I was riding from the Muhazi Dyke toward Inyanja Resort, following a loosely sketched itinerary that included a coffee break at Kingfisher Resort. But somewhere along the way, the lake whispered a quiet invitation. I found myself pulling over—not out of necessity, but out of instinct. The kind that comes when beauty unexpectedly calls your name.
What was meant to be a short ride turned into one of those off-the-script stopovers, the kind prompted not by schedule but by scenery. The lake stretched out like a secret gently unfolding, framed by soft hills rising like a sigh around it. I couldn’t just pass it by.
I unstrapped my camping chair from the back of the bike, found a spot by the trail, and leaned into the pause. With that simple act, I seemed to unwrap bundles of peace. It’s funny how plans start to feel irrelevant when the landscape gently tugs at your soul and says, “Sit Down and Relax.”
The view opened up like a quiet surprise. The narrow stretch of Lake Muhazi curved gracefully between the hills, almost like it was exhaling. The sun, unhurried, hung high in the late-morning sky, casting a warm golden glow that made the lake shimmer and the air feel like a soft blanket.
That’s when I remembered the flask of coffee I’d packed earlier that morning. I poured a cup, took a slow sip, and let the warmth settle in. With each sip, I sank deeper into the hillside, which felt as though it had been waiting for someone to lean against it. It cradled my back, loosened the tight places in my mind, and whispered, “You’re right where you need to be.”
The breeze moved quietly through the tall grass, as if trying not to interrupt. Birds called from hidden perches, and the opposite hills leaned in across the water, like curious neighbors pausing their day to watch. Everything stilled. Everything breathed.
There’s a particular kind of calm that lives in places like this. It doesn’t make a grand entrance. It seeps in slowly, like steam from a hot cup, until you realize you’re entirely wrapped in it. It’s not just about the coffee. It’s about the pause. The permission to be still. To be present. To be.
Because sometimes, the richest brews aren’t served in cafés or kitchens. They come from a flask, poured with intention, sipped from the side of a hill—and sweetened by the kind of stillness you didn’t plan for but somehow needed more than anything.