Beaching Xmas

With thousands of miles under our belts on long dusty Ugandan roads each and every holiday we thought that the best way to say goodbye to 2013 was at the beach.  And it was without further ado that we booked our tickets down to the clear waters of Mombasa touching down just before Santa left the North Pole.  Thankfully the whole of the coast seemed unusually quiet for the Festive Period.  Whether it was the awful event that took place in Nairobi earlier in the year or a fall in favour of the Kenyan coast, but the fears I had of muscling past bronzed Germans and Italians to reach the see was unfounded.  In fact at the time we arrived and dropped our bags in our self-catered tree house the larger resorts along the shore appeared devoid of tourists.  Great for us, but not for the local market vendors who latched onto us in fresh abandon attempting to palm off the seasons carved produce and flowing Kikois.

After the bustle and smog of Kampala beside the land locked Lake Victoria, our tranquil tree house on Diani Beach set in the welcome embrace of a local Baobab tree became our home for ten days.  Offering us seclusion from the beach boys and tour guides each pestering us to the point of exhaustion and letting us relax and release the tension built up over the past few months.  During the day we were able to disappear to the beach to relax with a fresh coconut in hand and dive into the warm waters of the Indian Ocean.  While on our return to our tree we could prepare freshly caught prawns and local Cane Vodka cocktails as the sun disappeared into the Kenyan interior. 

Christmas Day gave us the opportunity to leave our little paradise and descend into the city of Mombasa.  Rather than the seedy dangerous city I’d been led to believe it was, the hugely diversity captured our imagination.  For nearly 500 years the small island of Mombasa has been home to Arabs from Oman, the Portuguese, native Kenyan tribes, Indians and the British.  In this time each proprietor has stamped their influence and culture onto the streets, buildings, industry and language.  The narrow alleyways are a mix of Indian timber structures with ornate Omani metalwork leading out to British colonial residences and clubs.  People pass by speaking in Swahili made up of a variety of word from across the Globe and with a genetic makeup more akin to the Souks of Arabia.  Whilst covering and encasing these passageways like a multi-coloured African Kanga, the sound of the call to prayer and the rich smells of the spice market hangs thickly. 

After visiting the Portuguese built Fort Jesus we treated ourselves to a fantastic view of the Old Town from the famous fish restaurant Tamarin on the North Shore, and celebrated Christmas lunch with fresh lobster, crab, prawns and red snapper.  Surrounded by our purchases and full to bursting, we clambered back into our taxi and headed south once more, ready to take on the golf, sunbathing and general relaxation anew.   Unfortunately and mainly to prevent us developing a shellfish allergy, our time on the coast came to an end.  Ten days of bliss spent snorkelling, eating, sleeping and enjoying everything else the coast had to offer had recharged the batteries.  And so a day after the fireworks and celebrations had welcomed in the New Year and all of its promise, we touched down once more at Entebbe Airport and fought through the traffic to our little cottage on Mutungo Hill ready for the next stage of The Adventure in 2014.