I think I've only attended a horse race once or twice in my life before - in suburban Denmark to be exact - and then as now the whole scenery struck me as so bizarre, a peculiar mix of down-and-out gamblers, old-money, people with old-money airs, shrimp cocktails and hotdogs. A nostalgic carnival, if you will, which you might as well embrace full on once you've decided to go.
And so we did. Drank beer, ate fish and chips and bet on two horses - the first one handpicked by my female intuition, and when that turned out not to be worth a damn, Johan went off on his own and bet on a winning horse, thus settling our total winnings at -150 Kenyan shillings.
Not bad, I think, for first timers like us, and I'm actually not altogether opposed to going back - particularly not if they start hosting Ostrich races, which I wouldn't miss for the world.
|These are Johan's derby pants. At first he had his shirt tucked into his pants, but upon arrival, we felt that was a little too dainty. So he went with "casual derby" instead, which is a mix of 90s grunge, petty bourgeois and a floral tote.|
|The winning ticket! You have no idea how many things you need to consider before betting on a horse. Right from the weight of the jockey to whether or not the horse is wearing a tongue strap (what is that anyway?).|
|There's one thing I've noticed about Kenyans, which I really admire, namely their ability to kind of feel at home and chillax anywhere. You actually see this all over - in parks, by the high way, at the roadside :O)|