I stepped out of Silver Oaks Hotel, in Fort Portal, early morning, in search of a Boda Boda to help me embark on today’s adventure.
A potential driver soon stopped, they always do, and asked me where I wanted to go. I explained my destination and asked him his name. “Charles.” He said. I introduced myself and enquired about the price, which we agreed on and set off.
Why Is Fort Portal Called Fort Portal?
Fort Portal gets its name from a British fort built here in 1890, named after Sir Gerald Portal, a colonial commissioner sent to tidy up political chaos and quietly claim Uganda for the British Empire.
He didn’t stay long, the fort itself is long gone, but his surname clung on like a stubborn travel souvenir — and so the town became Fort Portal, literally Portal’s Fort. A fleeting colonial visit, a permanent name, and one extremely scenic legacy.
Fort Portal was officially renamed Fort Portal City in 2020, when it was granted city status — making it one of Uganda’s newest cities.
Amabere Caves and nearby waterfall.
Charles dropped me off at the ticket office. I paid the agreed 10,000 shillings plus a 2,000 tip.
The entrance fee – 50,400 shillings – was slightly more than expected, but I was here now, so best to pay my dues.
The walk started off far from gentle — my allocated guide (James) sped off ahead of me like an impala on speed.
The scenery: lush greenery, birds doing their thing, and the distant sound of water that makes you feel like you’re truly in nature. Then you arrive at the caves and the geology lesson begins.
Stalactites drip from the ceiling, stalagmites rise from the floor, and the guide explains the local legends behind the formations, involving kings, daughters, betrayal, and body parts. It’s dramatic. It’s tragic. It’s definitely not something they covered in GCSE geography.
Cool air flows through the cave, water trickles around your feet, and sunlight sneaks in through cracks above, creating that perfect “yes, I definitely meant to come here” moment. I stood there quietly for a minute, pretending I understood the science while secretly just enjoying not melting in the Ugandan heat.
Nyakasura Waterfall.
From the caves, it’s a short walk to Nyakasura Waterfall, which announces itself long before you see it. You hear it first — that low, constant roar that says, I exist and I am fabulous.
The path winds through thick forest, and then suddenly the trees part and there it is — water tumbling dramatically down black rock, mist floating in the air, everything looking suspiciously like a shampoo commercial.
It’s one of those places that instantly slows you down. No rush. No phone. Just standing there, watching water crash endlessly into a pool, wondering how something can be so relentless yet so calming.
Lake Kyegere Viewpoint.
Then came the climb. Nothing terrifying — just enough uphill to remind me that I am not, in fact, 21 anymore.
And at the top…
Lake Kyegere stretched out below like a painting. Rolling hills. Patchwork farmland. Soft blues and greens merging into the horizon. The kind of view that forces silence upon even the most committed chatterbox.
I stood there for a while, letting the breeze cool me down, thinking about how absurdly lucky I am to be standing on a hillside in western Uganda, staring at a lake I couldn’t pronounce two weeks ago.
This is the kind of moment that makes long bus rides, bad WiFi, dodgy showers, and mystery meals completely worth it.
Final Thoughts
Amabere Caves, Nyakasura Waterfall, and the Lake Kyegere viewpoint aren’t just places — they’re an experience. A gentle adventure. A reminder that sometimes the best days aren’t planned to the minute — they just unfold.
And if you ever find yourself in Fort Portal with half a day to spare, a decent pair of shoes, and a mild sense of curiosity… trust me. Go.
Your legs may complain.
Your camera roll will overflow.
And your brain will quietly say: More of this, please.
The icing on the cake was a free lift back to Fort Portal, courtesy of my guide James.
The thatched cottages set in the beautiful gardens at Sambiya River Lodge.
If you’re looking for a safari lodge that balances comfort, atmosphere, location, and value, then Sambiya River Lodge is one of the standout mid-range options inside Murchison Falls National Park.
Set just 15–20 minutes from the Top of the Falls, Sambiya occupies a beautifully secluded spot overlooking the Sambiya River valley, where birds, primates, and the occasional elephant provide a front-row seat to wild Africa. The open-fronted main lodge offers sweeping views across forest, river, and floodplain — ideal for sunset drinks, wildlife watching, and that quiet moment when Africa gently resets your soul.
