In Defense of MSG 味精论

Monosodium glutamate, or MSG, gets a bad rap. Most people who haven't lived in Asia don't realize how wonderfully useful this food additive is, or how ubiquitous it is, even in the US.

So what is MSG? Without getting scientific, it's a white crystal flavor enhancer that looks a lot like big grains of salt. I understand it's made from fermenting beets or cane sugar molasses. You ordinarily won't see it in your food, except in some cases where the cook sprinkles a lot on at the very end of preparation, in which case you'll see a little layer of it on the top of your dish. This is something I've only see happen in China, never in Chinese restaurants at home.

In Chinese, the word for MSG is 味精 wei4jing1, or "essence of flavor." As far as I know, MSG does not have a flavor of its own; rather, it does amazing things for the existing flavors in a dish - makes them "jump out and dance on your tongue," as one friend put it. Apparently the particular combination of chemicals in MSG excites our taste receptors, making the flavors in our mouth come alive.

MSG and gluatamates are responsible for our enjoyment of savoriness, or umami. It makes me feel old to say a new taste has been invented since I was in school, but it's true. In biology class, I learned there are four tastes: sweet, sour, salty, and bitter. But at some point we in the West became aware of the flavor that Japanese call "umami," which is the savory and "full" mouth sensation associated with things like ripe tomatoes and veal with onions.

When you make a dish without MSG or another form of "free glutamates", it's pretty hard to replicate umami. What's the difference between dull, limp spinach sauteed in a oil and garlic at home and delicious but simple greens served at a Chinese restaurant? MSG. If the Chinese food you're eating in the States tastes bland, check the menu. I bet it proudly states "No MSG!"

But what about the evils of MSG, from numbing on the back of the neck, to excessive blood pressure, to migraines? There are certainly some people with sensitivity to MSG, although the International Food Information Council has made clear that there is no such thing as a true MSG allergy. The thing is, the small number of people who are sensitive to MSG are sensitive to a lot more than Chinese food. Naturally-occurring or additive MSG and glutamates are found in almost all American fast food, flavored potato chips and other "junk food" type chips, canned soups & soup mixes, Parmesean cheese, cold-cuts, mushrooms, some veggie burgers, salad dressings, seaweed, fish extract, fresh tomatoes & tomato juice, some seasoned flours, sausage, etc... So the next time some health nut refuses to eat Chinese food because of the MSG but dashes off for a veggie burger and a protein shake with a seaweed booster, feel free to raise an eyebrow. Finally, glutamates are abundant in human breast milk, another thing that makes me doubt they are as dangerous to humans as many people say.

The National Pig and Pork Reserve

There's no question a rising super-power like China has oil reserves and weapons reserves, the world's largest reserve of US dollars... But do you know about China's national pig and pork reserve?

The Chinese consume pig meat like no other group of people on Earth. In addition to being the most important ingredient in a wide variety of actual pork dishes and dumplings, pork is also used to flavor every type of meat dish, not to mention the little flecks of pork you find at the bottom of vegetable dishes. Pigs, by the way are considered the smartest animals in the Chinese zodiac because they are clever enough not to do any work for anyone else but just to lie around and eat all day - a good life, and the kind of life many modern Chinese mothers hope for their own only-children to have.

As you can imagine, the recent rapid rise in the price of pigs (71% in a month) and pork (29% in a month) has effected everyone in the country except a few Buddhists. The dumpling stall by our school - so delicious they've been known to make people find religion - raised the price of a half-dozen dumplings from 3 RMB to 3.5 RMB. Figure in the exchange rate increase, and soon we might be paying a whole 50 cents for lunch!

Premier Wen JiaBao personally went to Xi'an to "investigate" the pig situation. In addition to high prices for the corn used to feed , he also found that this years pig production was reduced to due low pork prices in recent years and a blue ear disease outbreak.

The government has since announced it is prepared to rely on the national pig and pork reserve to ameliorate the situation.
I immediately thought of imperial stores of valuable treasures like jade, gold, and of course, pigs. It turns out the reserve is a much more modern construct, managed under the state-owned China Merchandise Reserve Management Center.

Since I'm not sure I will be able to take a field trip to see the pigs & pork reserve, and if I did, I doubt they would allow my camera in such a mission-essential government facility, I'll leave you with this photo of the Chinese premier inspecting pork in Xi'an.

It's Not a Language Problem... 不是语言的问题...

