LAKE ELEMENTAITA – A Distant Cloud of Pink

We are walking across a dry lake bed to a cloud of shimmering pink shapes in the distance. The ground alternates between soft patches of mud, and crunchy areas of salt which have been left as the water has receded away. At certain points, this is a huge lake. In the dry season, though, the water recedes into the far distance. The shimmering pink cloud in the distance hovers over what’s left of the water. It’s a large flock of flamingoes, the last of the thousands which rest all over the lake in the wet season. Of course, it’s meant to be the wet season right now…


Sunlight breaking through above Elementaita


The dry lake bed of Elementaita

Elementaita is a soda lake situated to the north west of Nairobi; and driving here from the Massai Mara has taken us back over the escarpments of the Rift Valley. This time, though, it’s the greener farmland which represents a large part of Kenya’s agriculture. It’s also the hotbed of tribal tension which saw some of the worst violence after the 2007 elections. Perhaps there is still something of unease about the place; as small private farms struggle for position alongside large, new commercial operations which produce for Kenya’s export market.


Bungalows on the hillside above Lake Elementaita

A few hours of ascending and descending later, we reach our next overnight spot on the shores of Lake Elementaita. It’s an impressive sight from the highway. A vast lake bed surrounded by rugged hills. We’re staying in bungalows perched right over the lake’s eastern edge. In the last of the day’s light we take our first walk across the lake bed, but aren’t able to get as far as the flamingos just yet. The view at sunset is stunning; the heavy metal doors and large padlocks which make everything look a bit like jail cells, are a little disconcerting.


My bungalow at Elementaita. Complete with alarmingly heavy and solid metal door

The next day we return to the lake bed, this time heading for the southern edge. This time we manage to reach the flamingos which, even though are apparently far less in number than they should be, are still an impressive sight, standing still as they do without wavering in the water. Heading around the water, we reach the Kekopey hot springs. These springs seem to serve as the main bathing, washing and social spot for the local villagers. Basically, they’re like a community centre. Spending some time swimming here gives plenty of chances to speak to the locals about life, language and to explore conspiracy theories regarding the death of Michael Jackson. The hot springs are *very* hot, and leave a rather strange mineral residue which we can’t identify. (Further exploration of Wikipedia tells me that the local Massai believe these springs can cure AIDs…)


Flamingos standing on the lake shore.


The hot springs at Elementaita.

There is more time to share with the Kenyans in Elementaita in the afternoon when we head out to the home of George and Lucy, who run a small farm from their property. The youngest of their seven children, Virginia, shows us around the farm whilst wearing a Santa hat. As well as explaining the many fruits and vegetables crammed into the tiny garden, she tells us all about her school and her desire to become a doctor. We also meet her sister, Regina, who’s much quieter and their nephew, also called George, whose energy is boundless.


Sitting in the hot waters, and maybe feeling the beneficial health effects, of Elementaita.

After walking through the grounds (and after Ruth and I have taken turns bouncing Little George the whole way) we’re invited into the house to talk to George. It’s clear that he’s both used to meeting overseas visitors, and that he enjoys holding court. We tell him who we are and where we come from, allowing him to launch into a speech or story which may or may not be related. Renewable energy provides one sorts of interesting discussion, as does the politics of the Anglican Church of Canada (a somewhat inevitable debate in the highly evangelical churches of Kenya) Whilst all this is going on, Little George is busying himself trying to force feed Lois and Ruth tea and fruit; whilst stealing the pieces of fruit he wants from everybody else’s plates.


Looking across to the hills on the other side of Elementaita.

It transpires that George is enamored with both Scotland and Canada; and he produces a book of photographs from Canada which a previous guest sent to him. He’s very proud of it, and excited when I’m able to point out where I live on a photo of the snow capped North Vancouver mountains. He insists on me putting my contact details in the book; and I happily give him my number at the switchboard at the Diocese of New Westminster. Clearly the women of the house know to let George do his thing when he has visitors, and so when he takes a break we get a chance to speak to Regina and Virginia again. Regina is a physics fan; which according to Elijah means she has to make a choice between studying it or agriculture in the future. George clearly has a lot of traditional views; but it’s clear that the education of his family is important to him as well as his fascination with other cultures and those are the marks of Kenya’s growing aspiring middle classes.


