Diver Deb Sees the World

We moved to a new resort in northern Mombasa primarily to dive their wreck. The Reef Hotel wasn’t as upscale as Pinewood, but we settled in and went straight to the bar to begin enjoying it nonethe less. The bar was situated near the pool, so it had a resort ambiance that only fairy lights reflecting from the pool water can produce. 

Indian influence is strong in Mombasa, and it shows up in the food, along with strong similarities to southern “soul food”. The Reef Hotel has a buffet dinner each night, so we tasted the local cuisine in abundance.

The restaurant provides nightly entertainment too. We skipped the acrobats on the night of our arrival (really, what can top the Chinese acrobats we saw in Shanghai?), but we stayed to see the Masai the next night. They wore traditional red clothing and spent most of the time jumping straight up in the air and yelping in high voices. Before the show, they had laid out cloth by the swimming pool with unattractive jewelry displayed on it. The eager merchants pulled me toward them saying, “Welcome to my supermarket.” I politely looked but didn’t buy anything.  

 One afternoon we broke with “group tour” protocol and ventured out on our own. It was clear that the group wouldn’t do anything besides diving and sitting around at the pool, which is great, but we figured we probably wouldn’t come back here, and we wanted to see Mombasa. After diving at the Dania wreck and Shark Point in the morning, we hired a taxi for an afternoon drive into Mombasa’s old town. Our first task was to shop. We were successful. Jukka bought a big, scary mask carved in Cameroon; a small, colorful mask from Kenya; two tall Masai statues; and a t-shirt for me. We deposited those items in the trunk of the taxi and walked toward historic Fort Jesus. It cost 8€ to enter, so we decided we weren’t that interested.

As we were walking around the fort, we acquired a guide who wore a bright yellow shirt with the word “organizer” on the back. He was somehow disabled, perhaps partially deaf. He took us around the narrow streets and laneways, pointing out ornate carved doors, verandas, and balconies, pristine mosques, and ordinary people’s homes. The streets were dirty with standing water and open garbage, but what I saw of the inside of people’s homes was clean and shiny. The people were polite and friendly, waving, smiling and shouting “Jambo! Hello!” to us. A few different times young men would pat our guide on the shoulder or shake his hand and tell us that we had the best guide in Mombasa.

 That part of town is predominantly Muslim. The women were covered, and the people had lighter complexions than black Kenyans who are very dark, like dark chocolate. There were more inhaditants of the old town than people--a white turkey with poofed out feathers strutted on the street, and numerous, lithe cats slunk around. Advertisements were a source of amusement as well. Many signs were hand-painted on teh sides of buildings and referenced the bible. The Finns giggled at businesses with the name "Raha," as in Raha Butchery. Raha, translated from Swahili means peace, raha in Finnish means money. Some would view those words are ahving the same meaning. Our favorite billboard advertised chicken with the catchy slogan, “Chick is the boss!”

An Underwear Crisis

After milling around passport control, and then baggage pick-up for seemingly ages in Mombasa, we finally got on the bus to Pinewood Village. We meandered through the city center to get to the ferry which crosses the Congo River. The line was quite long so we sat for about 20 minutes entertaining and being entertained by the vendors who were selling fried cashews, soapstone bowls with African pictures on them, wire bicycle sculptures, and CDs of African music outside our windows. I was the first one to break down and buy something. Of course, it was something to eat. Finally, we got on the ferry, floated lazily across the river with a mob of people on foot and vehicles, and disembarked. An hour’s drive over bumpy roads, full of interesting things to see wasn’t enough to keep me awake. I dozed on and off opening my eyes only to see massive Baobab trees with what looked like rats hanging from their tails suspended from the branches.  

For once, I followed the pros packing tips, and I put essential items in my carry-on. Those items included my mask, regulator and computer, two books, swimsuit, safari pants with zip-off legs, two hats, pajamas, and one change of underwear. I was good to go if only I could find a hair band. Jukka, unfortunately for him, didn’t follow the experts’ advice, and he wondered why I didn’t tell him to. He had several books, his regulator, and that’s about it, so he was approaching an underwear crisis on the first night.

The hotel gift shop provided us with expensive sunshine cream, some razors, toothpaste, and a swimsuit for Jukka. The dive shop had rental gear, and I was determined to dive whether our stuff made it or not. The others did too, except for Jukka and tour guide Theresa, who decided to stay and wait for the luggage. They both had contact lens issues, so it was a good enough excuse. Good choice on my part too, because I hadn’t been diving for over a year due to ear problems on the last dive trip. Working from home paid off, because I have been healthy and ended up having zero problems equalizing! Yippee!