The toughest problems communicating in Beijing arise not when a foreigner can't speak enough Chinese to explain what you mean, but when your meaning is so foreign it can't be explained. It's not a language problem, it's a conceptual problem. Or, as one of my colleague's teachers told him on a painful day, "Your language is fine. It's your thought process that's wrong."

One example is the American who asked me to help him translate his request to return a good to a salesman on the street for his money back. He realized he'd been overcharged (by about 1000%) for an item he purchased that he suspected all along was counterfeit, but he had believed would at least be better quality. He believed product failure within 12 hours was sufficient reason for a return. He also believed the reason the vendor wouldn't comply with his request was my inability to explain it in Chinese. He was wrong on all counts.

Such miscommunication is understandable between a street vendor and a fresh-off-the-boat China newbie, I guess. I was much more surprised when it happened with a very with-it, educated, open-minded Chinese friend who speaks excellent English and often hangs out with Westerners. When I mentioned a fundraiser I attended for the 2007 Special Olympics World Games 特殊奥运会, which are going to be held in China, my friend said, "Ah, right, the 'Handicapped Olympics' 残疾奥运会."

I pointed out the term "special" in English - and in Chinese, for that matter - highlights the special qualities the athletes demonstrate in daily life and in competition. The word "handicapped," on the other hand, suggests being held back by something, when clearly athletes who train for a long time and come from all over the world to compete are not letting themselves be held back.

"Oh, there's nothing negative about the word handicapped," was the response, "It just means that their body is broken or they are weak in the head." I'm not particularly PC, but I couldn't take that definition any more than my friend could understand why it bothered me.

In general, any portion of the population that is markedly different from the other 1.4 billion people around here has a tough time. I was glad to see the enthusiasm at the fundraiser, as well as the other events in the leadup to the Special Olympics, which should increase awareness. The government has made some effort in this regard. On May 20, mobile phone customers in Beijing received a SMS blast message notifying us of the 17th annual National Help the Disabled Day (全国助残日), which is held on the third Sunday of May. The message encouraged Beijingers to consider the situation of disabled people in society. I'm sure all the international attention approaching the Olympics does not hurt the effort to shine some light on this aspect of human rights in China.

For more information about the 2007 Special Olympics, follow this link to the web site. The fundraiser, by the way, was to raise money for an website that will show results and live and archived streaming video of each athlete so friends and relatives can watch from anywhere in the world.

"Water goods" (水货) All Around...

I recently dealt with two electronics markets in Beijing: the cleverly named "Buy Now" (百闹) computer mall, whose name means "100 Computers" in Chinese (literally "100 brains", because the word for computer is "electric brain"); and the 2nd-hand appliance market, where every type of machine from the Atari onward rests in various states of assembly and disrepair. My goal was to obtain a replacement power cord for my Apple iBook G4 at a reasonable price. In the end, it turned out to be cheaper and more convenient to wait for my mother to send the replacement part from the States and to purchase a tiny little used laptop to hold me over until my Apple is functional again.

How could this be, you might be wondering? After all, these things are all made in China, right? Plus, one look around at the uber-connected Chinese youth (and older people too - even peasants use SMS text messaging), and you know there is no shortage of mobile, wireless, and other computing technology in country. But "Made in China" is not the same as available in China, and the brand name you see is not necessarily the brand name you get.

Most of my belongings are part of a free-trade life cycle: they were produced in China and sent to the US, and now they have returned here with me. But unlike immigrants, these goods likely never saw the light of day in their home country. Most goods for export are sent directly from production to shipping and stop only for customs inspection before heading overseas. Despite what vendors might say, the ubiquitous, inexpensive look-alikes of famous Western brands here are rarely, if ever, over-runs, mistakes, or genuine goods authorized for sale on the local market. They are usually completely counterfeit knock-offs, local products with a recognizeable brand's label slapped on. Those that are not entirely fake night be unauthorized runs made at the real factory with some of the real materials purchased under the table from a real supplier.

If you want to buy the real product, you can get it, but not cheaply - it's been exported and re-imported, so your price tag includes two directions of shipping and two countries' customs duties. And if you're not absolutely sure you're buying a genuine product, you'll always have the nagging feeling you paid a fortune for something that's only worth a few dollars. That was my experience searching for my power cord at Buy Now. Last week, I bought a power cord at an Apple Authorized Reseller stall there - one of only a handful of Apple stalls in a sea of HP, Dell, IBM, Canon, and local knockoffs of the same. I had to bargain hard to get the price down to almost $100 USD, still more than the $80 price on the Apple web site. I needed the cord, though, and I was willing to pay for a product I knew was genuine. You can imagine my frustration, then, when the precious power cord, worth more than I usually spend on a pair of nice shoes, broke within a week of purchase.

