary, always smiling, unstinting in the efforts to make your stay comfortable, nothing is too much trouble, but the food they consume themselves locally is largely based on maize and chilli and differs somewhat from the food we tend to eat and which they prepare.
This allows the occasional howler to emerge from this warm blanket of conformity to high standards of English service. Last night, after an excellent celery soup, enlivened as ever with a little chilli, as indeed the cream of sweet corn soup had been the night before, followed by a very good pepper steak, we were all looking forward to desert. What followed was right out of The Vicar Of Dibley, where Mrs Cropley had an eye for unusual food combinations. The chef had clearly not quite understood the concept of black pudding, an its unsuitability as a desert, and the piece de resistance was the carefully cooked egg placed on the top. Our dear host was not amused, either by the desert or the mirth that followed, but it was a completely understandable and charming mistake.
a Tusker bear, the well named local brew, sitting ready for action on the terrace at the 19th hole of Vippingo Ridge
I said the day before yesterday that I could not be certain how much room I would have to report on the golf yesterday (picture taken from the 19th hole above) and that cynics may suggest that if I lost there would be little or no mention of it for reasons of space. Well I am glad to be able to refute that suggestion. It is not about who wins and loses but about how you play the game, and some of us play the game better than others creating winners and losers. The more enlightened of my regular readers may by now have guessed the result, but once again my sense of innate modesty will not allow me to confirm something which must be an obvious fact, supported by some pictures of my wearing a 1000 Kenyan shillings note on my forehead (some £7 at today’s exchange rates). Suffice to say that I have never been beaten at golf in Africa, and I played for the first time yesterday.
The golf course ay Vippongi Ridge was astonishing. It has been carved from a sizal plantation, the plants looking exactly like the Yucca’s we have in the garden at home in Valbonne, indeed they look identical. The fairways were immaculate, but what was mind bogglingly impressive is that each blade of grass on the fairways and light rough (I will come back to the ladies golf contingent a little later) was planted by hand. Imagine that? Hundreds of Kenyans mamas on their hands and knees planting every seed by hand, amazing. The result is a superbly crafted magniloquent golf course high on a ridge looking down to the distant Indian Oceon, as close to Heaven as I have ever been. Renowned Welsh golfer Ian Woosnam OBE has built a house on the course.
Lunch at the golf club preceded the drive back to Watamu, but due to the quality of the lunch, a few too many beers and too much wine I dozed off and missed the Hotel Titanic in one of the local villages for which I had seen a sign on the way up. With my comments yesterday suggesting that Pythons could be amongst the wild life we may encounter, I was half expecting to see a Pythonesque reenactment of Fawlty Towers at Hotel Titanic.
Chris Franc
Masai business
Although Somali pirates are certainly not a problem down here on the Kenyan coast, there are other diversions that suggest a different kind of danger, the danger of impressionable girls having their heads turned by alarmingly languid and attractive chaps clad in dresses as my picture today indicates.
These Masai warriors are much used locally by the bigger houses as security guards and they can be quite scary. The cost of hiring them, at around 500 Kenyan shillings a day (about £3.50 at today’s exchange rates) is almost irresistible as they also add a certain local colour, with their brightly lit Masai robes. It also of course gives the house guests a degree of comfort. However, how much comfort do they provide? and to what extent do they have the opportunity to personalise the service? This thought came to my attention when that nice lady decorator found this particular specimen on the beach at Watamu yesterday afternoon.
Has he any idea how much trouble he is getting into here? not with me, with her.
We had walked along the beautiful white sand beach at high tide and at a small village of local craft stalls had purchased a wide range of fabrics, jewelry, a hand carved ebony chess set, some curious African ashtrays, a carved sandstone elephant and various other bits of detritus for the grand total of around £15, when her eyes lit on James, a charming Masai, rather too charming in my opinion although that charm dissipated somewhat when he demanded 50 shillings for the photo, about 35p. Had there been cushion covers available on that market I would have been certain that she would have added to her collection, which stands almost waist-high in our bedroom.
