Beach Beach Beach, Sleep, Beach Beach Beach, Eat, Beach Beach Beach...

A couple weekends ago, a bunch of the volunteers and I flew to Mombasa for a weekend on the beach.  It’s a whole other world down there and its relaxed pace was a welcome break from living in the business of Nairobi.  Most people take the bus (in fact two of the people in our group left a day early and bussed down) but a flight was not much more expensive at all and it meant that we would be able to save ourselves almost twenty hours of travel.  We arrived in Mombasa on Friday afternoon and it took us a couple of hours to make our way to where our lodgings were.  On the way we had to take a ferry across a little channel and let me tell you, this shit would have been shut down immediately if it was in Canada.  They crammed literally as many people and cars onto this ferry as possible and it started leaving the dock as people were still jumping on to it.  I use the ferry from Nanaimo to Vancouver probably two dozen times a year and they’re nuts about safety and whatnot so seeing this ferry run in such a relaxed manner was a trip.  I almost liked it better this way though; if I have to hear that stupid BC Ferry safety recording one more time I think I’ll jump off the side of the boat. “Welcome to BC Ferries, please come up and enjoy our on-deck services…” SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, we arrived at our hotel/hostel/whatever you want to call it in the evening.  We were paying only $8 a night so I was definitely expected an insect-filled shithole but I’ve got to say that I was quite impressed.  It was very basic but pretty snazzy considering the price.  There were eight of us staying in one unit.  It had four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and a large living room area with a dining table and a coffee table.   Not too shabby.  Oh and also the beach was right outside our door.  It took me a while to realize how cool this was.  At first I was just like “oh will you look at that, it’s the ocean, right on.” But eventually I realized that I had never seen the Indian Ocean before so having it right outside my door was actually pretty awesome.  We went to a place called “Forty Thieves” for dinner (we ended up having 90% of our meals there) and enjoyed the beachfront view.  After dinner we indulged in some light boozin’ and then, after shoving eight of us into a six-person capacity (max) cab, we hung out on the beach for a while.  A few of us went for a little wade in the water and it was absolutely magnificent.  The water was unbelievably warm, even in the pitch blackness of the night.  We sprawled out on the sand for probably a half an hour just staring up at the unpolluted night sky, it was marvellous.  There’s nothing quite like seeing the night sky in all its glory, completely unaffected by the light pollution of a major city.  Most people don’t get a chance to see that very often (myself included, one of the reasons I love Tofino so much) but it is truly beautiful.  Perhaps it was the decent amount of beer in me or maybe it really was that beautiful, but at that moment, I was struck by the awesomeness of my present situation.  I was lying on a white sand beach on the coast of the Indian Ocean staring up at thousands of stars.  A fellow volunteer, Cheyenne, and I talked about hardcore punk and various other types of music.  The best things in life truly are free, because I will remember that half-hour or so forever, it was perfect.  Another cool thing about the lack of light pollution was that I was in the southern-hemisphere and almost as far away from my home as physically possible, which meant that the night sky looked completely different from what I am used to in BC.  I saw certain constellations that I would never see back home and the ones that I recognized were in completely different places.  The Big Dipper was right on the horizon, it definitely threw me off. I hadn’t really thought about that until I was looking up at the stars, but it’s pretty cool. (Sorry to all non-nerds that may be reading this, I like stars and junk.)

The weekend was exactly what it needed to be: a relaxing few days on the beach with nothingness pure, blissful nothingness filling the gaps between planned activities.   It was hot as hell and we pretty much all got burned pretty badly (especially Paddy, holy shit he was a lobster).  I actually avoided the sun for most of Sunday, fearing permanent skin damage. The water was absolutely unbelievable; I’ve never been in water so pleasantly warm (without the help of my urine).  However, it was still Kenya and there were people trying to sell us shit wherever we went.  On the beaches of Mombasa there are these guys called “beach boys” (don't they have a new album out? wait, nevermind) and they didn’t really leave us alone, ever.  They tried to sell us cheap souvenirs and drugs and tried to get us to rent various different types of water-sports equipment from them (which I wouldn’t have minded indulging in but it was way too expensive).  The ones on the beach right outside our rooms though got the message that we weren’t interested very quickly though, and eventually just resorted to hitting on the females of the group (sometimes having a penis is awesome).   Myself, Paddy and another guy named Caleb played a game of three-on-three beach soccer against them.  I was sure we would get destroyed seeing as a) they live on the beach and do this all the time b) they’re Kenyan and are therefore approximately 100 times more gifted at football than the average white person.  We played first to five goals wins.  It took a while but hell yeah we kicked the shit out of those guys with our crazy mzungu skills.  They wanted a rematch but I could feel myself starting to develop skin cancer and we said no.  I got out of the sun right away after that while Paddy stayed to roast on the beach for another couple of hours.

On Saturday night, mama Elle and papa Paddy made us dinner instead of having to go for yet another meal at Forty Thieves.  They made us a delicious veggie pasta with garlic bread and there was even melted ice-cream for desert! Our freezer didn't exactly work so we called it a milkshake instead of ice-cream and it worked out perfectly haha.  That was followed by some drinking, including a brief stint of beer-pong in which team Adrian and Adam went 2-0.  No one was up to the challenge of our awesomeness I guess because we stopped playing that after a few rounds.  As the night carried on, Elle broke out the twister mat.  At this point I just stood back, watched, and laughed.  I think the last time I played twister I was probably 12 years old, and I can see why. Everyone sucked pretty badly at it; I guess we're just more flexible when we're kids.  Still, drunken twister was an absolutely brilliant idea.  The night was accompanied by a pretty bitchin' playlist that I made up on my iPod.  I tried to include something for everybody: there was danceable indie, some gangster beats, and various other types of party-fuelling jams.  The group was less than impressed with my decision to include some Lily Allen but you know what? Haters be hatin', Lily Allen rules. 