Accommodation – Rustic Comfort, Safari Style
The lodge features 26 thatched cottages, each offering:
En-suite bathrooms Indoor & outdoor showers Private verandas Solar lighting & hot water
For travellers on tighter budgets, traditional bandas (simple safari huts) are also available, allowing guests to enjoy the lodge’s atmosphere at a lower cost — without sacrificing location or experience.
Facilities – Relaxed Luxury in the Wild
Despite its remote setting, Sambiya offers all the comforts needed after a dusty game drive:
Swimming pool, Open-air restaurant & bar, and Campfire.
Evenings here are particularly special — sitting under the stars, listening to hippos grunting in the distance while night sounds ripple through the forest.
Location – A Perfect Base for Exploring Murchison Falls
One of Sambiya’s greatest strengths is its strategic location. Being so close to the Top of the Falls means:
Less time in vehicles Earlier arrival at viewpoints Easier access to game drives and boat cruises
It’s also ideally placed for:
Game drives on the north and south banks Nile boat safaris Nature walks Birdwatching (over 450 species recorded in the park) Chimp trekking in nearby Budongo Forest
Why Stay Here?
Sambiya River Lodge hits that rare sweet spot — comfortable without being corporate, atmospheric without being rustic, and adventurous without being exhausting. It’s perfect for independent travellers, photographers, couples, families, and anyone who wants a true safari lodge experience without luxury price tags.
Set inside Murchison Falls National Park, Uganda’s largest and oldest national park, the falls mark the point where the Victoria Nile begins its long journey north toward Sudan and eventually Egypt. The Nile being the longest river in the world.
I finally made it to Murchison Falls, and wow — it’s one of those places that completely lives up to the hype. The Nile here isn’t just a river; it’s raw, unstoppable power. It’s forced through a narrow 7-metre gap in solid rock, plunging 43 metres below in a thunderous roar that shakes the air and leaves a fine mist hanging everywhere. Standing at the top, you feel both tiny and completely alive. The view from above is breathtaking — the river roaring through the gorge, surrounded by the vast park, feels like standing at the edge of the world.
Fun/Mind Blowing Facts.
The Nile travels 6,650 km and Murchison Falls is the most violent section.
At peak flow, one Olympic swimming pool of water passes every 3 seconds.
Ernest Hemingway survived two plane crashes nearby in 1954.
The Nile has two sources: the Blue Nile – Lake Tana in Ethiopia and the White Nile – Lake Victoria (border of Uganda, Tanzania, and Kenya).
After soaking in the view from above, I took the boat trip to see the falls from a completely different angle. The river starts gently, winding through papyrus swamps and open savannah, but the wildlife is already in full swing. Hippos bubble lazily at the surface, crocodiles lounge on sandbanks, and elephants occasionally wander down to drink. Birds of every color dart overhead, and I kept my camera ready for every surprise moment.
As we neared the base of the falls, the river grew louder and more impatient. Then, suddenly, the force of the flow started rocking the boat with an enormous force, and I couldn’t stop grinning at the sheer energy of it all. There’s a perfect balance of calm and chaos — the river is serene one minute, explosive the next.
Between the dramatic gorge, the wildlife along the Nile, and the sheer spectacle of the falls, it was an experience I’ll never forget. Murchison Falls isn’t just a destination — it’s an unforgettable collision of nature, adventure, and awe.
Hipos along the Nile.Nile crocodile.Nile crocodile.The elephant with one tusk.Herd of elephants along the Nile.Sunset at Sambiya Lodge.Leaving the National Park with my guide and driver – Moses.
The Sir Samuel And Lady Florence Story
Sir Samuel White Baker, (8 June 1821 – 30 December 1893) was a British explorer, officer, engineer and writer.
Lady Florence Baker was his second wife.
He had saved her, from a slave market in Central Europe and instead of staying at home, she insisted in joining her husband on his exploits in Africa.
Sir Samuel Baker served as the Governor-General of the Equatorial Nile Basin (today’s South Sudan and Northern Uganda) from 1869 until 1873, which he established as the Province of Equatoria.
