How to Act Like a Tourist

Once the dust had settled and we were safely in our hotel room in Mombasa, Michelle made a pretty good guess about where the trouble had started: “You know, I think if you don’t want to be treated like a tourist you probably shouldn’t ask if you’re in Mombasa when the bus makes its final stop in Mombasa.”

Point taken.

Our ride started well enough, in very Kenya-fashion: a tour bus rumbled up to us as we waited on the side of the road, the conductor jumped out and told us it would be 200 shillings each to get to Mombasa (about $5 total for a 100km ride). We boarded, but only saw one open seat. No problem, apparently—the conductor grabbed a spare cushion and put it on the steps from the cab to the passenger door. “You sit here.” I happily obliged (although there’s something to be said for not being able to see the road and traffic ahead—thankfully (?) the speedometer was broken, so I could only guess what our top speed was).

A little less than two hours later, we arrived at our final stop. It looked city-ish and everybody was getting off, but we wanted to make sure, and uttered the fateful line.

“Are we in Mombasa?”

This set off a flurry of activity. One man was adamant that he could help us find our hotel, another one kept trying to carry our bags. We were funneled to a tuk-tuk (a little 3-wheel motorbike with a cab build around it; it’s a great mode of transport for a busy city). Thankfully our bags made it too.

The adamant man joined us in the back seat; two other guys tried to climb into the front. The driver kicked out one of the guys in the front and we took off. Note that at this point neither the driver nor adamant-man had any clue where we were supposed to be going. When we told them, adamant-man (who was growing increasingly frantic) told us, “That is very far!” (It wasn’t, ultimately.) “That will cost double!”

“Fine, just take us to the hotel.”

[Incoherent, agitated]

“Just take us to the hotel.”

[Jumps out. Comes back. Agitated.]

“Take us to the hotel.”

“You get out! See! Leave her! I need to show you!”

“No. The hotel. Now.”

“But we can’t go, it’s expensive!”

[Both sweating. I’m gripping all of our bags because I have no idea what’s going on, but it’s pretty clear he’s trying to scam us.]

“Can’t go where? Take us to the hotel.”

“Ok! I show you.”

Inexplicably we go for a lap around the parking lot of a church. A security guard eyes us warily. We exit the parking lot. Stop. More incoherent babbling about money and parking lots and hotels.

“Take us to the hotel. Now.”

At which point, I think we finally broke him. The hotel was no more than 100m further down the narrow road where we did our lap around the parking lot. Agitated-guy got out with us and helped us unload the bags, then asked for all sorts of ridiculous amounts of money.

We didn’t oblige.

All of which kind of set the stage for Mombasa. It was definitely a change of pace from out comfy hut at the Ecocamp (with its own rooftop deck!) and the friends we made there. We’ve felt less at ease and less welcome here. The street vendors are more aggressive and less friendly. We were approached by one  particularly persistent vendor at a beach near the city who effectively told us that the only way to get the vendors to stop hassling us was to buy something from him.

“Then I’ll tell them you’re our friend and they’ll leave you alone.”

We paid up. It felt like extortion. We didn’t stick around long enough to see if we were truly not going to be bothered by anyone else (it didn’t look promising).

On the bright side, out hotel is very comfortable and has air conditioning, which has been a godsend as we were definitely in need of a clean room at a temperature that our bodies recognize. They do have an irritating habit of cycling through the same John Denver and Kenny Rogers songs all day (people from the west like Country/Western?), but a comfortable 20C has a way of taking the edge off.

Next up: a safari! A 4-day, 3-night trek through Tsavo East/West and Amboseli national parks. Big 5 here we come!