The first thing you notice in Lamu is what's missing. There are no cars in the old town. The streets are too narrow — barely wide enough for two people and a donkey to pass — so everything moves on foot, by donkey or by boat. Within an hour of arriving, my shoulders had dropped about five centimetres.

Getting there

Most people fly from Nairobi to Manda Island and take a short boat across the channel. Stepping off the boat onto the seafront, with the dhows bobbing and the call to prayer drifting over the rooftops, is one of the best arrivals I know.

Getting lost on purpose

The old town is a maze of coral-stone houses with heavy carved wooden doors. I gave up on the map on day one. Every wrong turn led somewhere — a courtyard with a tamarind tree, a tiny shop selling cardamom coffee in thimble-sized cups, a group of boys playing football against a five-hundred-year-old wall.

Things I'd do again

• A sunset dhow trip. Bargain politely, bring a kikoi, say yes to the fresh fish they grill on board.
• Walk to Shela. Along the waterfront, then a long empty beach with dunes behind it.
• Eat at the seafront. Coconut fish curry, chapati, and fresh passion juice.
• Just sit. On a rooftop with a book, listening to the town.

In Lamu, nobody asks what you do. They ask if you've eaten.

Being a respectful guest

Lamu is a conservative Muslim town. Cover your shoulders and knees in the old town, ask before photographing people, and remember that you are walking through someone's neighbourhood, not a museum.

[Ayeesha — add where you stayed, roughly what you spent, and the time of year you went.]