This tale never seems to stop. This one rolls and rolls around. Weaves it around us, allows us to get away, only to pull us back with its magnetic charm. Diani hold our soul.
Are you familiar with that tingling sense of holiday feel once you set foot into your favourite vacation place? That first, heady surge of relaxation seeping into your bones the moment you step into the lobby of a beach-side resort. It’s that precise second when that “holiday clock” begins its slow, rhythmic tick as you watch the frantic tempo of city life simple die! Death of that monotonous kitchen rhythm, the last breaths of frantic deadlines and the boring habit of routine know that they have forgotten like lost luggage someplace in the airport as the flight landed in magical Ukunda! And with the last of worries being tossed into the ocean, we breath that first divine breath named ‘holiday’!
And off we go with a crazy target of filling our next four days ahead by simply letting the hair down, sipping on liquids, munching on fresh catch fried to a crazy red, dipping into the pool, stretching out your legs on a reclining lounger, allow the wondrous waves of the ocean to wash over you, while all the while have the scorching African sun bake away the last vestiges of stress from our system. You realise, with a bit of a start, that your only responsibility for the next few days is to decide whether to dip your toes in the pool or the sea first.
Once you finally peel yourself away from the sanctuary of the sunbed, you encounter the vibrant, bustling life of the vibrant coast. During the height of the tourist season, the beach is a magnificent, chaotic spectacle. The shoreline transforms into a global crossroads, with swarms of people from across the world converging on these bone-white sands. It is a marvellous medley of people, a mosaic of humanity from every corner of the globe making the already colourful beaches chaotic beautiful where every ounce of you feel even more special. You hear live music drifting through the salt air, a soulful, rhythmic backdrop to the sight of children and adults alike splashing around in the resort pools, lost in the sheer, unadulterated joy of the moment. The energy is infectious; it’s a bright, noisy, happy celebration of the “pilgrimage” to the sea that we all seem to share.
However, a few metres’ walk down to the water’s edge offers a completely different path. You step aboard one of those iconic glass-bottom boats, and as the engine hums to life, you find yourself floating away from the bustle of the mainland. The transition is startling. As the music and the laughter of the resorts recede into a distant hum, the transparent floor of the boat reveals a hidden, silent universe beneath your feet. The “Bedouin mind” finds its peace here, in the transition from the crowded shore to the silent, turquoise deep. You are suddenly gliding over a myriad of marine life—an extraordinary landscape of jagged coral and shallow pools with fish where the underwater world is suddenly, quite startlingly, within reach.
The boatmen often reach down and bring up a heavy, bright starfish or a peculiar, squishy sea cucumber for you to hold. There is something profoundly grounding about feeling the raw textures of the ocean in your own hands; it’s a moment frozen in time, something that a camera lens simply cannot capture. We are mesmerised by the zebra fish and the darting flashes of neon that are called the reef home.
Eventually, the boat reaches Robinson Island—or the Robinson sandbar, as it’s known to those who frequent these waters. It is a slim, pristine stretch of sand that sits pretty amidst the serene Indian Ocean, a spot gifted to you temporarily by the moods of the moon and the retreating tide. The transient nature of it amazes you. It feels like a miniature kingdom of “grand nothingness” stretching to every horizon. Once you reach this island, the world feels as soft as satin under your feet.
The activities here are simple yet profound. Most slip into the water for a spot of snorkelling, where the “riot of colours” becomes an immersive reality. You go under and touch them! You find yourself patrolling the marshy edges of the reef, watching the parrotfish and the gentle sway of the sea anemones. For others, the magic lies in just sitting in the shallow blue, staring out at the emerald islands on the horizon, and enjoying the profound peace of being in the middle of nowhere. Time passes, possibly the only thing that actually moves in this still, blue world.
As the water begins its slow, inevitable return to reclaim its sandbar, it is time to head back to the mainland. The journey back feels like returning from another dimension, a quiet dream before the reality of the resort takes hold again. The cheery “Jambo” from the shore-folk floats through the air like the sprinkle of salt on your sun-drenched skin. You return to the lively music, the pool ball games, and the sprawling gold and orange of the setting sun, but you carry the quiet mysteries of the tiny island back with you. You realise this…while the mainland provides the vibrant heartbeat of the holiday, it is these quiet detours into the blue that provide the soul.
