We pay the ticket and hope, hope, until we realized that decayed wooden boat before us in which dozens of people came up was our ferry. The climax was when the end came a guy who got his bike.

We ordered two glasses of wine. Viene. He puts on the table and abruptly says in a whisper "baby is gone" (the baby is gone). He says point-blank, as spitting sadness, as we look to shake her hands compulsively. No loss of half smile even announcing that his son is dead.

There are two ways to read this post. The first is read by looking at photos (the best thing); the second reading the text and check if it says something not seen in photos. It is difficult to describe the paradise. Try to imagine.

The spectacle of the Masai Mara, and Kenya, not only in the wild, but the immense sense of freedom that comes over you, in saffron sunsets, in the immensity of the horizons, in the solitary acacia seem petrified by a vengeful god.