Our way south to the beaches of the Kenyan coast brought us in contact with what would be our main mode of transport, the matatu. These rickety minivans roam the streets acting as a combo of a taxi and a city bus, picking up anyone standing on the side of the road and cramming as many people as possible into the small seats. There is a driver and a money collector. The money collector harvests people from the street, banging on the roof when he wants the driver to stop and go, hanging out the sliding door yelling at passers by and jumping in and out of the van while it’s in motion. The driver follows the directives of the money collector and winds back and forth on the road at incredible speeds, darting around massive (BG: enormous, tire-popping) potholes, other traffic, and livestock (BG: and once, some monkeys). 

After crossing a ferry from Mombasa, we were assailed by a matatu money collector as he grabbed our bags before we could open our mouths and began stuffing them into the tiny corners of the van. Despite mild protests, Marjona and I ended up in the back seat holding our bags between the back window and the backseat with our necks and shoulders. Beth sat in front of us with her big bag on her lap.

We ended up in Diani beach after a quick look through the Lonely Planet revealed few affordable options elsewhere. Although this is a mainstay for rich, European travelers, we saw that there were two options close to the beach that we could afford. One was Tandoori Guesthouse.

We arrived at Tandoori, starved and tired, and negotiated three of us in one bed for the price of a double. We went to the restaurant downstairs and waited for what seemed like an eternity for our fish and chips, and then went in search of the beach and the other affordable option for accommodation, the Diani Beachalettes.

Winding through buildings and hotels, we came to the beach and nearly toppled over. Paradise. We found a huge expanse of clean, white, extremely fine sand that you would sink about 3 inches into once you stepped into it. The water was gorgeous and cool, with little seaweed or other debris.

We walked down the beach looking for the Beachalettes. And walked, and walked, and walked… for about 2.5 hours. The map was not to scale. Dodging the many beachboys, men who wander the beach befriending tourists and offering them anything from tours to sexual favors, we finally came to the hotel and found that a small bungalow was available within our price range. There was a porch outside, and two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room, and a kitchen inside. All for $11 each per night. We booked it for the next four days.

As we were leaving, the owner asked where we were staying. “Tandoori”, we replied. “Ah,” he said. “We get a lot of folks from there. It’s very loud.”

But that wasn’t the only thing…

Exhausted from our million-mile march, we collapsed into bed after our showers and napped until 9pm, despite the music blaring through our windows from downstairs. When we wandered down to the restaurant for dinner, we were greeted by an odd scene and it slowly started to dawn on us that we might have gotten more than we bargained for at Tandoori.

There were many scantily clothed women hanging around the tables and the pool table, and a few talking to nicely dressed men and well-tanned, traveling white guys. A few of the women sat on men’s laps, and kisses were stolen here and there. Some of these women jumped into taxis with the men, or wandered across the street with them to the large resorts on the beach. Remembering that earlier in the day we had noticed the same women hanging around in similarly revealing daytime attire, we concluded that we may in fact be staying at a brothel.  

We returned to our room for bed, and saw our room in a different light. A huge bed (big enough for the three of us) set in the middle of the room, with no other furniture or decorations. Music blasted through the windows at unbelievably high volumes so that it sounded like we had a stereo going right there in the room.

Thinking ourselves lucky to have booked the Beachalettes for the next day, we prepared ourselves for a good nights sleep. Only sleep would not be had. The music continued, with a short reprieve at 1am when the power went out, until just before daybreak. All night long. In the morning, we packed our bags, and got the hell out of Tandoori.