A 10 hour ride south and east of Nairobi brings you to the port town of Mombasa. This is *the* major port for this part of the continent, serving not only Kenya, but Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi. Jeffrey Sachs uses the poor state of the road to highlight the challenges facing developing countries in his book The End of Poverty. The terrible conditions make life tough out in the hinterlands, because the country can’t build up it’s export industry. My spine agrees. Serendipitously, I ran into someone who lent me a copy which I re-read while wandering this muggy hot portion of my trip. I have a lot to say about that, but maybe later. Too thinky.

Famous for it’s intersection of African, Arabic, and Asian culture, Mombasa does not disappoint for someone interested in these fantastic corners where commerce and culture get all smushed together. But for the backpacker in me, the town is a bit un-beautiful. The buildings, while featuring genuine Swahili architecture in the old quarter, are for the most part cement bunkers. The streets are a bit meaner than Nairobi, and the sex trade is in full… uh bloom. Unless you have a genuine interest in the socio-ethno-economic angle, the town is a sweaty and somewhat uncomfortable letdown.

All the way six hours north is Lamu, a quiet island accessible only by ferry. Nothing is more relaxing than walking to the endless white beach, then spending the evening chatting with the rasta boyz who captain the wooden dhow fishing boats. My guesthouse, like most in the town, had a rooftop sitting area, overlooking the old port buildings. A dose of reality: Somalia is not far away, and the large refugee settlements on the road are a reminder of how close and real the rest of Africa is to this oasis. A businessman riding next to me on the bus had been gone for a few months. He was upset to see so many plastic-and-timber shanties on the road to Lamu; “they steal and rob, I don’t like them”. Three competing bus companies rode caravan style, and we encountered roughly ten checkpoints in the last hundred kilometers.

So, I was dissuaded from circling north to a town called Garrissa, and then into central Kenya. Too dangerous, everyone said. Too many Somali bandits and refugees.

Instead, I backtracked and spent a week with some friends in Watamu. A smaller version of Mombasa, it is mainly a resort community for the aging Euro set. Kind of a suburb of the larger town Malindi, which has so many retired Italians that there is a large imported Italian goods grocery store. Germans and Dutch, in paunchy, elderly droves also crowd the beaches. A waxing moon, more sand and sun, and some nice company. One highlight was a day visiting nearby Gedi, which feature the ruins of an as-yet unidentified Omani Arabic group that settled here in the 15th century. A friend introduced me to several Japanese artists who were living in an adjacent village, studying a local drum technique. After the mzee (elderly man) who leads the village passes away, his son will be the only person who knows this local art.

A couple of random threads I am following/thinking about: as always, tourist watching is interesting. Yeah, I have a bit of time on my hands. It is disheartening to see the overwhelming degree to which people use each other, the locals using the rich mzungu (foreigners), and the mzungu using right back. I’m interested in what it would take to make the idea of traveling vs. touring more widespread. Second, the lack of religious tension is refreshing. Similar to what I liked about Nepal, and what I have heard about Burma. One of my favorite moments was hanging out with Emmanual, a Christian, and Abdul, a Moslem, sipping on local coffee in some alley in Mombasa. Definitely a thesis in here somewhere (maybe: Cohabitation: the social and spatial dimensions of mutually accepted spiritual perspectives. Once you know the code words, academia is easy). Third, there aren’t very many old people here. Just looked up the life expectancy rate here: 47. Yikes. Fourth, it is about four times more expensive to call a local phone here than it is to call the US. Que pasa – everyone says corruption, but how does that work exactly. Beer is also unhappily very expensive. Last, I’m tracking the local disc scene wherever I go. Glad to see the sport growing (and happy to have a few chances to keep my throws from rusting over)!

Now back in Nairobi, putting together a plan for a trip west to Uganda. Hoping to spend more time on one of my goals – exploring the local NGO scene.

Sorry, the connection is too slow for pics. Kwa heri (adios)