Dinner, a most fabulous crab thermador produced by the smiling Kenyan kitchen staff at Alhamra, produced a discussion about the nature of the wager at golf today. We are due to play at Vippongi Ridge about 45 minutes drive towards Mombassa, and which looks astonishing in the brochure. I for one will be attempting more than usual to keep my ball on the fairway as over dinner increasingly embellished stories of wild life, especially at the wilder end of the spectrum of the word wild were disclosed by our host Nigel Rowley, a Kenyan veteran of 25 years standing. It seems that giraffes, pythons, monkeys, and warthogs are just some of the animals we may witness on our round, and although we will have caddies for those errant golf balls that refuse to stay on the fairway, those least accurate of balls may have to be declared lost, unless we want to risk losing a caddy. I do hope someone has a rifle close to hand in case any of the wildlife takes a particularly unwelcome interest in golf. In the end the wager seems more to do with losing the least golf balls, given the narrowness of the fairways, the local breezed and the abundant wildlife
Lunch at the golf club will follow my victorious round, and I hope to be able to say afterwards that I have never been beaten at golf in Africa. We have to start very early leaving here at 7 30am this morning due to the heat that builds up in the afternoon, but that will be nothing compared with the hot air that I will unleash the accompanying and admiring associates upon sealing the expected success. It is a fair bet however that if anything goes awry with these planned victory celebrations, then I may not have sufficient room to be able to report the result in this column tomorrow
Chris France
Somali pirate threat a joke
Malindi is a small town about 20 minutes drive from Medina Palms and it was decided yesterday, and not necessarily by the men in the party, that a spot of African retail therapy was required.
My malarial fever being at its height, and with the swimming pool empty, I expressed the opinion that I would perhaps impede the enjoyment of the shopping experience and that maybe I would stay behind as there is a great deal more detail that I must soak up as a representative of Medina Palms, and ultimately it was that comment which sealer my fate. Apparently, in order properly to represent this fine development, I needed to visit the biggest local commercial area in order to impart full details to impending customers. So said that nice lady decorator, and thus my fate was sealed.
Men will know and sympathise straight away with that situation where one is not feeling ones best and one is then dragged into at least 16 shops (and here I use the term loosely, scruffy little caves might be nearer the mark) in equatorial heat with air conditioning a thing of the very far future to search for cushion covers. My continual bleating about stopping for a coffee was ignored and so I found myself slumped in various chairs in various murky corners of Africa whilst that nice last decorator searched for that perfect purchase
There is a stronger Arab African influence here than in Watamu which like much of Kenya is broadly Christian. That means there is a wider range of shopping available from the Masai beads through African carvings to Italian goods, because many Italians have also made their second homes here, allegedly due monies gleaned from involvement in the Italian “insurance” business if you get my meaning.
There is also a number of material shops and eventually in one of these Aladdin’s caves, Ali Baba sold her the items she required, but a more fearsome haggler he can seldom have encountered. If he had 40 thieves to start with, the number would have risen to 41 had he taken on that nice lady decorator, such was the level of discount she extracted from him. He honestly looked like he had seen enough of tourists by the time she left.
Talking of thieves, Somali pirates have had an effect on the outside perception of safety in Kenya, but now I am here, I can see that it amuses the locals rather than posing a serious threat. Actually the only threat is the damage the story does to the tourist industry. At least the locals can smile about it, as my picture today shows.
A couple of pirates together
It was taken at PiriPan, the sun downer restaurant and bar I wrongly described as Pourrapiri yesterday. It looks like the guy on the left is more of a pirate than the cartoon, certainly when it comes to describing himself as a writer.
Following our return from the retail delights offered at Malindi, we returned to Watamu to collect my new-made-to-measure tailored turquoise shorts (don’t tell my style guru Mr Humphreys if you see him and he is free). So pleased am I with these items which cost me 900 Kenyan shillings, a full £6.50 at today’s exchange rates according to the best foreign exchange service Currencies Direct, that I promptly ordered another pair in lime green, together with a matching hand-made shirt which I shall look forward to showing off at the best Regs golf tournament, weather permitting. They will pick up the green trim on my silver golf shoes perfectly.
It is true that after a siesta sun downers were required but being less than on full song, I retired early, after the soup, to sleep, at least that was the idea, but the drink fueled cackling that I have loved for many a year could still be heard by the pool late in the evening.
