Lobster in Lamu

"Lamu is, in short, unmissable". So says the author of my Bradt 'Backpackers' Guide to East and Southern Africa" after a glowing account of the Lamu Archipelago. Clearly he didn't try to get here with a bicycle because he may have concluded on the contrary that it is - to use another of his turns of phrase - "eminently missable".

Having consulted the tourist police in Malindi on the safety of the route, i had been told that it would be fine to cycle the 110km's to Garsen, the last outpost before entering the 'badlands' of the north - as one local journalist recently described them - that begin on the east side with the town of Garissa. However, cycling the next 116km's to Mokowe where boats ferry you to Lamu was out of the question because all vehicles had to carry police escorts and it was fairly obvious that i wasn't going to carry a large, gun-toting soldier in addition to all my other luggage. So i left Malindi knowing that if i was going to get to Lamu i would almost certainly have to do so using another means of transport. Nevertheless, it seemed an opportune moment to get a 100km+ ride under my belt, and so on Friday morning i set-off at 7am with all my gear, five litres of water and a loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter to eat on the road if i couldn't find sufficient supplies.

The first 20km's were fairly similar to the cycling from Mombasa, with many subsistence farmers along the road, living in their small thatch-hut communities tilling their shambas (fields). Supplies were scarce at the occasional hut selling various goods and other than a few bananas and some cheap biscuits i was glad to have my peanut butter sandwiches. After 40km's the traffic thinned quite dramatically and the vast majority of the people i saw on the road were on bicycles, seemingly fetching or returning with water. The landscape also began to thin; a gradual transition from the lushness of bananas and coconut trees in dark, fairly rich soil to the drier acacia grassland with dry, sandy soil. The sun was burning down and i would have been tempted to stop for a break of some length were it not for the fact that there was not a shred of shade within easy reach of the road. So i carried on, setting myself short-term targets for distances and stopping occasionally to make and eat a couple of sandwiches. Having got used to always having a fair number of other travellers on the road, this was the loneliest (not necessarily a function of being alone i might add) i have been thus far. Once again, the road was good, i was fortunate not to get any punctures, and i managed to keep myself entertained by birdatching as i went along.

In fact, it was a very productive day in that respect; i saw at least four new species that i later identified - with the help of my insanely heavy 'Birds of Africa South of the Sahara' as being Northern Carmine Bee-eater (a beautiful, slightly delicate pink-bodied bird with a bright blue head), Eastern Chanting Goshawk, Van Der Decken's Hornbill (i actually stopped to get a better look at a flock of these with my binoculars) and Northern White-crowned Shrike. This is not the first time that my interest in birdwatching has not only helped retain my sanity but actually kept me entertained - one of the more valuable hobbies i have picked-up, thanks to family encouragement and an ostensibly rare bird (which later turned out to actually be an escapee) that once chose to visit our garden in Johannesburg.

With my odometer showing 66miles and my just having had to begin drinking the water in my 2l water bag having consumed the three litres in my bottles i came upon a small wooden guardhouse by the side of the road, a few hundred metres from what appeared to be a rather large intersection, from which - rather inconceivably - emerged four men, at least two of whom were local police. I decided to stop for a chat and try to get an idea of whether it was in fact another 10km's to Garsen. Of course we had to exchange pleasantries first, with me explaining where i was from and what i was doing and planning on doing, and them shaking their heads in disbelief. It turned out to be a wise move, as it transpired that the buses to Lamu did not leave from Garsen but all came from Mombasa or Malindi and therefore i would have to catch them at that very intersection which was with the road to Lamu. It also turned out that there was a YWCA and WorldVision at that very junction and i was told that the latter had a reasonably good guestouse. Inwardly relieved at not having to face another hour of burning heat, i passed the sign pointing back to 'Malindi, 100km' and wheeled my bike to the guesthouse where i rested, overnighted and did a little more birdwatching with what remianed of my energy. In total i had done almost exactly 100kilometres in about 6hours (arriving at 1pm) and was quite pleased with myself.

Having supper in the development centre that night with a group of local Kushitic women - immediately distinguishable by their almost burnt-looking faces and penchant for incredibly bright fabrics - provided perhaps the most inconcgruous moment of my trip so far. On the TV was a popular Tanzanian soap opera - that acting in which, incidentally, is cringe-inducingly atrocious - and one of the scenes showed the actress walking on a treadmill in a gym. God only knows what these women, who come from a society of nomadic herders who move from water source to water source, seeking grazing for their goats and covering great distances by foot merely to stay alive, thought about this but they seemed to find the whole thing very amusing.

The next morning i spent three hours by the side of the road getting rejected - because of the bike - by bus after bus before finally getting on the 'KhadiStar', the conductor of which was on good terms with a tout i had befriended. I amused myself in the meantime by watching the local Kushitic women who were making a living by selling maize, tea, sour milk-shakes and other produce to the passing bus passengers, and chatting to others waiting around the small memorial opened by President Kibaki last year to mark the opening of the road. (The road for 500metres either side of the memorial was impeccable but quickly deteriorated towards Lamu).

The road to Mokowe was not great and i feared for the health of the bike - straped as it was to the roof - but we made it through with no attacks from 'shiftas' (bandits) and other than the quality of the road i don't think it would have been a problem to cycle. The ferry was full so i ended-up taking one of the many small wodden boats ferrying goods, touts and locals to Lamu from Mokowe. Aside from the bike and I on the bow - with me, in my 'flats cap' and khaki clothes looking for all the world like a modern-day Lawrence of Arabia - there were a few goats, some chickens, various anonymous sacks and large amounts of the local, legal, intoxicating root called 'miraa' (or 'khat' elsewhere) which was being enthusiastically by the other 8-10 occupants. Puttering in to Lamu Island, waves gently lapping against the boat, the beaches of Lamu on our right, and the trees on Manda Island about a kilometre to our left was a somewhat surreal experience.

I arrived on Saturday afternoon and have since been lazing around a bit, frequenting the many juice bars and dodgy (as they all tend to be) cafes, walking around the town and meeting some other travellers, including some very friendly British girls and some - dare i say, also pleasant - US military personnel on 'civilian affairs' duty. Oh, and i went to lie on Shela Beach - about half-an-hour's walk along the coast out of town - where i over-exposed myself to the sun with the result that my body now has the complexion of a boiled lobster. (So i'm the lobster in the title. Although lobster is cheaper here than in SA, it's still out of my budget so i'm afraid i cannot comment on the local lobsters....)

Having just switched from the Sunshine Guesthouse to the Bahari i have committed myself to at least another two nights here, which is no bad thing. The town is really something else, with it's incredibly narrow alleys flanked by old 3/4-storey buildings almost too narrow to wheel my loaded bike down, no cars, few bicycles and many small donkeys it is truly another world. Realising that i had become a little tense about being targeted and outsmarted by touts i had a good laught at mysef yesterday wen i realised the irony: i'm supposed to be interested in game theory, of which bargaining is a key sub-field, and these guys are demostrating the significant gap between theory and practice.

There are a numbe of places here with internet services though few work. The exception is the post office from where i am sending this, which has good rates and very new-looking Dell computers. In a town like this, with a population of maximum 30,000 that's quite impressive i think.

As things stand i have yet to decide where to go from here and how to leave - though i am particularly reluctant to risk the bike to another thrashing. I am currently leaning towards the - surpisingly cheap - option of flying to Malindi or perhaps even Nairobi before starting south in earnest but i will have to explore whether the bike will be accepted as luggage. However, there is no hurry, (especially not here) since Lamu does have one bank (that does take traveller's cheques) so i do not run the risk of running out of money.

Next update before i leave