Mediterranean Blues…?

Ever felt like a pan handler. You put up a show for people in a busy street and they don’t give you the time of day no matter how good your show is. Then you still feel like you have to beg for money for the show you put up. Technically though, they don’t owe you anything; but a little appreciation goes a long way. I am no panhandler but that is how I felt yesterday morning regarding my business.

As it would have it, I have a best buddy who can be a foreshadower of sorts. He had some what fore seen this coming and suggested we have breakfast on Monday, yesterday morning. So despite my nonchalant feelings about the day, I was looking forward to breakfast.

Me, my buddy Eugene and ‘my feelings for the day’ stepped out and headed to Westlands. All the while, I was thinking about shoes. You may wonder why? The reason for this is the current rains in Nairobi. They have destroyed 98% of my shoes but that is not what was bothering me. What really ticked me off was that I did not even have the luxury to think of getting a new pair just to get me by. It hurt even more that I was working so hard yet the results of my work were so near, yet so far. All the same, we walked for a little while and ended up at Mediterraneo.

Food solves tonnes of problems, so this is the place we had chosen to kill my thoughts.

Being in a corporate building, you would expect a lot of buzzing suit types walking about. However, that was not the case. Calm, peace and serenity are what greet you once you enter the doors, or lack thereof, of The Mediterraneo. We walked past the inside bit of the restaurant, which has a lovely wine rack as its main centre piece, and headed straight for the patio; taking in the Mediterranean ambience that filled the whole room . Aside from the birds chirping, the only other person where we eventually sat was a really humble waiter called Musyoki.

Sadly, Mediterraneo ’s menu does not have too many breakfast options. Eugene ordered for the both of us because I was clearly mixed up in a web; tears just dangling as I asked for my Chai. We settled for the traditional English Breakfast which consisted of two poached eggs, a spicy sausage, bacon, baked beans, two slices of toast, grilled tomatoes and a side serving of butter.

As we sipped our tea, waiting for the main dish, we whiled away in casual conversation. And while talking, I realized that I have it good in so many ways. I have life, good health, an even healthier appetite and a good support system. And most of all, I have a buddy like Eugene who always manages to make me appreciate the small things in life. Like how blue the sky was the previous day.

When our dish finally came it was worth the wait. Sitting there, talking and enjoying life for its little, hidden pleasures, was enough to get me by another day.

#N.P: Diggin’ on You-TLC

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Hanky-Panky in Asmara

I’m back. That can only mean one thing: I am not LOST.

At least not entirely as I was the last time I blogged. Good news is, I was able to pay off my dreadful loan and moved to a new house. I am elated with the move because our previous shit-hole of a house was able to single-handedly bring out the COMPLETE WORST in me. Yes I blame the house for my being lost. That aside, today I want to talk about this super cosy place I have been to more than once. Asmara. Continue reading

Eating With Your Privates

Waitresses. The service industry’s cherry on the top of a poorly cooked pie of doggy goulash.

Am I ranting? Not just yet. Is this a sexist post about waitresses? Nope. But they do have a role to play. Read on, you might end up understanding why the clouds out today are purple.

So we, I and my significant other, are randomly hotfooting through the streets of Nairobi when the *urge* overwhelms us. The urge to indulge in this heavenly pleasure that hits all the spots you never thought you had, or even existed. That which caresses the senses and takes you on a wild goose chase after your departing morals. In agreement that we both need to release our pent up energies, we head off to a certain locale just a spit-throw away from the National Archives. Continue reading