I returned to the stall and was told they would sell me a replacement for the same price. But why should I have to pay, I asked, when it's clearly a problem with your product? Since I hadn't specifically negotiated a guarantee at the time of purchase, I was out of luck on that front. This time, I insisted on one-year guarantee. "No possibility! 不可能！" I was told, "This product can only be guaranteed for three months." I happen to have learned from the Apple web site their products are guaranteed for a year, so I fought.

Eventually, the sales manager came back with the following solution, "This can be guaranteed only for 3 months, but we have a better one that can be guaranteed for a year, which is a bit more expensive." By a "bit" more expensive, he meant over twice the price. I hit the roof. I know there is "no possibility" that Apple makes two versions of an accessory, a still-not-so-cheap one that will break in three months and a ridiculously expensive one that will break in a year. The vendor explained that one was domestically produced, and one was "original," and of course the one I had bought the week before was domestic.

I have no idea whether the power cord I had previously purchased from them was a "domestically-produced" Apple product, a used item that had just reached the end of its lifespan, or a fake. The stall does carry genuine new Apple products, but that doesn't mean they don't deal other stuff on the side as well. All I knew for sure was, there was no way I wanted to pay these guys another $200 or more for a possibly unreliable version of an $80 product. What else could I do, though? Hardly anyone in mainland China uses Apple computers, and this was pretty much the only place in Beijing to buy accessories for them.

Possibly sensing impeding meltdown of my own not-so-electronic brain, my friend Mark offered a suggestion: what about the second-hand appliance market? You could buy a cheap computer to hold you over for the three weeks until you get the power cord from the States (Mark had recently done such a thing himself).

I had been to that market once before, to purchase a cell phone for a friend who didn’t speak much Chinese. On that visit, I learned that 2nd-hand was sort of a misnomer – there were plenty of brand new cell phones and other electronics to be had. When I asked one vendor if his phones were so inexpensive because they were second-hand, he looked affronted, "I wouldn’t sell you a used product!" he exclaimed with pride, "It’s 水货 'water goods'! Quality guaranteed."

"Water goods" means smuggled goods, which slip into the country over water without stopping at the ports, or looking at it another way, flow through every corner of the country like water. There is virtually no social stigma against owning smuggled goods, any more than fakes. Another time, my hairdresser commented that the price I spent on my own cell phone was so cheap, it must be smuggled. "No way! I cried, I bought it at the China Mobile store, I wouldn’t mess with smuggled goods!" He looked surprised at my outburst and grumbled, "Well, it was a good bargain anyway."

I don’t have to get into the many reasons reasonable foreigners, especially diplomats, would want to avoid purchasing smuggled goods or counterfeits. The thing is, in many cases, illegitimate is the only option. The water goods, along with their their counterfeit and pirated brethren, flood the market so thoroughly, they drown any legal, genuine products. Frugal, recently-risen-to-middle-class consumers easily become accustomed to the products and low prices, making it extraordinarily difficult for the legitimate producer, who invested heavily in research to develop the product, to compete and turn a profit.

One US movie company, for example, opened a store in Beijing selling DVDs for around $2, almost the same as a DVD on the street, specifically to encourage Chinese shoppers to buy the real thing. But even at the same price, the genuine DVDs were not worth the effort to walk past dozens of guys selling high-quality pirated movie, software, and music DVDs from all brands and all countries, just to go to a store that sold only one label of American movies. I understand the store has since closed.

On this visit to the second-hand appliance market, I took care to browse at only stalls with old, beat-up looking products, both because I wanted something cheap and because I wanted to make sure I was getting truly a second-hand, not smuggled or pirated, product.

I doubted it would be worth the time and money to get an additional computer instead of a power cord. The idea sounded so ridiculous and wasteful, there must be a Chinese four-character idiom to describe it. But it turned out not to be that ridiculous at all. After less than a half hour of looking, I found a slim, light, mini-laptop for the same price as the 3-month guarantee power cord at the Apple Reseller. It was fairly old, and pretty basic, but it can do what I need – word processing in Chinese and English, and of course wireless and DSL internet access. I noticed it had Windows ME and asked why it didn’t have Windows XP as the sticker in it indicated. "Oh, ignore that, I just put it there to make it sell better," said the vendor. Well, at least he’s honest – sort of.