He is mostly remembered as the first European to view Lake Albert which he named after the recently deceased Prince Albert, consort of Queen Victoria. Sir Samuel White Baker is also remembered for his efforts to abolish the slave trade.
In March 1864 Sir Samuel Baker and Lady Florence Baker approached the mouth of the Victoria Nile in two long dug-out canoes propelled by local oarsmen. It had taken them 12 days to make the journey along the shoreline of Lake Albert. Sam writes “The chief of Magungo assured me that the broad channel of dead water at my feet was positively the brawling river that I had crossed below the Karuma Falls. The guide and locals laughed at my unbelief, and declared that it was dead water for a considerable distance from the junction with the lake, but that a great waterfall rushed down from a mountain, and that beyond that fall the river was merely a succession of cataracts throughout the entire distance of about six days’ march to the Karuma Falls.
I had promised Speke that I would explore most thoroughly the doubtful portion of the river that he had been forced to neglect from Karuma Falls to the lake. I was myself confused at the dead water junction, and, although I knew that the locals must be right, as it was their own river, I was determined to sacrifice every other wish in order to fulfil my promise, and thus to settle the Nile question absolutely.”
As they paddled up river “The roar of the waterfall was extremely loud, and after sharp pulling for a couple of hours, during which time the stream increased, we arrived at a point where the river made a slight turn. Upon rounding the corner, a magnificent sight burst suddenly upon us. On either side the river were beautifully wooded cliffs rising abruptly to a height of about 300 feet; rocks were jutting out from the intensely green foliage; and rushing through a gap that cleft the rock exactly before us, the river, contracted from a grand stream, was pent up in a narrow gorge of scarcely fifty yards in width; roaring furiously through the rock-bound pass, it plunged in one leap of about 120 feet perpendicular into a dark abyss below. The fall of water was snow white, which had a superb effect as it contrasted with the dark cliffs that walled the river, while the graceful palms of the tropics and wild plantains perfected the beauty of the view.
This was the greatest waterfall of the Nile, and, in honour of the distinguished President of the Royal Geographical Society, I named it the Murchison Falls.”
Among my friends and family, I am known as a “seasoned traveller”—a label that suggests competence, calm, and perhaps the ability to glide through a foreign country without batting an eyelid, murmuring phrases like, “Oh, I’ve done this many times before.”
This reputation is wildly inaccurate.
Despite decades of travel, I still feel quietly apprehensive before a big trip. The fear of the unknown creeps in—especially when heading somewhere deemed “non-Western,” where the rules are unfamiliar and my confidence evaporates. My brain immediately begins running disaster scenarios. Today was no different.
As expected, I slept badly. The kind of sleep where you close your eyes for eight hours but wake up feeling as though you’ve been negotiating with travel demons all night.
Still, I had a plan:
• 05:00 – Wake up
• 05:30 – The all-important (freshly brewed) coffee
• 06:00 – Breakfast
• 06:30 – Order Uber and glide serenely to the airport
Let me tell you now: I did not glide.
At 06:30 I ordered an Uber. Then I ordered it again. And again. On the first attempt, the driver rang me. Once. Twice. Three times. I didn’t answer. Then he arrived.
Instead of greeting me, he immediately demanded payment in cash. I politely explained that Uber does not operate like that.
He responded by shouting. At me. And then, for variety, at the hotel security guard standing right beside me. This driver’s response was not listed in the Uber app under “Driver Preferences.” Having delivered his performance, he left in a very expressive huff—presumably to shout at someone else.
I tried again to book another Uber.
The same driver accepted the request. I assume just to be awkward.
I cancelled.
Plan B: a boda boda (motorbike taxi). Unfortunately, it was fifteen minutes away, which at this point felt like an eternity. Time was marching on.
I tried Uber again.
Unbelievably, the same driver accepted the request. He was really starting to wind me up.
I cancelled again.
By now, my seasoned-traveller façade had fully dissolved. Enter the security guard—calm, efficient, and clearly well-practised at rescuing frazzled foreigners from early-morning transport standoffs. He arranged a car for me for 1,000 Kenyan shillings (about £6). No shouting. No drama. No existential crisis.
