Mombasa

So I've spent a week in Mombasa, the place where my parents grew up. Not that I've seen much of it. I stayed at a small hostel called Mombasa Backpackers. Small but complete, with its own pool and garden area, a bar with cable TV, a foosball table and a cafeteria. I've spent most of my time lazing around by the pool enjoying the free Wi-Fi while taking occasional dips in the pool and ordering food. Our outings consisted of: going to the local shopping mall which housed a rather posh cafe/patisserie called, imaginatively, Cafesserie; a trip down to the local Nyali beach; a trip to the more distant Tiwi beach; and a tour of Fort Jesus and Old Town.

And that's about it really. Fort Jesus was quite nice but the tour of Old Town was rather short and pointless. Much of the architecture and history is pretty similar to Zanzibar. Oh, and one of my friends got mugged. We were just walking down this street and she was walking a bit behind the rest when we heard a scream as some man grabbed her before running off. It happened so quickly and, as he ran off, he let go of her bag thus leading me to believe he had given up when I had turned and shouted at him. Unfortunately, the man had been doing it for all his life and I think that the whole bag grab was a distraction from the necklace. Fort Jesus itself was impressive as we were told it had been carved out of the rock rather than assembled.

For the most part though the trip has been about chilling out and meeting other people. And that is what I have loved most about my time travelling in Tanzania and Kenya. I wrote a blog post not long ago about the fellow volunteers that I became such good friends with but in the last two and a half weeks I have also met some really interesting and awesome people while in Zanzibar and Mombasa. It's included eight Canadians, seven Brits, four Norwegians, two Germans, and two Americans among others. Staying in backpackers dorms, travelling alone, one really has to be able to be open to saying "yes" to everything. Everyone is friendly when you stay in places like these because, much like the first day of university, everyone is usually in the same boat. At Kendwa I was invited to join two Canadians and an Aussie for dinner. At Mombasa, I already knew the two volunteers I had joined up with and, although I just hung out with them for the day, on Saturday night we joined the rest of the Mombasa Backpackers crew in heading to the casino before hitting a club. The casino was a enjoyable affair and it was  here that I got to know the Canadians and the Norwegians. Oh and I also left having doubled my money on roulette after hitting three numbers in a row as we geared up to leave. Not the most culturally rich experience I've ever had in another country but fun nonetheless. We then headed to a nightclub to dance until 5am at which point we headed back to the hostel and jumped in the pool. I managed to get to sleep at 7am for a couple of hours before getting up for breakfast and heading to spend the entire day with the Canadians at the beach just chilling out.

For the most part, Mombasa was about sitting around enjoying the heat and the sun, playing the occasional game of foosball and jumping in the pool. It also served as the catalyst for helping me accept the fact that soon I will be home. Sure, I will miss all the volunteers and, even though I will want to come back to Tanzania as soon as I step off the plane at Heathrow, I now want to go home and reimmerse myself in some of the trivial first world problems that I have been away from for almost four months. Silly things, like what phone I'm going to get to replace my HTC Legend (probably a Samsung Galaxy S3) and watching TV and movies again. Staying in Mombasa, where there is not much to do, allowed me to think abuot all the things I want to do when I go home. Things like learning a new language, attempting to teach myself the guitar or relearn some piano, start building a proper fitness regime. I need to look for a job again and start applying for another round of training contracts in the Autumn. I want to go to a sushi buffet with my cousins and drink ale and go to dim sum. I want my dad to cook mussels or prawns or lobster noodles. I want to start cooking myself again. So many things I want to do, so much money I need to pay back and then save. It might turn out that there are not enough hours in the day. I know that I will need to keep myself busy when I reach London though, otherwise I will spend the entire time wishing I was back in Arusha. 

Pole Pole, except when you're on a coach...

So, with a heavy heart, I left Zanzibar behind. I had loved my time on that beautiful island and was extremely tempted to stay in Stone Town. We took the ferry back from Stone Town in the morning and met three other volunteers going the other way. They almost convinced me to go back! Instead we parted ways, also discovering that I would see them again when I got back to Arusha, which was nice to know. The Danes and I went to a fast food joint for burger and chips before they went to pick up their stuff. And then I had to say goodbye to the second and third volunteers that I met in Arusha. Again, it sucked.

After I left them, I headed to a hotel and booked my bus ticket for the following morning to head to Mombasa, Kenya. I spent the rest of the day crashed out on my hotel bed watching re-runs of the German and Spanish domestic cup finals. Dar Es Salaam is too big to wander around like you can in Arusha or Stone Town so, knowing no one, there was not much for me to do except sit, watch TV and meditate (a.k.a. staring at the ceiling fan wondering whether if it fell, would it kill me).

The following day, I woke at five-thirty in the morning in order to make it to the bus by six. Useless, as the bus did not leave until six forty-five. The ride to Tanga was smooth enough but hot as the sun rose into the blue sky. As we pulled in to Tanga, the bus stopped to let the passengers off the bus. I was pretty tired at this point, as I had been on the bus for about six hours, so I stayed seated on the bus when I heared a loud jeering sound coming from outside. As I looked out my window, I saw a young woman attempting to get her luggage out of the coach's hold surrounded by these howling men. Unsuccessful in her endeavour, she was guided back to the bus by one of the staff members and they went to get her bags for her. Now, she was a fairly attractive lady, sporting a fairly unique hairstyle, with pretty nice clothes; I assumed she was a celebrity of some sort. When they had recovered her luggage, the porters and staff began escorting her out of the bus station to yet more boos and whistles as the mob followed her. I turned to ask one of the other passengers why that had happened and he simply told me that it was because she was wearing a mini skirt. It had never even occurred to me that the commotion was because of a simple piece of clothing. It was a stark reminder after the Westernised experience of Breezes and Kendwa that I am still in a vastly religious country that can be offended by such things that are trivial in the West.

We left Tanga behind and began our trip towards the border which, after the excitement of Tanga, was rather plain. When I reached the border between Tanzania and Kenya, I disembarked to get my visa. There were a few people ahead of me in the queue and some had problems with their Tanzanian visas expiring. Overall, it took maybe twenty minutes for me to get my visa as he refused to see me before the other troublesome people, even though I had all my documents ready and open in the right places for him to stamp. As I walked outside, there was a huge space where my bus was parked. They had driven ahead to the customs checkpoint. This was fair I thought, as baggage checks can take a long time. As we drove in another bus to the next point, there was a large billboard asking travellers to report any signs of corruption immediately. I rejoined my coach but discovered that they had already taken my rucksack to the customs office and I needed to go there to pick it up. As they checked my bags, they took me to another room to explain that I could not take the spice boats that I had boat into Kenya as they contained coriander seeds which may not have been treated. In stark contrast to the sign outside, I was immediately asked to pay a 300 Ksh bribe to be allowed to take them through. I didn't have any money at this point and for some reason he just let me through anyway. When I returned to where my bus was, lo and behold, it had left me behind and driven off towards Mombasa. I was pretty pissed off at this point. They still had my large backpack in the hold. In the end, I had to get on the bus of another company with the representative of my bus who had stayed with me. The road was bumpy and I was frustrated and worried that my stuff would be stolen. I arrived in Mombasa at seven at night. I was exhausted and needed Kenyan shillings. There was no ATM nearby the bus station so I had to exchange money with one of the bus companies who royally ripped me off. I was past caring at this point and just collected my bag from the office and headed to Mombasa Backpackers.

I arrived to find my two friends chilling out at the bar and I managed to stay awake for another hour before crashing on my bed. It was not until the next day that I realised that my hat was still on the bus that left me at the border. I booked my trip back to Arusha with a different company.