The Swahili Coast

Places such as Mombasa, Malindi, and Lamu--Kenya's Swahili coast--have long resonated with me, and finally I bring the fantasy to reality. Some quick background: Swahili is a form of an Arabic word meaning "coast," and culturally, it's Africa, Arabia, and India all mixed together. Trade routes linking these regions of the world have existed for over a thousand years, and by the time the Portuguese arrived in the 16th century, the Swahili world extended from Somalia to Mozambique.

Mombasa, despite the cachet of the name, has succumbed to urban blight, fumes, and traffic and is worth only a small stop. I head to Malindi up the coast in a matatu (a collective taxi). The romantic coastline I envisage has the vibe of a 1970s style Mexican Riviera with the bougainvillea-covered white-washed buildings, red-tiled and thatched roofs, and the overall sultry air. Malindi has now become a resort destination for Italians behaving badly. Despite this, there is a monument dedicated to Vasco da Gama, the first European to set eyes on this coast, and the awesome Swahili ruins of Gede, a once rich and mysterious coastal town that remains undocumented in history; however Chinese porcelain and pottery from India have been found there. The ruins are extensive, and just the butterflies and I have them all to ourselves.

Swahili ruins of Gede. Nobody knows its origins.

But let's get to the good stuff. It's Lamu, a four-hour butt-bruising, buckin' bronco bus ride, followed by twenty-minutes in a boat that's the crown jewel on the coast. Holy smokin' swahili--it's love at first sight. The entire island is a UNESCO World Heritage site, and it's stunning. My hotel is a restored, 16th-century Swahili house, and if I'm not careful, there's no reason to leave.

No reason to get out of bed at my hotel.

Part of the Swahili "style" is its carved doors.

No cars exist on Lamu. Donkeys are the only way to get around.

You can meander on these narrow streets for hours. Around every corner is a surprise.

Lamu street scene