Chris France
Beached by the sun
Last evening to a lovely little sun downer restaurant and bar a short distance from Alhamra just south of Malindi in Kenya, is on archipelago with the Indian Ocean on one side and a little more than a quarter of a mile away a tidal inlet which is where Pourra Piri (I think that is what it was called) is situated and which is the subject of my first picture today. Out host Nigel Rowley, the brawn behind Medina Palms (the brains and the style are supplied by his wife Lesley who helped Sonia Irving conceive and dress Amber Lounge in the early days which has now gone on to become a premium brand in the world of Formula One) upon seeing some geckho’s, small lizards, lurking behind the bar as we put away a couple of wonderful cocktails, suggested that what the bar needed was a geckho blaster.
Time for a sun downer
Earlier in the day after a trip into Malindi where I had some made to measure shorts made for a little over an ill octopus, that is six quid at today’s exchange rates. The reverend Jeff had predicted dire puns and I guess that was something of the sort. They say that only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun, but with half an hour before lunch was served, I decided on a short walk. Alhamra, where we are staying in staggering comfort and looked after by the most attentive staff I have ever encountered, is two minutes walk along a lane to the beach and from where I took this photo of the famous white sands (the fourth best beach in the world according to the Sunday Times) and specifically of the sand bar that extends out over half a mile at low tide.
The sand bar at Watamu Beach
There are permanent Masai guards at the gates, not necessarily for security as crime is rare, but to ensure guests feel safe. James, our day guard wears a Manchester United shirt under his traditional Masai Robe. I will try to get a picture before I leave. The sun, the cocktails and the matchstick coloured face should have forewarned me that I had overdone the sun so I took to my bed early with a rehydration drink and several pints of water inside me. You would think that my swarthy appearance, and having lived in the Cote d’Azur for seven years may have prepared me for the strength of the sun, but even although temperatures were somewhat below those that one accepts as normal in the south of France, the sheer power of the equatorial sun is something I had never before experienced. Today, I must collect my tailored shorts from Malindi and then we are going to explore nearby Turtle Bay where no doubt hundreds of anxious traders will attempt to get us to part with our cash. The Kenyans are lovely smiling people with a great sense of humour, football mad and although the traders can be persistent will back away if you ask, this is best done with a joke.. The place and the population reminds me of Barbados twenty years ago. Golf is on the horizon on Friday at and already the wager discussions have commenced. It seems that lost balls may be a problem because even the caddies supplied are reluctant to go too deep into the bush. Apparently we will see baboons and may even see a giraffe foraging in the jungle. There may be some other animals on the golf course, but i will be playing with them.
Chris France
Beach discussions a success
Also staying at Alhamra, the showcase house for Medina Palms is Ben Dopson, who despite being from up north somewhere (Southport?) is something high up at Adidas, high enough to have secured tickets for the Adidas box for myself and that nice lady decorator at Lords for England versus India in the summer. Yesterday then as our hosts were otherwise engaged on sit meetings, after a leisurely breakfast, we all headed along Watamu beach in search of a restaurant located on the beach at which to have lunch. Ocean Sports was its name and very pleasant it was too, as I hope my first picture today reveals.
In depth discussions; How deep is the sea?
It was of course taken during a very long meeting and subsequent meticulous examination of the merits of an investment at Medina Palms. The conclusions were extremely positive, The place is amazing, by Valbonne standards incredibly cheap, wonderfully spacious and with a new International airport to open at Malindi in under 6 months, the chance for fantastic returns before land and real estate prices rocket by 25% or more in the next year. If any of you have money to park rather than leaving in the building society at 3% talk to me!!
Having arrived at the restaurant a little after midday, where one could and did order the finest fresh fish served on a shady sundeck watching the tide come in from the Indian Oceon over the white sands of Watamu for little more than £4, we left, well fed and watered at around 4pm in tuk tuks to the supermarket. Tuk tuks is the colloquial name given to those 3 wheel monstrosities made mostly by Piaggeo, which I guess must be Italian as they seldom work properly. Under the influence of a good lunch, a mohito and a large cognac to finish, a race back to the house was a racing certainty and those of my regular readers who are aware of my competitive edge will know that the very fact I am prepared to report it can leave you in no doubt as to who was the victor, although as usual modesty restrains me for confirming the result publicly. From this bonus picture today you will see that the co-winner, that nice lady decorator, had already taken her back seat driving responsibilities seriously before we had even got off the grid.