Just before departure, however, the angry Uber driver reappeared and resumed his rant exactly where he’d left off. This was getting tiresome.
The arranged driver arrived on cue and the Uber finally disappeared. We reached the airport well ahead of time. As it turned out, this was an internal flight to Nairobi—not international—so all that stress was entirely unnecessary, which is, of course, the essence of travel anxiety.
I boarded the first flight on schedule. Transferred to Terminal 1A in Nairobi. Everything ran smoothly. Almost suspiciously so. The next flight was the international leg to Entebbe, Uganda.
Nairobi to Mombasa Train. Departure time: 08:00. Arrival time: 14:00. Distance: Approximately 280 miles. Ticket price: 1,500 shillings (£9.00).
Monday 19th January 2026. Swiss-Belinn Hotel, Nairobi.
There are many ways to start a travel day. Calmly. Organised. Confident.
This was not one of them.
My alarm went off at 04:30, which already felt unnecessarily aggressive. Breakfast followed at 06:00, checkout at 06:30, and by then I was feeling quietly smug. I had plenty of time to catch my train. All under control.
Except… it wasn’t.
I tried to summon an Uber on my phone. No nearby train station appeared on the app. Mild panic.
Thankfully, the hotel receptionist — calm, competent, and clearly used to tourists unraveling — came to the rescue and helped me locate the correct station.
Thanks to an error entirely of my own making, I had confidently identified and noted the wrong Nairobi train station. The one I’d selected was the old train station — a mere 10 minutes and 3.5 miles away. Unfortunately, the actual SGR station was a full 12 miles away, or as Nairobi traffic prefers to call it: a lifetime.
Twenty minutes in non-rush-hour traffic, they say. This, however, was rush hour.
My best hope of getting to the station on time was to use a motorbike taxi – a Boda Boda as they call it here in Kenya.
The first Boda Boda was ‘frozen’ on the Uber map on my phone. It moved slightly, hesitated, dithered, and generally behaved like someone who had second thoughts about life. I cancelled.
The second Boda Boda – a hero – he arrived at the hotel in a flash.
“I need to be at the Nairobi to Mombasa train station in half an hour.” I told him.
He took one look at the time and launched us into Nairobi traffic like it was a competitive sport. Swerving, accelerating, threading gaps that definitely didn’t exist five seconds earlier. Meanwhile, hanging onto for dear life, my mind was doing laps.
You should have left earlier. You’re never going to make this train. What exactly is Plan B going to look like?
Miraculously, we arrived at the station at 07:20. I tipped him handsomely, partly out of gratitude and partly because I suspected he’d just shaved years off his life expectancy.
Then came security. And more security. And… even more security.
First: bags through an X-ray machine.
Second: bags placed on a low metal platform with about 20 other hopeful passengers while two sniffer dogs inspected the lineup like very serious professionals.
Third: another X-ray machine — I guess as a precaution!!
Fourth: ticket counter, where a lovely lady took my phone number and reservation reference and printed off my ticket.
Good news: a window seat.
Then:
Passport check. Ticket check. Another X-ray machine (at this point I was wondering if I’d accidentally booked a flight).
Finally, through the ticket stile, down the tunnel, turn left, Carriage 9, Seat 10.
I had made it. I let out a huge sigh of relief.
The gentleman sat opposite me — an Indian chap — immediately began a phone call at full conversational volume, clearly unconcerned by concepts such as “inside voice”. This continued, intermittently, for the whole of the journey.
To complete the scene, the windows were dirty, the sun was on our side, and my cinematic coastal train views were… optimistic at best.
Still.
I was on the train.
I had not missed it.
And Mombasa was calling.
Sometimes travel isn’t about smooth planning and perfect execution. Sometimes it’s about sprinting through security, trusting a stranger with your fate in traffic, and laughing afterwards — preferably while the train is already moving.
Mombasa, here we come.
Economy Class Carriage – Nairobi to Mombasa.Economy Class Carriage.
I woke early in my crisp hotel bed, at 06:00, refreshed and full of optimism. Outside, Meru was already humming—traffic buzzing like impatient bees, street vendors setting up for the day, the air carrying that familiar mix of dust, diesel, and frying dough. Today’s plan was simple: Meru to Embu. A straightforward journey. What could possibly go wrong?
