Chomoni Beach

The Comoros do not do tourism the way their Indian Ocean neighbours do. There are no resorts strung along the coast, no jet skis, no rows of identical sun loungers. What there is, on the east side of Grande Comore, is Chomoni — a beach so striking and so completely undeveloped that when our driver pulled off the rough coast road and we walked down to it, I assumed we had taken a wrong turn and stumbled onto something private. We had not. It is simply that almost nobody comes.

Black lava, white sand

Grande Comore is a young volcanic island, dominated by the brooding mass of Karthala, and the whole coast is the story of lava meeting sea. At Chomoni this story is told in stark colour. Fingers and shelves of old black basalt run down into the water, weathered and sculpted, and between and around them lies sand that is almost startlingly pale — not the usual tropical cream but something closer to white, made all the brighter by the black rock framing it. The water in the pockets between the lava is a clear, shifting turquoise. It is one of the most graphically beautiful beaches I have ever stood on, and I have stood on a fair number.

Lia found a sheltered pool between two arms of lava where the water was warm and almost completely still, and she swam there while I clambered over the black rock, which is sharp in places and demands shoes. The basalt is full of holes and channels worn by the sea, and at the edge where the open water comes in, the swell surges through the gaps and throws up spray. I sat watching it for a long time. There is something about the violence of the contact between lava and ocean that I find hypnotic — the island is, after all, still being made and unmade right there in front of you.

A beach with no infrastructure, which is the point

I want to be clear about what Chomoni is and is not. There are no facilities. No restaurant, no toilets, no one renting anything, often no shade beyond what the rocks throw. On a weekday we had it entirely to ourselves; on a Friday or a holiday, Comorian families come out from Moroni to picnic, and the mood is gentle and communal rather than touristy. Bring your own water, your own food, sun protection, and shoes you can clamber in. Take your rubbish away with you — there is no one to clean up after you, and a place this unspoiled deserves to stay that way.

The drive from Moroni takes the better part of an hour over roads that range from acceptable to character-building, and you will want a driver or a sturdy hired vehicle and a willingness to ask directions, because signage is essentially nonexistent. We came back to the capital that evening sunburnt, salt-crusted and entirely content, having spent a whole day on one of the loveliest beaches in the western Indian Ocean without spending a single franc beyond the petrol.

In an age where so much of the tropical coast has been smoothed, monetised and made identical, Chomoni is a reminder of what a beach is before anyone decides to sell it to you. Go now, go quietly, and leave it as you found it.