MOMBASA: Airport-downtown taxi: approx. 1000 shillings – Visa at the airport: 40 dollars.i.

When you land in Mombasa, the first thing you realize, apart from the blazing heat, is that the controls, in general, are a bit “on the loose”.

The visa application made online for $ 50, of which no confirmation has ever been received, they just took a look en passant. In short, you can easily get a visa there at the airport.

You also have to bargain with Africans, as in India, but the first impression was that Kenyans who go out and sell you something are substantially more numerous but less insistent.

From the airport to the center of Mombasa you will easily get there by taxi, which you can drop for 1000 shillings.

Mombasa is explosively accelerated.

It looks like a scene from a movie whose tape is run forward. The roads are obstacle courses from Olympics. It is a complex net of buses, cars, tuk tuk, matatu and crowds to extricate yourself from.

Often walking becomes a labyrinthine slalom that you end up finding yourself without spaces, like crushed into a sandwich of events in a second.
People “squat” in their comings and goings, beggars follow you begging, sometimes street children with their black clothes like chimney sweeps.

Proprio in quel preciso istante vorresti sapere, come in una partita a scacchi, qual è la mossa giusta da fare per non sembrare indifferente alla miseria dilagante e al tempo stesso non insegnare a chiedere semplicemente la carità, finendo per infondergli un concetto sbagliato. Ma da qui allo scacco matto c’è una linea sottile, e neanche vuoi farti risucchiare dal tuo relativismo culturale.
La sensazione di volerli aiutare tutti alimenta un senso di impotenza.

But Kenyans are incredibly strategic and full of energy.

They have that sense of smoothness in everything they do, which gives you the feeling that things are simple, or simpler than you think.
If they don’t have the solution to a problem they invent it, and that’s why they develop ideas and genius, and they never seem to get discouraged. This gave me the feeling that in material littleness they are truly free.

We are the real prisoners. Close to the chains of well-being, consumerism, comfort, our life often seems to flow out of ourselves, as if we were doing the things we love not ourselves but others, or what society imposes on us with its barriers and judgments. . We live of fears, anxieties, pressures, and often what makes us truly slaves are mental prisons that we create.

Many of them live life day by day, without great expectations, but they do choosing. Everyone makes their own choices, and speaking with a local guide, it seems that many of them choose whether to continue living by begging or to work to invent a job and improve their condition.
Whatever the choice is, it is anyway a representation of their freedom

The sense of welcome in Mombasa makes you feel at home. Especially in the smiles of the people and in the nods of the head as they wanted to communicate a sort of respect, almost devotion, in a single simple gesture.

You feel at home in a “Jambo, Jambo”, beating fist against fist as if they were friends for a lifetime.

Mombasa Restaurant

Blue Room Average price: 600/800 shillings per person.
Certainly more touristic than others, it is a young and welcoming place. The place has a large hall, with small colorful Chinese lanterns that descend asymmetrically from the ceiling and small tables under the windows.
I highly recommend the desserts, especially the waffles with ice cream and, if you already have a bit of nostalgia for Italy, the noodles which, in addition to being good, remind us of the close relatives of our spaghetti.