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Published: April 9th 2011
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Recouped and ready to go, we left Nairobi for Mombasa on the overnight bus. A standard charter bus, we slept comfortably for most of the night. Unfortunately, there was a massive accident on the two lane highway and our nine and a half our journey dragged out to almost twelve hours. Mombasa is far more industrial than Nairobi and is Kenya’s second most populous city. Our African adventure had been hot and humid, but the coast was on a whole new level. Situated almost perfectly on the equator, Mombasa is pounded by the brilliant sun. We hailed a tuk tuk (a three wheeled motorcycle cab) and weaved through the dense city traffic. Our ride ended at the Liloni Ferry where we were herded like cattle with hundreds of locals onto massive diesel barges that transported us across the channel. With our bags in tow, we climbed aboard a matatu bound for Diani Beach. A matatu is a small Kenyan minivan public transport. Not including the driver and door assistant, somewhere between 11 and 20 locals sardine into these tiny vans. Though crammed and soaked with sweat, we were proud to be on the local transport having saved more than two
thousand shillings.
After a short tuk tuk ride down the beach front highway, we arrived at Diani Beachalets. Self catering budget cottages, our little one bed room chalet sat just three minutes walk from the beach. We checked in and made our way to the beach. The glowing white sand, the turquoise water, and the beachfront palm trees immediately overwhelmed us. For not having originally planned on heading to the coast, we were awed by our tropical paradise. Now several weeks on the road, our bodies craved home cooked meals. Throughout the day, we braved the heat in the condition and whipped up delicious meals- chicken and pasta, scrambled eggs, roasted potatoes, and barbecued chicken layered in cheddar cheese. Naturally, I use “we” very loosely as Lauren did the bulk of the cooking. We quickly found that temperatures soaring over ninety degrees, no breeze, and no a/c would make our stay quite warm.
On our first full day in Diani, we strolled up the coast. All along the way, we were pestered by the “beach boys”- often Rasta local men who persistently try to peddle anything from sea safaris to coconut wine and fresh seafood to sun cream.
After fending off the salesman, we basked in the sunshine and lounged in the Jacuzzi warm waters. Despite being in tropical paradise at a quaint lodge, we succumbed to the little green monster as we encountered resort after beautiful resort filled with cabanas, cold pools, fruity cocktails, and, undoubtedly, air conditioning. Depending on the price, we hoped to move up the beach as the week moved on.
Easily our most ambitious day, Lauren keenly desired to find Funzi Island. According to our travel book, Funzi was a tropical paradise that could be reached by wading through the channel at low tide. Though a spectacular adventure, Eyewitness Travel could not have been more wrong. We frustratingly made our way to the tiny fishing village of Bodo by matatu in the stifling heat where we expected to wade/ swim our way to Funzi for the day. On the matatu, a woman casually reached in through the window and sat her tiny baby on Lauren’s lap before boarding in the coach. From the highway, we climbed on back of a pair of piki pikis (motorbikes) for a short and scenic ride through the palms to the beach. When we arrived, we were
shocked to find the only way to reach the island was by boat- which would set us back 3,500 shillings. This was quite alarming as we had less than one thousand shillings with us for the whole day.
As gracious as he was hilarious, the boatman Airee agreed to paddle us to Funzi with his friend Moses for a price within our budget. The four of us boarded a rustic wooden canoe crafted from a hallowed out mango trunk. All along the way our quirky guide explained the local climate, marine environment, and way of life. Not the beautiful tropical paradise we had envisioned, the island itself was unique in its own way. Instead of landing on the tourist side of the island, we cruised through the area inhabited by natives. After a long day in the sun, we loaded back into the canoe where a makeshift sail was erected to propel us back to the mainland. We arrived back in Diani just after sunset. We grabbed our long awaited beer, cheese, crackers, cookies, and mangos for an equal parts delicious and romantic dinner on the beach- the perfect ending to our stay at the Beach Chalets.
Surrounded
by tropical paradise, you would imagine that our stay would have been nearly perfect. From the above details, you would be entirely correct- except our time in Masailand finally caught up to us. A week drinking and eating items prepared with bad water subjected our bodies to what has been tentatively diagnosed as cholera. If you desire more information on the illness, I encourage you to link to Wikipedia for the gory details, but I will spare the rest of you for now. Sick and unable to recover in the suffocating heat of the chalet, we knew a move to a chilled room would not only be so refreshing, but also necessary.
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