Kenya Part II: Ciao Bella and How Not to Budget for an Excursion

Oct 5th- 9th

We packed our things, said goodbye to Majaoni (I had spelled it wrong in my previous post) and its wonderful inhabitants, and made our way to Malindi road (with the help of Dadu of course!).

The matatu ride from Mombasa to Malindi was a cheap and pleasant one, despite the fact that our unlicensed driver took a detour through a village full of stick-wielding villagers intent on blocking our passage; for the purpose of avoiding a police check-point. The subsequent search to find a guest house had commenced and we eventually found a great one (Ozi's),which was within walking distance from the ocean and in the vicinity of a picturesque mosque.

Malindi is another seaside resort town along Kenya's Indian Ocean coast. It is said to be the final resting place of the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama. Malindi is also revered for it's laid-back feel but scorned for its Italian concentrations due to the over-abundance of Italian-owned businesses, hotels and tourists. On the beaches, we were actually greeted in Italian far more frequently than in English! It didn't matter though, we still found a secluded beach away from the leathery-skinned Italians and the even more annoying, Italian-speaking Kenyan beach-boys, and enjoyed our own little piece of paradiso.

Although working on our tans was the main priority, we still found time to visit some impressive 13th century Arab ruins and savored the fact that we were the only tourists there to admire them.

There is nothing more enjoyable or rewarding for a backpacker than being alone at a spectacular sight or ancient monument. And walking among the Gedi Ruins was one of those moments.

Because Malindi did not have a Stanbic Bank, we only had the money we had brought from Mombasa; and with our transport, accommodations and ruins excursion paid for, it left very little money for food and even less money for beer! Luckily, Bayani Dishes provided the cheap eats for literally every meal and some Kenyan women bought me some beer, despite a potential fight to the death breaking out. Each woman was intent on bagging me for the evening and the resulting argument left both parties calling each other a "motherfucker". I broke up the fight and assured them that they could each buy me a drink if they desired. As I sat back and sipped my thirst-inducing warm beer, I couldn't help but smile, and think that I had in fact won that battle and was left to enjoy the spoils.

Now, with absolutely no money in our possession, we made our way back to Mombasa before setting off for Nairobi. This time we visited Mombasa's South Coast and would be staying with a couchsurfer named Nicolas, his wife and their son. Nic worked as a safari-truck driver and freelance tour organizer in Kenya's National Parks. It was great talking to him about Africa's incredible wildlife and his experiences working in the Maasai Mara National Park.

Nic was a tremendous host and brought us to an isolated section of beach that was far nicer than anything we saw on the North Coast or in Malindi. It was a shame that we could only stay with him for one night because we had to catch a bus early on the 10th of october and the distance between the south coast and central Mombasa was farther than we had anticipated.

This time we had opted to stay in Old Town: the Zanzibar-esque region of Mombasa with a rich colonial history. Old town shares many similarities to Stonetown in Zanzibar, including Portuguese architecture (Fort Jesus), English and even Indian colonial influences.

It was the perfect place to spend our last night on the coast and not to mention they had splendiferous (I did not make this word up) shawarma! Being close to downtown Mombasa also gave us a chance to spend one more debaucherous evening with Janet and Lillian (our friends from Majaoni), which included a lot of dancing and way too much drinking.

My decision to come to the Kenyan coast had been a last-minute affair and I do not regret it for a second. The people were incredible and the beaches pristine. We didn't want to leave: all the stories we had heard about Nairobi ended in theft and/or violence. One major theft was enough for me, I wasn't ready for the city they labelled Nairobbery!