Sunset over Lake Elementaita.

We head back to the bungalows for another stunning sunset, set against the ribbon of flamingos standing tall in the far distance…

MASSAI MARA - We’re Surrounded. The Entire Place is Crawling with Living Things…

Living in the UK and Canada isn’t the best preparation for an African safari because there’s a temptation to think of nature reserves as very large zoos. Going through the front gates (where one can’t help but be reminded of Jurassic Park…) you look intently from side to side waiting for the first elephant to lumber out of the undergrowth, swiftly followed by a cheetah at full sprint. Instead, what you find is an area of over farmed dirt stretching off into the distance. Those who remember the last blog entry will remember my references to Massai cattle herds sneaking into the Mara; and that’s what you see when you enter the reserve. It’s brown and bleak; with a few lone gazelle or zebra climbing over the rocks on one side or the other.

The Massai Mara, though, is a huge ecosystem covering 1500 square kilometers. And as we reach the head of the first set of hills, a sight familiar from postcards the world over greets us. Vast expanses of grasslands stretch out under the glint of the morning sun, with occasional acacia trees breaking up the flat horizons (wildfires are common here, and the acacia trees are the only ones which tend to survive) The next lesson to learn is this; safari is a systematic blend of tracking and opportunism.

The tracking comes from Elijah and Samuel who, with an incredible knowledge of the on and off road tracks of the Mara alongside their short wave radio, are able to systematically guide us through most of the reserve’s habitats. The opportunism comes from following the vultures. Either the animal kind, which stick close to dead animals and can be a good way of finding recent kills, or what we come to refer to as the ‘white vultures’: the legions of non descript minibuses carrying safari tourists who congregate in large groups around interesting animals. The practice seems a little distasteful, except for the facts that (A) We, of course, join them as well to see what they’ve found and ( B) It’s clear that, as most drivers seem to be adept at the practice of watching, the animals pay their watchers little or no regard.

And there are, of course, always the groups who have their own particular focus for their day’s viewing. We encounter our Canadian agri-foresters several times during the day and realize that, more often that not, the thing that has gripped their attention and caused them to reach for their zoom lenses is not some great moment of animal activity, but a rather interesting tree.

Our first moment of excitement during the day comes when we spy our first lion. A lioness, to be exact, lying out on a mound beside some bushes. For a moment it looks like she is sleeping; then we spot buffalo moving amongst the undergrowth nearby. It becomes clear that the lioness is hunting; watching the buffalo (who are big enough to defend themselves and give a single predator some nasty injuries, Elijah tells us) and waiting for her time. We wait with her. The situation looks like a stalemate until a curious warthog wanders into the fray. The lioness’ attention switches and, a few minutes later, our patience is rewarded as the warthog steps just slightly too close and she makes her move. Unfortunately for us; her move is a rather lazy jog towards a warthog which is more than prepared to make its dash for freedom. It’s soon over; as the warthog reaches safety long before the lioness seems to get very interested in the chase. The incident gives us two major pointers for the rest of the day: patience is important in the course of a safari, and it’s astounding how nature lovers become surprisingly bloodthirsty when it looks like we’ll see an actual kill.


Lionness preparing to do... well, not much as it transpired.

Radio contact from other safari expeditions brings us to our next major sightings: a group of three male lions lying under a tree, followed by a family of cheetahs close by. The lions are a particularly prized sight, remarks Elijah, since male lions rarely spend time together once they reach the age to gather their own prides. Our three are young and lazy, but astoundingly impressive all the same. The cheetahs are livelier; a mother watches on as her two cubs scrap atop a nearby ditch. It transpires that the sprinting for which they are famed is such an exhausting process that they can only do it for a few dozen metres at a time. As we get deeper into the park, the numbers of the animals we see at any one time become larger; to the point where we’re driving through uncountable groups of zebra, buffalo and gazelle all grazing in the same watering holes and grasslands.


Bachelor lions lying out in the shade.


