Zanzibar

Zanzibar, an island off the east coast of Tanzania in the Indian Ocean, feels different from the rest of East Africa altogether, mostly because of the Arabic and Indian - in addition to African - influences that dominate here. Zanzibar was once an important trading center with Arabia and the Persian Gulf, and that brought Islam here. Zanzibar is also infamous for its role in the slave trade, exporting slaves to India and Asia. Now it’s mainly known for tourism and production of spices, such as cloves, vanilla, and cinnamon.

We spent four days at Kendwa Beach on the north end of island. Absolutely beautiful (no running water and sore foot notwithstanding). The beach has incredibly powder soft white sand and the waters of the Indian Ocean feel as warm as a hot tub. We spent most days just lying under a beach hut for shade, with frequent dips into the ocean. Kind of like a vacation from our trip, if that makes sense.

Ted and Mitchell did an all-day snorkeling trip in a place called the Mnemba Atoll. They traveled by dhow (Zanzibar wooden boat), exploring the amazing coral reef and brightly coloured fish.

We traveled back down the island to StoneTown for the last five days. StoneTown is a unique village, right on the Indian Ocean, home to a maze of narrow, cobbled, twisting laneways. There are tiny shops, mosques, craft stores, markets, and outdoor food stalls everywhere. A chaotic but enchanting place. The architecture is beautiful – old Arab houses with courtyards and Indian buildings with big verandas and ornate trim. We’ve tried so many different restaurants here, including the famous Mercury’s Restaurant. Apparently, Freddie Mercury was born here in Zanzibar (as Faroukh Bulsara) and lived here until he was eight years old. The restaurant is a bit of a shrine to him.

Boats, old and new:

Zanzibar door:

Streets of StoneTown:

We splurged out and stayed at the beautiful Tembo Hotel in StoneTown(thanks Sue for this recommendation, it was just the balm we needed):

View from our hotel, beautiful turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean:

In StoneTown, we visited the Old Slave Market. You can still see some of the original jails where they held captured Africans in chains. According to the tour, they were held in these cells for three days with no food or water. Those who survived could fetch a higher price at their local auctions as the “strong ones”. This whole place reminded me of a great novel I read a couple of years ago, The Book of Negroes, about the life of a young girl sold into slavery.

Former slave jail cell:

Statue of slave in chains:

Monument about the slave trade:

Just outside of StoneTown, we went on a tour of a spice plantation. I envisioned a spice plantation would look something like a vineyard with neat rows of spices planted and being tended. It was nothing like that – more of a rainforest with here a nutmeg tree, over there a lemongrass bush, and banana, mango and papaya trees all over the place. It was a jumble of spice plants and tropical fruit trees. Our guide, Ramsen, grew up on the spice farm we visited and knew the place inside out. He would pluck some berry or other off a tree, slice it open, squeeze it, have us smell it and then try to guess what it was. We got to sample a variety of unusual fruits including jackfruit and dhurian (stinky fruit). Finally, a young guy shimmied up a very tall coconut tree, singing and shaking his booty the whole way, and chopped down a few coconuts for us to drink from. It was a great tour!

Today we leave for Arusha to meet up with Corey Wright who runs Sauti Moja. We’ll travel with him to Longido, Tanzania to visit, learn, and help out there where we can.

A boy and his cow hauling some harvest at the spice plantation:

A jungle of spices and tropical fruit:

Jackson wearing glasses Ramsen made for him:

Ramsen cutting open some nutmeg for us to smell:

Nutmeg - who knew? Not the way it looks in the little pouches at Loblaws:

Vanilla beans:

Yum, coconut juice:

Bus Ride from Hell? Check. Visit to Hospital? Check.

This is an extra long post . . . bear with me. I have some unloading to do for catharsis.

On all long treks around the world, one should probably expect to endure at least one terrifying bus ride. And perhaps there has to be a requisite visit to a hospital at least once as well. Well, the good news is we can now check those two off the list and hopefully put the bad luck behind us for a while. I guess Ted was right back in Zurich when he said there was worse yet to come . . .

Here we are on the exotic, idyllic island of Zanzibar. Recuperating. Getting here was a bit of an ordeal. Our plan was to travel by bus from Nairobi, Kenya to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania and then catch a ferry over to Zanzibar. It’s a very long bus trip (about 15-16 hours plus a two-hour ferry ride), so we planned to stay one night in Moshi (near Mt. Kiliminjaro) to break up the trip.

After our safari, we spent one night in Nairobi before starting our bus journey. The place was a complete dump, despite the Lonely Planet recommendation. Some of their guidebooks are in need of serious updating. Mitchell woke up covered in bites and sores. The rest of us seemed fine, so we suspected bed bugs. Poor guy, he was covered and so itchy. (He’s all healed now).

The bus to Moshi was humming along well and we were all doing fine, despite the intense heat and typically horrible roads. It started to sprinkle a little and I thought to myself, oh good, a little rain to keep the dust down but not so much that the road turns to mud. I guess I spoke to soon.
About an hour outside the town of Arusha, the rain was coming down in sheets and it wasn’t just mud to worry about. The road basically turned into a river, a flash flood. We ended up stranded as the road was completely washed out. In the end, we had to wait out the rain before the driver would attempt to drive on. We lost a few hours, certainly it could have been worse.

