My First Time on a Spinning Wheel That Wasn't Spinning
April 10, 2025
There's something profoundly therapeutic about having an entire beach to yourself. No vendors selling questionable sunglasses. No toddlers building sand fortifications in your personal space. No influencers contorting themselves for the perfect bikini shot.
Just you, the ocean, and the rhythmic conversation between waves and shore.
That's what Limbe offered me, specifically the Batoke beaches, which I'm about to recommend so enthusiastically that you might wonder if I've been bribed by the Cameroonian tourism board. (I haven't, but Limbe tourism officials, if you're reading this, I accept payment in fresh coconuts and beachfront accommodations.)
The serene shoreline of Batoke Beach, Limbe
I arrived at Batoke beach early on a weekday morning, when the sun was still gentle and the sand retained the coolness of night. The first thing that struck me was the silence. Not complete silence, the ocean doesn't do "quiet", but the absence of human noise. No radios, no chatter, no engines. Just the percussion section of nature's orchestra.
As I walked along the shoreline, the wet sand perfectly mirroring the sky above, I realized I couldn't see another soul in either direction. The beach curved gently ahead, inviting me to keep walking just to see what might be around the bend.
So I did.
For three hours, I walked. Sometimes at the water's edge, letting the waves dance around my ankles. Sometimes higher up where the sand was soft and my footprints told the story of my passage. I collected shells, then put them back. I watched crabs scuttle sideways into their holes as I approached. I even had a fifteen-minute standoff with a particularly judgmental-looking seagull.
My footprints were often the only ones visible for miles
There's something meditative about walking a beach alone. Your thoughts sync with your footsteps, which in turn sync with the waves. Breathing becomes deeper. Problems that seemed urgent that morning shrink to their proper size against the vastness of the ocean.
By midday, the sun had claimed its full strength, and I found shade under a cluster of palm trees. Sitting there, watching the light play on the water, I had one of those rare moments of perfect contentment where you're not wishing you were somewhere else or doing something different or with someone else. Just completely present.
Sometimes the most profound travel experiences aren't about what you do or what you see, they're about what you feel when everything else falls away.
As the afternoon progressed, I encountered exactly three other people: a local fisherman mending his nets, an elderly woman collecting something from the tideline (I never figured out what), and another solitary walker who nodded in silent acknowledgment of our shared appreciation for solitude.
When it was finally time to leave, I felt like I was departing a private conversation with the sea. My skin was sun-kissed, my mind was clear, and my camera roll was full of photos that would never do justice to the experience.
If you're ever in Cameroon and find yourself needing to remember what peace feels like, seek out Limbe's quiet beaches. Batoke especially. Go early, walk far, listen closely, and let yourself be small against the endless blue.
Sometimes the most profound travel experiences aren't about what you do or what you see, they're about what you feel when everything else falls away.
Next on my travel journal: My epic (and slightly traumatic) conquest of Mount Fako...
