As most of my stories, this one starts with beer too. BeerS if we have to be correct, but we really don’t.
And a Swiss and a Bulgarian waiting for a plane to Mombasa. Sounds like one of those jokes, no? Indian Ocean here we come! (First trip to the Kenyan coast was amazing, but it involved mangrove islands and a bay, which qualifies not as a dip in the Indian Ocean). Clearly a repeat was necessary.
Let’s skip the first night that we spent with one of our best friends Johnny and move on to full day numero uno.
Getting to the beach was an adventure in and of itself, and possibly deserves its own post, but I feel like including a brief summary here. We had two options: take 2 matatus or walk 30 minutes headed right. We chose the latter, which in retrospect might not have been the best decision, but whatever. After numerous questions, winding paths, corn fields, chicken farms, village huts, rain and Captain Lorenzo, we finally made it to a tarmac road and some drinks stands. Yes, exactly where the matatu would have dropped us off. This little enterprise took us about a full hour and another half. Needless to say, at this point, we were desperate for some beach time.
Side note: Best directions ever: “You go around that path and you will see a Muslim at the crossroad.” You will see a Muslim?! Seriously?!
Side note 2: After that much walking in the burning sun and a brief rain, with no view of the beach or the ocean, there is only one thing that can lift your spirits: baboon sex! Too quick to even take out my camera, this event will only remain imprinted on my mind, not yours.
|White sand, blue water, crystal clear – left speechless in a beach orgasm. Exactly as I pictured it, but so much better!!!|
That little sandbar you see in the middle was thoroughly explored with the assistance of some devious local guides. What is it about us that screams “idiots”, I don’t know. But people took us for fools way too often that day.
Two white kids were running around the sandbar exploring the wildlife. They knew pretty much everything. But if I lived at a beach like that, I’d probably be a mini-marine-biologist at the age of 8 as well. Damn fucking fantastic to grow up at a place like this one though.
|Diverse entertainment obviously involves camel riding and glass bottom boats. And whatever that person on the left is doing with the tyre in the water.|
Beach, beer, beer, kuku choma, beer, beer, matatu, grocery shopping, matatu, food, drink, drink, drink, drink … you’d think it would stop somewhere, but a rainy Sunday turned it into more of a marathon. Starting with Johnny, going through numerous Pilsners and Tuskers, switching to Bombay, we eventually made it to nothing else but Bulgarian wine. No joke! Here’s the proof:
|Of all the places in the world, Diani Beach (or Kenya in general) was the last that I would have expected to find Bulgarian wine. On top of everything, cheaper than it’s offered back home. How did this happen…?!?!|