So I am blogging at this very moment from my new gadget, no match for my beloved iBook G4, but certainly functional. I researched the model and found it was originally made strictly for the Japanese market, it’s pretty old, and the operating system cannot be changed from Asian languages to English, all of which makes me feel like the price I paid was about right. If I were a Japanese person buying this new several years ago, this would have been a pretty hot item. Now, it simply fills my requirements: genuine, not smuggled, and capable of going online.

Kenya - Mombasa

Located at sea level 4 degrees south of the equator, Mombasa was "Africa hot." Sitting in the shade with fans going, like I did while sipping masala tea at this cafe, you enjoy the illusory relief of waves of warm air brushing your sweaty skin, but as you an you stand up, you realize you haven't cooled off at all. In the sun, you bake.

I'm sure the temperature contributes to the languid feeling of the place, and I basically just wandered the streets enjoying the unhurried pace, the market street with lively printed fabrics hanging between cheap molded plastic household items and imported second-hand children's clothing, and the faded Indo-Arab architecture. It was safe to walk around alone, and I even hopped into a little 3-wheeled fresh air taxi when my legs had enough of strolling in the sun.

At Fort Jesus, originally part of the Portuguese trading network in East Africa, I had a very typical run-in with an African huckster. It was the low season for tourism in Mombasa, and at many moments I was the lone foreigner wandering past small stores, attracting a never-ending round of the, "Jambo, Sister, come look at my shop, look for free! Karibou!" chorus.

When I reached the fort, I paid too much for a barely-cold Fanta at a kiosk where the seller refused to tell me the price until I agreed to buy and pulled out my wallet, then I stood for a moment checking out the sign board posting entrance prices (Kenyans 100 Kenyan Shillings, East Africans 400 KSh, Others 800 KSh).

As I paused, a neat-looking gentleman in blue shirtsleeves with an official Mombasa Tour Guide badge approached me and began explaining the fee structure for the attraction (as written on the sign), the rules for taking photographs (only allowed inside, once you pay - no photographs of the outside), and the fact that you need a guide to tour the fort.

Hmmm? I was 98% it was not required to have a tour guide to visit the fort - after all, "walking tour" pamphlet was available for 100 shillings, and why would they sell that if you couldn't walk around without a guide? And none of the guide books that mentioned Fort Jesus mentioned anything about having a guide accompany you. Plus, I was 100% sure that I just wanted to walk around by myself.

He wouldn't leave my side as I approached the entrance, and when I questioned him, he repeatedly answered that I "must" have a guide. But "must" is not the same as "required" is it? So I stopped him and asked, "Are you telling me there is a rule at this fort that I cannot enter unless I have a guide?" He hesitated before squaring his shoulders and declaring, "Yes." I didn't see a way, short of physical violence, of getting him away from me, so I just turned and walked toward the ticket booth. Also, the little bit of doubt in me thought, if I do end up stuck wandering this fort with this guy, I don't really want him to be surly and angry at me.

When we got up the ramp to the entrance, he greeted the ticket seller, leaned casually on the counter, and started chatting with him like old friends. He waved his hand for me to pass him my entrance fee so he could get the ticket, but I stepped up to the counter instead. "Is it not permitted for me to enter on my own? Do I have to have a guide?" I asked. The ticket man raised an eyebrow and paused, at which point my guide straightened up and said, "Oh, no, if you don't want to do it that way, there is the pamphlet for 100 Ksh, here, pay 100, and you can walk it yourself, if that is how you want to do it. Is that what you want to do?" As if he had no idea...

Fort Jesus had beautiful views of the Indian Ocean, as did my hotel. There is a coral reef off the coast of Mombasa, and the waves break on the reef, leaving the water on the shore calm, clear, and sparkling. My dip in the Indian Ocean meant that I have now swum in 3 of the world's oceans - and I'm not planning on hitting the Arctic.

Follow the link below for more pictures of Mombasa:

Mombasa

Kenya - Nairobi

"Kairibu Kenya!" exclaimed the driver who collected me from Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, "That means welcome to Kenya."