Young cheetahs at play.

One of the most impressive natural wonders in the region is the annual wildebeest migration. At the end of the winter, thousands of these animals flood over to the border from the Serengeti National Park in Tanzania (of which the Massai Mara is, effectively, the northern continuation) and then once the grass has been eaten for the season, they head back in late summer. We are in the Mara at the end of the return process, and we see versions of it throughout the day. Sometimes up close, as we watch herds of wildebeest at watering holes and river crossing, and often from afar as we’ll be driving across grasslands and see hundreds of the animals in the distance walking single file across the border. It’s fascinating to observe although, as with everything else in the reserve, there is a nasty temptation to want to see animals come to harm for our entertainment.


Grazing in the foreground whilst, in the background, wildebeest migrate southwards.

This reaches its zenith in the early afternoon when, as we approach the Mara River, we see groups of wildebeest standing at the edge of the river canyon. They need to cross if they’re going to reach the Serengeti but, as becomes clear as we drive along the edge of the river, there’s plenty of good reasons for them not to want to. Crocodiles and hippos are clearly visible in the waters below. It’s clear that if the wildebeest make their move, at least some of them will be sacrificed. So we wait to see what will happen, along with several other safari vans. Having dozens of long lenses focused on the site of an impending massacre is all rather gruesome but, clearly, the wildebeest are aware of this and they do not move. At all. For almost an hour. Finally we decide to head off to other pastures, leaving the wildebeest to contemplate their fate under the watchful eye of the remaining white vultures.


Hippos in the water.


The white vultures (well, not so white this time) await the wildebeest massacre. They are to be dissapointed.

Leaving proves to be the better course of action since, on our way back towards the gate, we have two of our most impressive encounters of the day. First there is a group of elephants we encounter on open grasslands. For a while we believe it’s just one lost young elephant, wandering alone under gloomy skies. But after following him for a while, we find the rest of his group who have trudged much further ahead. We’re able to gently coast along beside them, admiring their graceful lumbering. Just as we leave them, the clouds finally break and we’re treated to an intense bout of rain. As we splash along the road we see the remains of a recently killed zebra to the side of it and, on closer observation, a group of lions lying down in the grass around it.


Lone elephant wandering the plains...


... not so lone elephant wandering very, very close to us.

Clearly what has happened is that the lions made their kill but their eating was interrupted by the rain. We decide to wait and see if we can wait out the rain and see them resume eating (because, again, safari going seems to make us all want to see things die and be eaten as much as it does live things) We wait for some time as water pools on the road ahead and the smell of fresh earth fills the air. Finally, the rays of the sun return (along with an impressive rainbow) and the lions too seem to come back to life. First they wander into the road and spend time playing with, or possibly taunting, each other. The group is a pride of one male and two females. And as they move back to their kill, we can see the group dynamics as work. The male begins to eat alone, with one of the lionesses picking away beside him. It’s only when he leaves that both the females eat together.


Lionesses playing, or maybe fighting, after the rainstorm.


Male lion gets sleepy as it waits out the rain.


The male lion begins his feed. Moist zebra! Yum!


The lionesses move in for their share of the meal.

Watching the lions play and eat is incredible. So much so that we barely notice the sun begin to dip and our final drive to the gate has to be made at some speed. The Mara isn’t open to safaris at night, and the fines for leaving late are steep. Elijah and Samuel are used to the phenomena of the most impressive sightings occurring in the evening, though, and we’re soon heading back to our tent camp for a second night’s stay. Leaving the animals of the Massai Mara to hunt, play and eat away from the observation of the death obsessed human vultures!


Zebra and distant rainbow following the late afternoon Mara rainstorm.

Following an evening where we regale the rest of the camp with the sound plastic cups being slapped down on tables (thanks, Ruth!) we head back into the Massai Mara at dawn to see if we can find some of the animals we missed. Including the elusive, and rare, black rhino. In the quiet morning, our first encounters are with giraffes. Having not seen any close up the day before, we spend a lot of time watching one of them feeding alone; fascinated by its extraordinarily long tongue. They're very deliberate eaters, and seem to be the animals most aware of the human presence.


