A tropical paradise with palm groves leaning across white sand beaches and merging with turquoise waters like inseparable lovers, canoes anchored in lagoons and odd coral islands embellished with swathes of sea kelp in low tide—these aren’t vignettes from a travel magazine but snapshots from a Kenyan neck of the woods.
Beyond the beaches is a village with its noisy muddle, slow-paced life, huts of mud and thatched roof, and children calling out ‘jambo’ (Swahili for hello). And then, within a stone’s throw is one of the last surviving coastal tropical forests and the vestiges of a Swahili civilisation standing in eerie ruins.
Welcome to Watamu, a small sleepy town—located some 100km from Mombasa, Kenya’s second biggest city—where resorts appear to outnumber houses.
Thoughts of a lesson on Kenyan history at Gedi intrigued me, but the sight of snow-white sands shelving into aquamarine lagoons behind the reef compelled me to stay. Every step to The Temple Point, which has a private beach on one side and mangrove forests on the other, assured me of a pleasant stay.
I started my day with Gedi ruins, reserving the exploration of beach for the evening. Dating back to around the 14th Century, the ruins are like a closed book on Kenya whose chapters have not been read. It was easy to see how the buildings were laid out: the different courts in the palace, the rooms in houses, and the separate women’s area in the mosque. The bonus was a hike in the tropical forests, playing audience to the screeches of Sykes’ monkeys or spotting the odd-looking and misleadingly named elephant shrew, including golden-rumped ones!
Gedi ruins was just the start, the real gem in Watamu’s kitty is the beach where I walked on soft white sand counting varying shades of blue water, as wind caressed my soul and seagulls whispered in my ears.
Neighbouring the hotel was Watamu Marine National Park, a perfect ‘getting away from all’ option. Sailing on a boat through coral rocks, the waters are so clear you can see the base of the ocean, schools of sergeant and parrot fish, overlooking two beautiful inlets—Turtle Bay and Blue Lagoon—and the bluish green sea leading up to the horizon. Stretching up to three miles into the sea, the marine park boasts caves at its southern end, sheltering large groupers or giant rock cods.
I had reserved a stroll in town for the evening and treated myself to wood-fired pizza. The next day, it was time for a boat ride to the mangrove forests of Mida Creek—the definitive off-the-track place in this touristy town. Dipping into the forests in small boats is a great way to enjoy its serenity and the added attractions are huge flocks of flamingos and cranes. The salty, algae-friendly shallow waters also attract schools of turtles, smaller fish and dolphins.
It was evening when I returned. I looked at the sea from my room; it was a moonlit gem, dull-coloured crabs would have come out to dine on nutrients left by the receding sea. I felt the pain of leaving this place the next day in the shrieks of the blowing breeze. I looked at the beach, then at the creek and the moon. I wished I could tie them up in my kerchief on my way back home.