I checked out of the hotel at 09:30, after a very mediocre breakfast, and hailed a boda boda.
“Embu matatu, please,” I said.
“Yes yes,” the driver replied. “Slow or Direct Express Service?”
Naturally, I chose Direct Express.
We reached the matatu stage and instantly became the centre of attention. A human tidal wave surrounded us. People pushed, pulled, shouted—mostly at the boda boda driver, occasionally at me. I dismounted, paid up, and stood there while the crowd performed whatever ritual this was. Eventually, like a storm passing, it calmed. I walked on.
I found a shuttle marked “Embu Direct.” The only one. Its ticket sellers had the enthusiasm of market traders who could smell a hesitant customer from fifty paces. They asked for 600 shillings (£3.50). I countered with 400. We settled at 500—a small diplomatic victory, though I still suspected daylight robbery.
Reluctantly, I boarded. The seats were not seats. They were punishment devices.
An hour crawled by. The shuttle was almost full, yet new passengers eyed it suspiciously, as if it had personally offended them. Maybe it was because of me—very possibly the only white guy in the vicinity—sitting there like an unscheduled attraction. The temperature climbed. The air thickened. My stress levels followed suit. Every instinct told me to abandon this particular van and run.
Eventually, the last holdouts gave in and squeezed aboard. We should have been on our way. Sadly, not quite.
The roof-loading ceremony commenced: bags, boxes, and sacks of every shape and size were heaved into place.
Somewhere around 10:30, we finally departed. Spirits were low. Sweat levels were high.
Then the entertainment began. A music video. Very loud. Reggae-style.
The bass vibrated directly into my skull. A headache soon announced itself.
Further on into the journey, an angry young man half-jumped into the van, clinging to the door as we sped along like a Formula One car. He immediately began arguing with a lady passenger. She shut him down with such authority that the entire matatu fell silent.
Plot twist: he was the conductor. Customer service clearly wasn’t in his job description.
It slowly dawned on me—this was not going to be a Direct Express Service.
We stopped. And stopped. And stopped again. People got on. People got off. The roof was unloaded. The roof was loaded.
By now, my arse had officially resigned. Every speed bump felt personal, launching me slightly into the air before slamming me back onto the rock-hard seat of regret.
Finally—mercifully—we rolled (sped) into Embu at 13:15.
I have not been so relieved to exit a vehicle in a long time. I stepped out bow-legged, slightly traumatised, but victorious.
I had survived.
My Embu overnight stopover was spent in an okay hotel near the matatu stage. That evening I treated myself to dinner at a nearby upmarket place—a genuinely fabulous meal that almost made me forgive the day.
Ironically, the Embu–Nairobi leg of my journey, the following morning, was a completely different experience: smooth, calm, almost civilised. We arrived in Nairobi at precisely 09:30. I booked an Uber and wondered briefly if the previous day had been some kind of fever dream.
Note to self: in future, choose your matatu carefully.
There’s something quietly magical about Nanyuki. The town sits on the high plains of central Kenya with Mount Kenya’s jagged peaks watching from the south and the wide Laikipia plateau stretching north toward the frontier. But what makes most travelers stop here isn’t only the mountain views or the promise of nearby safaris—it’s a simple yellow sign that marks the center of the world.
The Nanyuki equator marker is wonderfully unpretentious. No grand monument, no entrance gate—just a bold sign and a cluster of cheerful guides waiting to demonstrate that you can, in fact, stand in both the Northern and Southern Hemispheres at the same time. I discovered how close it was almost by accident: from my room at Hotel Taji, it was only a short, easy walk to the line, close enough to casually wander over.
It’s one of those travel moments that feels delightfully playful—one foot north, one foot south, and a photo that never fails to confuse friends back home. What brings the spot to life are the water experiments. Local demonstrators balance a basin on either side of the line and show how water drains clockwise in one hemisphere, counter-clockwise in the other, and straight down when placed exactly on the equator. Scientists may debate how much the Coriolis effect really influences a plastic bowl, but the performance is mesmerising.