Early morning giraffe.


Impressive tounge length from the feeding giraffe.

We then creep (read: drive really slowly) through the undergrowth looking for tell tale signs of the elusive rhino. We meet another group of elephants in the middle of a feed, and even some more lions lying out after their early morning hunt. Finally, after following an ostrich across open plains we receive a radio call which has us u-turning back towards a low valley. There we watch as two rhinos are lumbering around just a few hundred metres away. They’re fabulous animals; a sort of throwback to prehistory. To see them wandering around is exhilarating.


Sunlight begins to hit the Mara as elephants head off for the morning.


Black rhinos out in a Mara valley.

MASSAI MARA - God Walking

Aside from some occasional howling (not from me, or from the Mark Kermode podcast I was listening to late at night) it’s an easy sleep in the Kenyan bush. We awake to one of Demetrius’ wonderful breakfasts, served under pink early morning skies. Jonathan has changed from traditional Massai kanga into civvies to join us for our day’s travelling. First we take a walk through the quiet morning bush. It’s clear from Jonathan and Elijah’s commentary that the aridness of the area has taken a huge toll in all the ecosystems here. Aside from a few occasional zebra and gazelle in the distance, we see few animals. There are herds of cows being driven by Massai, although Elijah tells us many of them have moved their grazing ground closer to the Massai Mara nature reserve and (at the dead of night when they won’t be spotted so easily) even inside its gates to the grasslands beyond, putting increased pressure on that area.


Dawn at the bush camp.


Elijah shows Jon and Ruth the remains of a skull.

We find evidence of where Massai have been using the area, and with CSI precision Jonathan is able to dissect the remains of an abandoned campsite to tell us how many Massai were there, how long they stayed and even what they ate for dinner and breakfast. (A skull fragment revealing the former, and various porridge stirring sticks in the nearby gorse bushes telling us the latter) All in all, the Kenyan bush is a vast, eerie place, especially in drought season, devoid of a lot of the familiar sights and sounds which would help orient a lost hiker. With the exception, of course, of Jonathan’s cell phone ringtone!


Jonathan guides us around the abandoned Massai campsite.

Rather impressively, as we reached the first dirt track our safari van trundled towards us. Obviously good tracking (or, now I think about it, the cell phones might have had something to do with it…) and soon we were on our way to the Massai Mara itself. Well, not inside the reserve just yet… Bizarrely, considering it’s one of the most travelled routes in the country, the main road heading south is in terrible shape. Elijah tells us it’s due to a dispute between the national and local government over who should foot the bill for the cost of the tarmac. It’s another interesting indicator of why Kenya’s desire to boost their tourist trade doesn’t always gel with what the local tribes want; to the ultimate detriment of, well, everyone.

We head to our next campsite literally a few minutes drive from the main gate in the foothills which mark the border to the Mara. The Mountain Rock camp is definitely a step up in terms of amenities from bush camping. The tents are permanent, and contain large beds of the solid variety, as well as various other pieces of furniture. Each one is on its own lot, with a garden out front… basically like an old colonial style camping experience, complete with English country gardens. The hot water showers built onto the back of each tent are something of a marvel of science, and very welcome.


Homes and gradens; tented camp style at the Mountain Rock camp.

With a couple of days of solid drive time ahead of us (the Massai Mara isn’t a place where walking safaris are done) we decided to use the remaining daylight hours to climb one of the local hills and get a better view of the Mara. With Jonathan having left us at a nearby village, we enlisted the services of a new Massai, Mataka, to accompany us. Mataka’s English is not very strong, but he does have a very shiny spear which he takes great delight in throwing ahead of him (he’s got a good arm for a man his age!) Ruth and Douglas are able to point out which of the nearby dung samples belong to elephants thanks to their experiences on Mt. Kenya (look for undigested plants and grass…) although that’s not an entirely comforting thought when you’re climbing a confined bit of slope with only Mataka’s throwing arm for protection.


Elijah and Mataka guding us safetly up.


Lois and Mataka conversing once we reach the top of the hill.