Even though our bus tickets were to Moshi, the driver tried to off-load us in Arusha. He said he didn’t have enough passengers to justify going all the way to Moshi. Not my problem, I insisted. I dislike confrontation more than most people, but I was willing to die on this particular hill and was not budging. No way was he going to dump us onto on overcrowded local bus for the last part of the journey. He unloaded our (soaking wet) backpacks that were under a (supposedly) waterproof tarp on the roof and set them on the ground. Ted hoisted them into the bus, plopped them in aisle and we sat back down. We had our little stand-off and then the driver caved and drove us all the way. I’m pleased to tell you that the hotel in Moshi was of a similar dumpy quality – Lonely Planet is consistent in their bad taste if nothing else.

Next morning, we’re up at the crack of dawn for our 6:20am bus trip to Dar Es Salaam. We knew we had to catch the earliest bus available, in order to make the last ferry of the afternoon around 4:00pm. This bus was a complete nightmare. Maybe being the only non-Africans aboard should have been our first clue. The bus wasn’t just lacking in modern amenities, it was a downright beat-up, foul rattletrap. There was no air-conditioning, you could feel every spring in the seats, and surrounding you were several people for each seat. Some unlucky souls even stood in the aisles. This bus wasn’t just full, it was crammed. At one point I swore I could hear a chicken clucking but I couldn’t see it. I’m surprised I could actually even hear anything, over the loud, tinny music blasted at us the entire way.

Whenever the driver encountered a stretch of road free of potholes, he would gun it hell-bent-for-leather. Hence, the terrifying part of this description. Of course, the driver had the decency to screech to a halt when he happened upon a pothole or a speed bump. Sometimes he missed a few and those were the times you got to check out the ceiling of the bus nice and close. I have to say, Mitchell and Jackson were real troopers hardly complaining at all. We put them on the inside seats near the windows and we did the lurching and pitching into the aisles on their behalf, as we proceeded at break-neck speed to Dar es Salaam. I loved how the driver would just pick whatever side of the road had the least potholes and use that, careful to veer out of the way of oncoming traffic just in the nick of time. And don’t forget about the lesser known third lane that runs down the middle of the highway – that’s always a fun lane to drive in as well.

About one hour into this 9-hour leg of the journey, I felt a headache coming on. The bus felt like an oven, with only hot wind from the open windows to cool us off. The headache turned into a doozy, complete with nausea and sparkling vision (like seeing lights flashing on and off, hard to explain, a migraine). We rocked along like this, with maybe three or four stops along the way to run to some pit latrine to relieve ourselves or to buy a warm Coke. We were all surprised and disgusted to watch as the people just tossed their garbage out the bus windows. I guess you could say it’s cultural, but I couldn’t help but feel, isn’t there something just intrinsically feels wrong about chucking wrappers and tin cans onto the road, irrespective of one’s culture? Of course, we kept our mouths shut.

Anyway, it gets better . . . we survived the nightmare bus ride arriving around 3:00pm. Grabbed a taxi to the ferry terminal whereupon we were swarmed by touts trying to sell us “official” ferry tickets. Practically blocking us from the actual ferry ticket office, which was especially irritating when you’re about to miss the last ferry of the day. We made the ferry, breathing a sigh of relief. My head was still pounding at this point and the nausea was worsening. Add to that the gentle swaying of a two-hour ferry ride and you can probably guess what’s coming. Yes, vomiting ensued. It was a lovely way to round out the day.

Once we docked at Zanzibar, it was time to find another taxi. Never a problem with that – just stand still and look clueless and they come roaring up to you. Since we were doing a few days at a beach on the north end of the island (Kendwa Beach) before settling in StoneTown, it was another two hours’ ride to get to our hotel. By the time we arrived, it was dark. It was about 9:00pm and we had been travelling since 6:20am. All I wanted was a hot shower, to brush my teeth, and fall into bed. But guess what? The power was out which meant no running water as well, since it was some sort of an electric pump system. We didn’t have water until late the next day. At least I was able to brush my teeth using bottled water. I wanted to slug the young backpackers we met on the beach who said things like, yeah man, ya just gotta roll with it, you know?

The power has been on and off our whole time here on Zanzibar Island. Apparently, it’s a way of life for the people here. They run back-up generators but these are rationed to a certain number of hours per day. There’s only one under-sea cable from Dar es Salaam that supplies power to the island and it would seem to be pretty unreliable.

I realize I’m going on and on, but it’s therapeutic for me. Bear with me. Up at Kendwa Beach, I noticed my foot was sore and thought nothing of it. Figured it was a sliver or something insignificant. Over the next couple of days, it progressed to a raging infection and I had a most attractive foot full of pus. I got tired of hobbling about and finally a kind taxi driver named Tahir drove me to a hospital and acted as my translator. I ended up paying around $50 to have a consultation followed by a procedure to cut open my foot and drain it. I also took some antibiotics. Things are definitely starting to look up now and there really is no better place to recoup than the beautiful spice island of Zanzibar!

We head to Arusha in a few days, after 9 days of exploring Zanzibar. We will get there via a one-hour flight – our quota for bad bus trips is now full.