Around the marker, Nanyuki buzzes with roadside energy. Curio stalls sell carved giraffes and Maasai beadwork, motorbikes idle in the sun, and the air smells faintly of roasted maize. Many travelers pause here on their way to Samburu or Ol Pejeta, yet the town deserves more than a quick photo stop. Cafés serve strong Kenyan coffee, and on clear mornings the mountain glows pink above the rooftops—an unbeatable backdrop only minutes from my hotel door.
What I loved most was how ordinary life flows around this extraordinary latitude. Schoolchildren cross the line on their way home, matatus hoot as they leap from hemisphere to hemisphere, and the equator becomes less a geographical concept than a living part of the street.
The journey from Nakuru to Nyahururu (2-hrs/65 km) was one of the most spectacular road trips that I have experienced.
Leaving Nakuru, the land begins to breathe more deeply. Far away from the smoke belching traffic of Nakuru. The air cools as the road climbs, and acacia-dotted plains give way to rolling green hills. Soon, trees gather thickly on either side, tall and assured—cypress, eucalyptus, and indigenous forest giants forming leafy corridors that flicker with light and shadow as you pass.
Then come the tea plantations, immaculate and hypnotic. Row upon row of bright green bushes ripple across the hills like carefully combed velvet. Women and men in colorful wraps bend gently among the leaves, their movements unhurried, almost ceremonial. The scent is clean and faintly sweet and the landscape feels alive with quiet industry.
Tea Plantations.
Interspersed are coffee plantations, darker green and more rugged, their glossy leaves sheltering ripening cherries. The farms hug the slopes confidently, thriving in the volcanic soil, and they lend the land a sense of rootedness—of generations working in rhythm with the seasons.
As the road continues, the views suddenly open up, and the Great Rift Valley reveals itself in breathtaking sweeps. Escarpments fall away dramatically, exposing vast expanses of land that seem to stretch into time itself. Valleys fold into one another, lakes glint in the distance, and the sky feels impossibly wide.
The Great Rift Valley from the Subukia viewpoint – looking left.The Great Rift Valley from the Subukia viewpoint- looking right.Sign at the Subukia viewpoint.
Approaching Nyahururu, the landscape grows wilder and more dramatic. The air turns crisp, the vegetation denser, and there’s a growing sense of anticipation—hinting at the nearby Thomson’s Falls, where the Ewaso Nyiro River plunges into a roaring chasm.
The icing on the cake was indeed a visit to the falls, a 30 minute walk from Nyahururu.
Thomson’s Falls is not just something you see — it’s something you feel.
As you approach, the sound reaches you first: a deep, steady roar that grows louder with every step, vibrating through the ground and your chest. Then the land suddenly opens, and the Ewaso Nyiro River reveals itself as it plunges about 74 metres (240 feet) into a dramatic gorge below.
The water doesn’t fall politely. It hurls itself over the edge, exploding into white spray that rises like misty breath from the earth. Sunlight catches the droplets, often forming fleeting rainbows that appear and vanish in seconds. The air is cool, fresh, and heavy with moisture, carrying the clean, mineral scent of stone and river.
The gorge itself is breathtaking — sheer volcanic rock walls, dark and ancient, carved relentlessly by centuries of water. Below, the river coils and rushes onward, calmer but still powerful, as if gathering itself after the dramatic descent. Lush greenery clings to the cliffs, thriving in the constant mist, while birds dart through the spray with effortless confidence.
Standing at the viewpoint, you feel both small and grounded. The land around Nyahururu is open and gentle, but here it suddenly becomes raw and commanding, reminding you of nature’s strength and patience. The falls seem timeless — unchanged by visitors, stories, or photographs.
Thomson’s Falls (note the people – bottom right – which give some perspective to the size of the falls).A local family wanted to have their photo with me.
Kenya had been sitting high on my travel wish list for a number years, so stepping off the plane at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport at around 06:30am on the 2nd of January 2026 felt surreal. Bleary-eyed but buzzing with excitement, I officially began my East African adventure.
Day 1 – Nairobi: ATMs, SIM Cards, and Razor Wire.