We reach the top without incident, although a careful check is made of one tree at the summit whose trunk has distinct leopard claw marks in it. By this point the sun is beginning to set behind low, darkened clouds. Much of southern Kenya is too dry but the Massai Mara’s ecosystem has remained more balanced; hence why it’s teeming with wildlife. Against the rainclouds, the sunbeams shine down distinctly across the plains. I forget who uses the phrase first, but it’s not long before each time we see this phenomena we’re referring to it as “God walking.” It’s a very appropriate term.


View over the Massai Mara from the hilltop.


God walking across the Mara.

Back at camp, we bump into a group of Canadians who are on a short safari following their attendance in Nairobi at a conference on agri-forestry. Not plain forestry: agri-forestry. After a few moments spent trying to figure out the odds of meeting a group of Canadians in Kenya who make a living dealing with trees (a national obsession, no matter what anyone tries to tell you otherwise) we end up talking about their afternoon’s game drive in the Massai Mara. Their tales of elephant herds and watching hyenas hunt are beguiling, as all safari stories are. And thoughts start to turn towards the wonders that may await us when we do the same thing tomorrow…


Hiking back down the hill!


Sunset over the hills of the Mara.

EWASO NGIRO – From the City to the Wild

Returning to Nairobi, things got off to a more auspicious start than last time when I was actually met by the taxi I had ordered. However, on the downside, the vehicle in question was a decades old jeep which had a rather unfortunate habit of stalling whenever it was driving at low speeds in any gear higher than first. And, on a typical traffic crawl through Nairobi, that happens a little too often for comfort. Perhaps it’s a useful reorientation to the madness of mainland travel in East Africa after the relative quiet of Zanzibar (dulla-dulla racing aside.) I tell myself that as we sit helplessly on a roundabout with traffic around as snarling as it tries to get past.

The traffic eases off somewhat as we head into Karen, the leafiest suburb of Nairobi filled with large houses owned by expats surrounded with high fences and gates. Rather like West Vancouver, only with more private security guards brandishing guns. Testament to the fact that when you live behind a high wall you can construct any mad type of place you want to live is Rock House; the bed and breakfast owned by the Mountain Rock safari company. It’s a house which has been custom plastered and painted to look like something from the Flintstones. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s positioned in beautifully manicured gardens, and has a scale model of Mt. Kenya in the backyard.


Rock House and gardens.

That’s a useful visual aid for meeting Jon, Lois, Ruth and Douglas Cape that evening since it transpires they’ve spent the previous week climbing up said mountain (the real one, not the model.) We share stories over dinner and red wine. They with their days of altitude induced sickness, freezing cold nights and occasional elephant stampedes and me with my many different and varied white sand / turquoise water beaches… The Capes are from Scotland, which allows for some catching up on yet more British things I’ve missed over the past few years. I also get some insight into local history; Lois had lived in Kenya back in the sixties, when her parents came to help set up the teaching wing for Nairobi hospital and so this was her second climb of Mt. Kenya. The changes on the mountain, especially the reduction of the ice at its top, have been devastating and have had a profound impact on the surrounding area (I noticed a similar lack of ice on Mt. Kilimanjaro when flying to Zanzibar) It’s something we come to appreciate even more the next day as we headed out on safari.

After a good night’s rest in Rock House’s very comfortable, brown bedrooms (a consequence of the décor choice!) we meet Elijah, Demetrius and Samuel who will be our guide, cook and driver for the next week. Demetrius has just returned from Mt. Kenya as well, and discovered he’d be spending another week on the road away from his family just a day earlier. This, apparently, is quite normal for safari staff. At least this time he and the others won’t have to carry all their food and cooking equipment on their backs all day before settling down to cook meals at altitude! Some very impressive packing squeezes all of our luggage into the very back of our safari van, and soon after we’re heading out of Nairobi and looking out over the Rift Valley.


Perched over the Rift Valley. Just out of shot: more identical souvenirs than you can possibly imagine.