When he pointed to the car, I immediately stepped around to the front right side and plopped myself down into... the driver's seat. Oops! Former British colony, wrong-side drive. On the drive to Melissa & Tim's house, navigating some fairly heavy traffic populated by drivers who steer their car in the same winding, fast-stop-slow-fast-slow way they might walk down a country lane while chatting with friends, I wondered a couple of times why the driver was shouting, "Use your head!" to passengers in the other cars. Then I remembered, right-hand drive - those are the drivers.

"Hakuna Matata," laughed the driver, "do you know what that means?" I hesitated. I do in fact know what that means, but wouldn't it sound condescending, or maybe just plain silly, to say, "Sure, I know your language because I heard it in a Disney movie?" So I responded in the negative, to which the driver replied, surprised, "Oh! Really? Most Americans who come to Kenya know that Kiswahili word already. It means 'no problem'."

The traffic in Nairobi's city center was pretty terrible. Beyond to the aforementioned liberal interpretation of speed and lanes, the car exhaust was overwhelming, even more so than in Beijing. As we crept past Uhuru (Freedom) Park, it occurred to me that implementing any kind of emissions limits in third-world African countries like Kenya would mean completely halting any economic progress. Not many people can afford their own automobiles, and even fewer can afford cars that are less than a decade or have any functioning emissions control system. Most people get where they need to go in old, beat-up matatus (we called them bush taxis in The Gambia), 6- to 10- passenger vans into which they cram as many people as possible. Since the drivers don't spring for seat belts, or often even new seats, it unrealistic to expect them to purchase an ecologically responsible exhaust system, the cost of which would price their taxi out of the market.

The other horrific aspect of driving safety in Nairobi is not the drivers, but the carjackers. The State Department Travel Warning for Kenya reads:

"Violent criminal attacks, including armed carjacking and home invasions/burglary, can occur at any time and in any location, and are becoming increasingly frequent, brazen, vicious, and often fatal."

I knew that, but somehow I hadn't imagined what the reality of living in such a city would be like. My first evening there, as we drove home from a friend's house - a friend who had recently convinced the men who carjacked him not to drive to his house, fearing a lethal gunfight between the carjackers and his security guards - my hosts schooled me in the best protocol for surviving such an attack. (Arms over head and shout very loud, "Whatever you want you can have. I'm unbuckling my seatbelt." Don't resist.) Another colleague was carjacked during my stay in Kenya. Even people with SUVs who live in safe neighborhoods don't visit their friends in other safe neighborhoods after dark because they aren't sure of their safety on the road between.

The effect of this stress on a diplomat's well-being and, I believe, judgment on the job, is one of those costs of Foreign Service life that are extremely difficult to calculate. US diplomatic housing compounds and many other places Westerners frequent here are certainly safe, there are many relatively safe (but not carjack-immune) places outside the capital, and a US diplomat's statistical chances of getting carjacked in Kenya still stand at less than 2%. Moreover, most carjackings are not fatal. But I can just imagine my mother's state of mind if I were living in a place where I had a 2% (and rising, unfortunately) chance of being even a not-fatal carjacking victim. I don't know how people who have spouses and children can possibly concentrate on work in such an environment. Even more amazing to me is the fact that officers remain at post, including with families, after being carjacked. This kind of threat is one thing at a danger pay or unaccompanied post, but I wonder how many Americans are aware that USG bureaucrats and their families serve under such conditions in places other than the well-known war zones and high terrorism threat countries.

One sad result of the safety situation, in my opinion, is that foreigners miss out on the local culture. My tour in The Gambia was unbelievably rewarding in large part because there was no escaping the fact of where I was. I lived in a luxurious, huge, pink house with tile floors, three balconies, a pool, a kitchen that would make any cook drool, and plenty of other amenities. As soon as I walked out of my compound, though, I was on a dirt road next door to a half-built cement house full of squatters, chickens, and trash. Gambians were highly curious about foreigners in their community and equally willing to include us in local gossip and stories, if we had the interest - which I did. It was both safe and socially acceptable to go to a "local" bar, attend a gathering at a Gambian's home, or just hang out for a long while a market stall if I happened to be there when the lunch time food bowl appeared. Without that connection to the community and constant cultural education (often more properly termed "entertainment!"), it might have been a long two years in an isolated place with only a few friends. It saddens me that some US diplomats will serve somewhere like Nairobi, where they experience a high degree of inconvenience and danger paired with very little interaction with locals, and they will likely decide not to return to Africa at all.