02/01/26
First things first: cash and connectivity. I exited the terminal, found an ATM, and then tackled the next essential task — buying a local SIM card. Once armed with both, I ordered my first Uber of the trip.
The local (Safaricom) sim gave me access to M-Pessa, which is Kenya’s mobile money service that lets people send, receive, save, and spend money using a mobile phone, without needing a bank account. For me personally, it meant not needing to carry too much cash on me.
The ride to Kozi Suites Hotel took about 30 minutes. Nairobi immediately made an impression — busy roads, constant movement, and an unmistakable edge. My hotel sat inside a gated compound, surrounded by high walls topped with razor sharp wire. It felt secure rather than threatening — a reminder that Nairobi is a city where precautions are part of daily life.
Check-in was swift, my room was ready immediately, and I collapsed onto the bed, grateful to be in a comfortable hotel room after such a long journey.
Day 2 – Nairobi to Nakuru: Matatu Madness.
03/01/26
After an early breakfast I called another Uber — this time to the booking office of Mololine, the minibus (Matatu) company running services to Nakuru.
The matatu was already nearly full when I arrived, which was good, departure didn’t take long. By 08:30, we were off — and within minutes I was deeply relieved I hadn’t hired a car.
Kenyan driving, at least on this stretch, can only be described as creative. Our matatu overtook on blind bends, squeezed through impossible gaps, and at times seemed to invent new lanes altogether — including the middle of the highway. Add potholes, the size of small craters, and you have a journey that demands both faith and strong nerves.
We were also stopped several times by traffic police who wanted to “check” the vehicle — a process that appeared to involve brief conversation, discreet cash transfers, and absolutely no checking whatsoever.
We rolled into Nakuru at around 11:30, and by then my backside was staging a major protest.
Finding Hotel Moonlight proved tricky, but my new SIM card saved the day. I called reception and they patiently guided me in — the entrance lift hidden was inside a small shopping centre – as one normally expects.
The hotel turned out to be a gem:
Clean, comfortable rooms, and super friendly staff. The package also included breakfast. And all for £15 a night. Sometimes budget travel gets it exactly right.
The rest of the day was spent acclimatising, drinking water, and staring at maps while trying to work out how on earth I was going to fit everything I wanted to see into one trip.
View from Moonlight hotel in Nakuru, with the ubiquitous Matatu’s in the foreground.
Nakuru’s modern history began with British colonial expansion in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The construction of the Uganda Railway reached Nakuru in 1900, transforming it into a key railway station and administrative post. This rail link made Nakuru strategically important for trade, military control, and settler agriculture.
Day 3 – Exploring Nakuru.
04/01/26
A day dedicated to exploring Nakuru itself — a lively town, full of movement and character. This was my first proper taste of everyday Kenya away from the capital. In the afternoon I visited a flower seed farm near Salgaa – an excursion facilitated by one of my suppliers back in the UK.
Day 4 – Lake Nakuru National Park.
05/01/26
My alarm went off at an unfriendly 05:30. After a quick breakfast I was collected from the hotel by the tour company and introduced to Peter, my driver and guide for the half-day game drive in Lake Nakuru National Park.
After paying the $90 USD entrance fee (extortionate in my opinion) we entered the park just as the sun began climbing over the hills — golden light washing across the landscape.
Lake Nakuru covers around 40–60 square kilometres and is surprisingly shallow – averaging just 2–3 metres deep. The morning was perfect for a game drive: cool, bright, and alive with movement.
Almost immediately we spotted pelicans and flamingos, followed by an impressive roll call of wildlife:
Impalas, Waterbucks, Zebras, Buffalo, Warthogs, and Giraffes.
And then, just as we were leaving — as if on cue — we sighted a lion, stretched out beneath a tree, lazily surveying his kingdom.
By 1pm, I was back at the hotel animatedly retelling the morning’s sightings to the staff. It was, quite simply, a fabulous experience.
My driver and guide PeterWater buffaloBlack RhinocerosZebraGiraffe
Giliani’s, a curry heaven in the middle of Nakuru. My favourite restaurant in Nakuru was Giliani’s. It serves a wide range of excellent dishes, including fabulous Indian cuisine. The staff are extremely professional, the food excellent and sensibly priced.