Pole position, but the eventual distance of the win was over 300 yards.
We arrived back in time for afternoon tea in the simply vast upper deck of our room, a massive covered terrace over 50 square metres square overlooking the Indian Ocean before sundowners at 5 30pm. Obviously the whole days meetings were a very valuable aid to understanding the Medina Palms project
The supermarket was an interesting experience. Nothing is paid for, a bill is delivered to the house at the end of the week. The highlight was the purchase of the one vital ingredient missing from the fantastic cooked breakfast created by the very friendly Kenyan staff, baked beans. Surprisingly, and possibly for the first time in my life, I was in agreement with a northerner Ben Dopson on this point. He did not say it, but I could tell that emboldened by the discovery of Heinz finest, he went searching for tins of tripe, black pudding, whippet and pigeon garnish but am glad to report that he was unsuccessful. At least I hope so otherwise a nasty shock may await me at breakfast this morning.
Another nasty shock that I hope to avoid would be bumping into someone who does not use Currencies Direct for their foreign exchange transaction, but at least as far as that is concerned I can help, whereas I cannot help people who were born and bred up north.
Chris France
Birds on the run
Safari so good, as the Reverend Jeff might expect me to say. It seems we were lucky as the Nairobi National Park had suffered four days of torrential rain before we got there, and it seems the heavens opened again later in the afternoon, but I suspect that as the writing gods knew that one of their peers was in their presence, that was reason enough for us to be greeted by pleasantly cool temperatures and some sunshine during our game drive.
A game drive, now there’s an interesting expression. It could refer to the Wingo driving me home to Valbonne having imbibed well, or it could have either shooting or computer game connotations, but as we are in Africa I suppose it will mean a drive into the bush to seek wild game. And just to please the Reverend who suggested that my readers could expect a series of safari type puns, we we’re lucky that the wind had died down so we were not in a giraffe.
In a morning we managed to see giraffes, buffalo, a rhino and some sleeping lions, impala, baboons, and even some warthogs. There were even some vultures trying to sell us overpriced icons, but that was later.
Dave Maskell, our guide and big cat specialist enlivened the drive with colourful stories of lions and his work with them, including being mauled by one in 2003 leaving him badly injured. I noticed that he carried a gun in a holster and assumed it was protection in case a predator came too close, which in part was true, but more recently it had been used to dispatch two intruders into his house one night. He knew they w’re coming because his dog had been poisoned two days earlier. In Kenya it seems that you can defend your house in any manner you deem fit. Old friend Moya Janko asks that the blog be doubled in length whilst i am in Africa, but she does not realise that I am not on holiday here but working so may not have the time.
My picture today is of some ostriches which crossed the road in front of our game drive vehicle an ancient Mercedes Jeep with an open top and a large shelf to stand on for a better view.
A few birds I found on safari
The flight from Wilson airport to Malindi in the afternoon was punctuated by a stop at Lamu which we were not sure was scheduled, but hey, this is Africa and eventually we arrived in Malindi where we were met by old friend and madman and the inspiration behind Medina Palms, Nigel Rowley. Buying about 50 mango’s on the way for a little over £2 (300 Kenyan shilliings at today’s exchange rate) he then transported us to heaven in the shape of Alhamra, his house which is a showcase for Medina Palms which we visited briefly on the way and of which more later in the week.
Staff took our bags, staff welcomed us with a glass of champagne, staff cooked dinner and served wine, staff did all the clearing away, staff tidied and sprayed our room and secured and set the mosquito nets so vast that frankly they would not fit into any room in my house whilst we had dinner. I have thus deduced that I need staff.
Today’s agenda looks packed. Convene at 11am for a walk along the beach to a restaurant for lunch, a visit to the supermarket to lay in stores of alcohol and back in a tuk tuk (not sure of the spelling her) for a siesta before dinner. Exhausting.
Chris France
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