I do not mean to imply that my experience in Nairobi was entirely negative, nor do I want to whine on behalf of my very professional colleagues there. This introspection is completely peronsal: my tour in The Gambia was so rich and left me with such a strong desire to return to Africa, that I can't help comparing the two experiences and considering how they both will affect any future plans to work there.

As I mentioned earlier, there are safe places to go in Nairobi, and I saw a number of them. Before going to the elephant orphanage at David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, which I mentioned in my earlier post, we stopped by the Langata Giraffe Centre. Since we had not yet been on safari, this was my first up-close experience with giraffes - and boy did we get close! Not only can you feed the giraffes, but staff encourage visitors to rest a food pellet on their upper lip and allow a giraffe "kiss" you by taking it from you with his or her tongue. On top of pictures I know she has of some of my less elegant behavior in Shanghai, Melissa now owns photographic
evidence of a female named Daisy giving me tongue. It's a good 4 years until my security clearance needs renewing...

The giraffe center had Rothschild giraffes, a different breed from the Reticulated Giraffes we would see on safari. They have different markings, but they are all beautiful creatures. For more pictures, follow the photo link below:

Nairobi 4/27- 5/4

Samburu Safari - Total Sensory Experience

Even ignoring the amazing elephants, the safari in Samburi was a veritable buffet of wildlife sights and sounds.

The safari adventure started at Nairobi's Wilson Airport, a small domestic airport where we were not required to show photo ID, but we did have to show proof we had paid in advance for our lodging at the safari camp. There was a metal detector, but the security guard didn't stop me from entering when I set it off. Once we climbed into the prop plane with about 6 other people, the pilot turned around and called out a request that we refrain from smoking and we remove any "sick bags" from the plane if we use them during flight. After that, we flew over the awe-inspiringly impoverished Kibera slum, passed some beautiful green hills and Mt. Kenya with enough time to get a few decent shots, and stopped briefly at an airstrip on the equator before landing in Samburu.

The airstrips at Samburu and Laikipia were just stretches of gravel with safari guides waiting in trucks alongside, and of course, all-natural "restrooms." The primitive facilities did lead Melissa, who has also worked in China, and me to marvel at the fact that a hole in the ground inside a wood shack was remarkably breathable, whereas even marble restrooms that look clean in China suffer from a persistent smell of - well, you know. Why is that? It's particularly puzzling because many such restrooms in China have a constant attendant with a mop and rag, but no matter how much they wipe, the odor remains.

The African savannah was just as you've seen it in National Geographic and Animal Planet specials, with a clear azure, almost turquoise sky providing the background for reddish-tan dirt plains, greenish brown grasses & shrubs, and flat-topped acacia trees reaching their perfectly delicate, spiny branches. Tall grass had flourished after recent rains, making us worry we'd have a hard time seeing animals, but in the end no one was able to hide from us and Charles the tenacious guide, not even the notoriously anti-social leopard.

The very first animal I saw on safari was a dikdik (above), an itty-bitty antelope or "dear-like creature (DCL)" as Melissa calls them. I won't bore you with pictures and descriptions of every DLC I saw, but this one was special because he launched my successful game-hunting experiences, so here he is. We also saw his mate, not far away because dikdiks mate for life and travel in pairs.

Surrounded by wildlife in its natural environment, you just can't help but marvel at the fact that everything in nature has a purpose. Giraffes, for instance, have antiseptic spit. Huh? Well, they eat almost exclusively those thorny acacia trees, constantly puncturing their tongues. The antibiotic properties of their saliva heal those wounds almost immediately.

And yet, with a reason for everything, there are some things that always defy explanation. One inexplicable fact is humans' willingness to kill animals like elephants, giraffes, oryx, and all the others solely for the ornamental value of their skin and appendages. On a happier note, our guide told us the improbable story of a female lion in Samburu National Reserve who adopted her prey instead of eating it. This lioness, now featured on the entrance sign that reads, "Where nature defies itself!" is apparently barren, as she has never borne her own cub. Unlike most lionesses, who stick with a pride, she seems to have always been a loner. She adopted a young oryx one year and raised it until another lion killed it when she went to drink water. She was despondent and later exhibited the same behavior toward another oryx, but game keepers this time decided to separate the pair. She continues to wander alone.
After seeing elephants, lions, giraffes, oryx, a secretary bird, guinea fowl, and countless DLCs the first and second day, the only thing left to pursue late in the afternoon our second day was the elusive leopard. Charles doubted we would find one - he pointed out that leopards surely had been watching us as we drove around the park, but they were very difficult to find; he hadn't spotted one in three weeks. As he drove us up into an area he called "leopard country," Charles said if a leopard were anywhere it would be basking on top of a rock.