On Sunday, as many of you may or may not know, the Rubgy World Cup final was being held in New Zeeland.  Like football, the rugby world cup only happens once every four years so it’s actually kind of a big deal.  Also, the New Zealand All-Blacks, the undisputed best team in the world and hosts for the 2011 tournament, were playing in the final.  New Zealand treats rugby the way us Canadians treat hockey: if we don’t win it all, it can be seen as nothing but a colossal disappointment.  Adding more drama to the plot was the fact that they hadn’t won since the inaugural tournament in 1987.  Every four years held a different (seemingly epic) story of how they lost it all and this year, the year that it was back on home soil, was meant to be their moment of national redemption.  They were playing France in the final, who they had beaten quite convincingly in the group stages, and everyone expected them to win by a large margin.  We watched the game at Forty Thieves and by the time the match started the place was absolutely packed.  It was really an awesome atmosphere.  Mombasa is a prime tourist destination for rich European tourists and so there were actually quite a few French people there cheering for “Les Bleu.”  It was a great game, very defensive and strategically played.  In the end, New Zealand won a nail-bitter by a score of 8-7, the lowest scoring final in the tournament’s history, and took the title home for the first time in 24 years.  I know next to nothing about rugby but I was very happy for New Zealand at that moment.  I couldn’t help but recall the Vancouver Olympics in 2010 and Canada’s epic capturing of the gold medal after placing seventh in 2006.  I don’t know what it is about sport that can make us feel such a strong sense of national pride, but it’s actually pretty cool to see.  I enjoyed watching the post-game coverage more than the actual game; it was nice to see the people of New Zealand so happy after 24 years of heartbreak.

We had to leave the next day but our flight was not until the afternoon, so we planned a snorkel trip for the morning.  Our entire group got on a glass-bottom boat at nine the next morning and ventured a couple miles out into the clear-blue waters of the Indian Ocean.  We looked at sea-life, we snorkled, blah blah blah.  Sorry but there’s not really much to say.  We anchored the boat at a sand bar a couple miles from the coast and got out to walk around for a bit.  It was pretty cool how the water can just get randomly shallow so far out from the coast and it was a beautiful view back to the mainland.  Even out there though, miles from the beach, there was a guy selling crap, I couldn’t believe it!   I mean, really? Even out here?  My god.  I mean who is out in the middle of the ocean on a sandbar thinking “you know what? I would like that fucking pirate ship, how much!?!?!?”  After that, I half-expected some guy to show up at the bottom of the ocean floor attempting to sell us bracelets while we were snorkelling and trying to look at the sea-life.  I mean Christ, where does it end?

On our way back, the driver of the boat put on his showtime face and asked “so are you happy?” and I immediately knew what was coming next.  He put a tip box in the middle of the boat and the twelve of us on the trip just exchanged awkward glances.  First of all, none of us brought wads of cash with us, obviously, we only had enough to pay the agreed upon price.  Secondly, we’re all cheap as hell.  Good luck getting a tip from us.  It’s probably the case that they’re used to getting tipped very well by rich eurotrash, but we sure as shit weren’t that.  It was actually insanely awkward but none of us tipped at all.  Oh well, deal with it assholes.  Another strange thing that happened on the way back happened when I was alone on the boat with one of the beach boys (before the others returned from snorkelling).  First of all, that guy shouldn't have even been there.  He didn't work on the boat or anything he was just along for the ride, how come he didn't have to pay? Racist.  Anyway, he asked me if I had any shampoo.  I was like "...um, yes?"  Then he asked if he could have it. I didn't know how to respond and he kept going on about how I wouldn't need in anymore because we were leaving Mombasa that day.  It made no sense whatsoever.  I eventually back tracked and said something along the lines of "ohhhhh I thought you meant *mumblemumble* no I don't have any shampoo, sorry."  It was weird.

Now I’m not sure if this was big news back home or not, but it was during that weekend that the terrorist attacks were beginning to happen in Kenya.  I’m not going to go into it here, long-story short: there are lots of people in Somalia that are pissed off at Kenya and the Kenya-Somalia border is a joke so it’s very easy to get in to the country.  The U.S. embassy put out a warning for tourists to avoid non-essential travel and tourist areas.  Well, fuck.  We were in Mombasa (strictly a tourist destination) and were going to be flying back to Nairobi that day.  Airports weren’t exactly considered “safe.”  Everything went swimmingly though and we all arrived back in Nairobi in one-piece.

The weekend in Mombasa was just what we needed.  We got to kick back and relax for a couple days.  We got our beach on and we got our drink on (some of us more than others, hey hey hey now, don’t be hatin’ I was on vacation OK?) and none of us got blown up or kidnapped by Somalian pirates.  All things considered it was a smashing success.   It was back to the grind of our daily lives in Nairobi (kind of).  Next post coming soon!