The business began in the early 1970s as a small family retail shop in Nakuru, founded by Mr. Ghulam Hussein Gilani and his sons. It was originally a modest retail outlet on Pandit Nehru Road. Over time, it grew steadily into a larger wholesaling and retail operation, becoming one of Nakuru’s first and most enduring supermarket and wholesale facilities. It later moved to its current prominent location on Club Road (off Kenyatta Avenue) in Nakuru’s central business district, where it became a key shopping destination for locals and traders.
Day 5 – Matatus, Motorbikes, and Geysers: Lake Bogoria.
06/01/26
It was time to move on again. I caught a matatu to Marigat — a 1.5-hour journey costing £3.50. From there I hopped onto a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) for the 12-mile ride to Lake Bogoria.
The ride cost 500 shillings (£3). The driver was competent, but neither of us had a helmet on— something that made me grip the seat rather tightly and question my life choices.
I checked into Lake Bogoria Spa Hotel, the most expensive accommodation of the trip so far — and worth it. Ostriches wandered freely around the grounds, my room had a balcony overlooking the landscape, and the setting felt wonderfully remote.
Later, I wandered down to the lake itself.
Lake Bogoria
Lake Bogoria – Facts & Highlights.
Formerly known as Lake Hannington, Lake Bogoria is a saline, alkaline lake set in a volcanic region just south of Lake Baringo.
It’s a UNESCO World Heritage site. Around 200 hot springs and geysers line the shoreline. Periodically, it is home to one of the largest populations of lesser flamingos in the world.
The landscape is otherworldly — steaming vents, mineral-stained ground, rugged hills, and shimmering water that never quite looks real.
Day 6 – Lake Baringo: Warm Welcomes and an Unwelcome Bug.
07/01/26
After an early breakfast, I asked the hotel receptionist to help arrange transport to Lake Baringo. Within minutes, a local boda boda driver arrived and whisked me to Sandai Resort in just over 40 minutes.
Again — no helmets. At this point I began to suspect helmets were a theoretical concept rather than a physical object.
Sandai Resort was basic but clean and comfortable. That evening I walked down to the lake, greeted constantly by locals calling out “Gumbo!” (hello) and waving — especially children, whose smiles were impossible to ignore.
Unfortunately, that evening I succumbed to a traveller’s rite of passage: sickness and diarrhoea. I felt utterly miserable.
Day 7 – Lake Baringo by Boat.
08/01/26
I woke feeling only marginally better, but I was determined not to miss my 1.5-hour boat trip on Lake Baringo.
The early morning light was spectacular. As the boat glided across the calm water, the sun rose over the hills, painting everything gold. Birds called overhead, and the stillness felt deeply calming — exactly what my body needed.
Later, as we headed back to the shoreline I could see lots of people collecting water out of the lake. Whilst the water might be ‘fresh’ it certainly wasn’t clear. Apparently they boil the water and add chlorine in order to be able to drink it!
The rest of the day was spent resting, rehydrating, and promising myself I’d be more careful with food choices.
Sunrise Lake BaringoSemi submerged hotel – Lake BaringoThe level of the lake has risen over recent years
Lake Baringo – Facts & Figures.
Lake Baringo is one of Kenya’s most fascinating Rift Valley lakes. It covers around 130 square kilometres Sits at 970 metres above sea level and is fed by the Molo, Perkerra, and Ol Arabel rivers One of only two freshwater lakes in Kenya’s Rift Valley
Over 450 bird species recorded Home to hippos and Nile crocodiles Surrounded by acacia woodland and volcanic hills.
Final Thoughts – Week One.
I have been quite shocked at how bad people’s teeth are in some of the villages. Those fortunate enough to have teeth don’t appear to have ‘bright white’ smiles. Many people, including very young children, are even missing one or more teeth. I guess toothpaste and toothbrushes are a luxury not available to everybody.
Week one in Kenya delivered everything I’d hoped for — and a few things I hadn’t. Incredible wildlife, dramatic landscapes, warm welcomes, chaotic transport, and a sharp reminder that travel doesn’t always go to plan.
Kenya had already got under my skin — and I was only just getting started.