We were creeping - and bumping - up a very rocky road, and Tim, Melissa, and I were dutifully scanning the boulders above, when Charles breathed, "There is the leopard." Sure enough, a leopard walked around the front tire of the truck, along the side, and leapt up top of the rock to our right, barely 10 yards away. He walked in a circle and settled down to rest and lick his fur, just like my Chinese stray, General Tsao.

We were all in awe, even Charles, and just about the only thing that would have made us more so was the appearance of another leopard - which is exactly what happened. Leopards are solo wanderers who only get together for about three days per year to mate, and we fortuitously caught this pair at exactly that time.

The leopard only rested a moment before jumping down to follow his prospective mate. We followed the white tips of their tails for a while as they disappeared into the brush up the hill. I was almost as struck by the intense interest and fascination on the part of Charles and the other guides as by the sighting itself. They ride back and forth throughout the park every day, and anything that can get them this excited is truly special.

I lack the eloquence, the energy, and the bandwidth to represent even a fraction of what we saw and heard on safari in Samburu. To see more images, follow the photo link below:

Samburu

For an even better sense of the absolutely foreign, divine sensation of waking up along the banks of the muddy Uaso Nyiro River in central Kenya, click play below to listen to the sounds that roused us before our 6:30 a.m. game ride. After listening to this, it was painful to wake to the jarring sound of Chinese talk radio on my alarm clock back in Beijing...

Kenya - Elephants First

I know I'm not the first to say this, but I'll reinforce whatever you have heard: If you ever have the chance to go on safari in Kenya, do it.

The best thing about my trip to Kenya was seeing my friends Melissa and Tim, who took wonderful care of me and introduced me to a drink they designed themselves, which I took to calling The Smithereen. Among other things, the Brits brought Pimms to their colonies, a contribution for which all should be forever grateful.






For those who won't have the opportunity to take advantage of Tim & Melissa's friendship and hospitality, the best thing would undoubtedly be the three days we spent on safari in Samburu National Reserve.







My memory of Samburu will always be characterized by the elephants - there were so many, and they came so close to the car we could feel the breeze when the larger ones flapped their ears. We were barely inside the park when Melissa asked, "Do you have many elephants here?" Charles, our guide, had barely uttered his affirmative response when three elephants came into view munching some bushes to our right.


As we approached them, we saw about 25 more elephants frolicking - and I'm not trying to be dramatic here, they truly were frolicking, fighting, pushing, rolling around, and throwing water - in the river beyond.

Another family of elephants joined them and we watched almost 50 elephants play for about half an hour. I took the attached really shaky video of the elephants on my little handheld digital camera. It won't win any prizes for videography, but you can see the different ages and sizes of elephants and hear some of the sounds they made.



Back at camp, we played Scrabble, swam, and ate during the heat of midday, when the animals tend to hide out from the sun as well. As we wandered back from the pool toward our tents for a little siesta, Tim stopped and pointed out an elephant just on the other side of the fence. An old, solitary bull with damaged tusks seemed to enjoy grazing on the bushes just outside of our camp's swimming pool area. With damaged tusks, Charles told us, he probably would never be able to mate again, and was likely pushed out of his herd. Although elephants are social animals and like to stay in herds, the weakest and the ones who make life difficult for the rest are left behind or banished.

As I learned on the safari and at the elephant orphanage in Nairobi, elephants are extremely emotionally sensitive and have a highly developed social structure. This makes them incredibly fascinating to watch. It also makes raising elephants for re-introduction to the wild an extremely delicate process.







The David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust in Nairobi takes on this exact task, rescuing babies whose mothers have died naturally or by human hand, and training to be well-behaved elephant citizens so wild elephants will accept them into their families once they become adults. The babies and adolescents at the orphanage were charming - how can something so big with such rough skin still seem so cuddly? - and playful, but their keepers confirmed they grow up to be truly wild animals once they leave the program.



I saw lots of animals on safari in Kenya, but the elephants really blew me away - they are huge, intelligent, and personable. I doubt anything will replace the tiger as my favorite animal, or the pink flamingo as my favorite animal rendered in plastic, but the elephant has rocketed to the top of the list behind those two.