The Rift Valley is one of those natural wonders you (or at least I) feel slightly guilty about when you find you hadn’t previously registered their existence. It’s an immense cut in the landscape running thousands of miles throughout eastern Africa. And in areas such as Nairobi (which is built at altitude on an escarpment) you can really see it. Of course, no immense natural wonder would be complete without the requisite tourist traps alongside it. Up and down the road to the valley each metre of the edge has some sort of signage telling you that it is *the* viewing spot for the area. And each comes, coincidentally, complete with a store nearby. Although I don’t realize it, I’m destined for constant disappointment with Kenyan souvenirs, about which I’ll relate more when we return to Nairobi. For now, though, we get the first of many photographs and then head off for the first six hour drive down into and through the valley.

We were travelling with a British company called IntoAfrica, who mix wildlife safaris with cultural and environmental visits. So instead of heading straight for the game reserves, our first stop is the town of Ewaso Ngiro. What’s probably a quiet place most other days of the week is jammed with people and stalls because it’s the fortnightly market day. There’s plenty of cheap clothing and houseware for sale, but the real business is happening at the back of the market, where cattle are being sold. Elijah tells us that Massai from twenty km away will walk to this market to buy and sell. It’s all rather like an old style farmer’s market would have been in the UK many decades ago… just with more cell phone accessories. Phones are, of course, as big here as anywhere else in the world. Perhaps more so because, for Massai who spent their days driving their cattle and trying to find the next water hole, fast communications in the desert are a priority.


Cattle being bought and sold at Ewaso Ngiro.

From Ewaso Ngiro, we head into the bush. Quite literally, as we leave the sealed roads and head off on an indistinguishable series of dirt tracks. The landscape isn’t featureless; it’s dry but not a desert. Aside from a few gazelles and two ostriches which briefly run alongside us, it has an empty feeling. We’re told that the latest wet season is running late; and the last one was disappointing. Finally we reach a glorious spot of greenery, in which a natural spring is leaking out of the ground and gushing water around it. The tall trees and bright grass mark it out from the desert around, and here we make our camp for the night. As we put up our tents, Massai bring their cattle across for watering, and baboons cry out noisily in the trees around.


Massai herdsman and cattle at the watering hole.

One of the local Massai, Jonathan, joins us at camp and invites us to come visit his village. It’s a twenty minute walk away across the bush; whose sounds are becoming more distinct as the sun dips on the horizon. As we enter the circle of outer huts which marks the village, there is a sense of nervousness from those we meet (and from us, of course!) The Massai here are obviously somewhat used to greeting visitors from IntoAfrica’s excursions, but by virtue of its position over an hour from the main roads, it isn’t a place many visitors stumble across. Once we have greeted the many children who come to meet us (a pat on the head is the custom) we all become a lot more comfortable with each other.


Approaching the Massai village at sunset.

The village is made up of several huts, made from dried cow dung, built around a central pasture. They’re small dwellings, and rather dark too we discover when Jonathan invites us into his. As our eyes adjust to the gloom, he tours us around the dining room, kitchen and bedrooms. They’re all in the same central space, but to the Massai who live here the different parts of the dwelling are distinct and functional. There are few possessions apart from some pots and sticks (each of which has a very specific purpose for preparing part of the Massai diet) And there’s Jonathan’s cell phone, which he busies himself topping up with minutes which Elijah has brought him from town.


Elijah and children in the Massai village.

Perhaps the reason why the Massai seem to have few possessions is that each of their dung huts only has a life expectancy of between ten and fifteen years. The women who build them tend to be married to the same men in the village (the Massai are polygamous by culture; a fact which, as far as I can tell, is accepted among local churches) Some of the men, like Jonathan who trained to be a teacher, will make their way to towns for further education. Others will stay in and around the village, learning the old ways of hunting and survival.


Massai villagers and their homes.

It’s clear that, for these Massai, “Kenya” is still very much a construct which doesn’t necessarily define their own identities. We noticed chalk marks scratched over the doorways of the village huts, marking where the national government had been attempting to take a census. The perception seems to be, though, that the census takers will simply find what they want. Elijah informed us that he wasn’t at home when the census takers called; so they apparently went next door and asked the neighbours about him and his family and then extrapolated their results accordingly. The different between tribal and national identity is clearly still a deep, important one. I was to encounter this even more forcefully in Uganda a week later. But I digress…


Sunset in the bush.

In the darkness we head back to camp. Jonathan joins us to sit by our fire during the night on the lookout for any particularly curious animal life. And there we leave him as we head to bed, with occasional late night serenades from baboons and hyenas. It’s all a long way from Nairobi’s thunderous roads and traffic…

MENAI BAY – On Distant Sandbanks

The resolve of Patricia and the Italians for more adventurous sightseeing holds true and so for my final day on Zanzibar I decide to join them for the excursion they’re taking with the tour company Safari Blue, who operate in the Menai Bay Conservation Area on the south of the island. Zanzibar’s costal flora and fauna have trouble competing with the growing numbers of resorts elsewhere on the coast, so the protection of Menai Bay is all the more important.


Modern dhow heading towards Kwale Island...


... and not so modern canoe moored in the shallow waters closeby.

We start the day travelling by dhow from the beach at Fumba to nearby Kwale Island. It’s a journey carried out in traditional style… except, perhaps, for the outboard motor on the stern of the dhow. Conservation area or not; Menai Bay is another big business opportunity for Zanzibar’s tour guides. There are half a dozen other dhows racing across the open water to try and get to the prime beach and snorkeling sites on Kwale Island. I’m suddenly reminded why I do most of my travelling alone.

Tour guide Idris, though, obviously has a spider sense about him and so steers us away from the crowds and into some of the mangrove lined bays around the island. The mangroves, along with the turtles who visit them to breed and lay eggs, are one of the primary conservation projects on Kwale. At low tide, with their rocky bases slowly eroding, the statuesque trees look particularly stunning in their isolation.


The northern beach of Kwale Island as the morning's boats arrive.

We return to the northern edge of the island where it’s (yet) a(nother) stunning day on the beach and in water which is all kinds of shades of blue. Accompanied by (yet) a(nother) wonderful seafood lunch. It would be easy to spend days in Zanzibar and do nothing else if one so wished; be driven off to beautiful beaches everyday and do much the same thing time after time. Watching half a dozen groups doing the same thing around us, I found myself missing my dulla-dulla. I still had my lucky find copy of “All Creatures Great and Small” to read. Which had an added interest for animal – obsessed Patricia. Explaining the finer points of James Herriot’s writing style to an Italian on a white sand beach was a rather surreal use of an hour.


In the water off the coast of Kwale. Sea and sky... perfect blue.

At sunset, and with the prevailing winds allowing us to actually sail back to the mainland, we stopped off on a sandbar for final photos and to watch the waves in the gathering dark. Reflecting on the week, the day in Menai typifies a lot of Zanzibar. It certainly feels like a place where the ancient and the modern have collided and are looking to find an easy peace. The thing about Zanzibar, and I see this as a good thing, is that it doesn’t seem to do the modern very well. From what I’ve seen of the resorts and Stone Town, they’re at their best when dealing with simple pleasures and local seafood. The dhow motor breaks down a fair amount; the sail doesn’t.


Patricia and I on a sandbank in Menai Bay. We're squinting, incidentally, because the setting sun is shining directly into our eyes!

The trip to the airport the following day is typical. Air travel does not suit Zanzibar yet. Checking in is like living a newsreel of the arrivals at Ellis Island. Lines of passengers are everywhere, snaking in and out of the shack like terminal. You may or may not get checked in before your flight leaves, and even then all that enables you to do is to join one of the many other lines dealing with luggage, visas and immigration (of which there are many; all unmarked) There appears to be one computer in the entire building, as check in staff write information on pieces of paper and then disappear for ten minutes before coming back with boarding passes. In the days of large, anonymous airport terminals (and large, anonymous island beach resorts) Zanzibar’s is a lot of fun. It does things at its own pace and you just have to go with it. Of course, I my judgment here might be influenced by the fact that, after my check in attendant returned from his mysterious visit to the back office, he told me that my flight was overbooked and I’d been upgraded to business class for my flight back to Nairobi.

Well, you can take this whole ‘travelling on a shoestring’ thing a bit too far, can’t you?


Shell on the sand in Menai Bay.