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September 23, 2006

Burn Out in Zanzibar

I tried to pretend to sleep as our minibus flew down the narrow winding roads at an excess of 120 kilometers per hour, partly to avoid watching any inevitable crashes that may occur, and partly to take a break from the conversation with our new Malawian friend. We were on our way from Kenya to Tanzania and for the first time in Africa, our minibus was practically empty. It was almost an eerie feeling being in an empty minibus, and I suddenly found myself craving the packed crowds that we were used to. At least that would feel normal. Our only other companions for much of the ride was a man and his mother, both making the long haul journey back to their home country of Malawi. The conversation got out to a good start, but it wasn’t long before I was outlining the reasons as to why we would not be able to sponsor him to immigrate to Canada. Unable to see the reasoning in why we might not be so inclined to sponsor someone that we had only just met on the bus, he kept persisting that we help him out until I finally told him that we were actually moving to New Zealand, and then put my head back and closed my eyes.

Carved door of Zanzibar

By the time we made it to Dar es Salaam, it was late. We tried to get some info on the correct price to pay for a cab into the center, but the people passed out on broken benches inside the derelict looking terminal didn’t seem keen to serve as tourist information. Once the agreed upon price was haggled for, the driver laughed and gave a high five to his buddy giving us the impression that our bargaining skills may not have been as good as we thought. There isn’t much to do in Dar es Salaam, and even less on Sundays when everything shuts down and we were stuck with the futile task of trying to find a place to change money. With nothing open, we decided to change money with a man that approached us on the street. From the start, it all seemed rather dodgy. His rates were much better than the bank, and we had to wait while his friend ran behind a post to “get the money”. We were called over and he gave me a wad of fourteen 5,000 shilling notes to count. Taking my time, I held each up to the light to verify that they were real. Once I had checked them, he took the wad back and asked us to hold our fifty dollar bill up so he could check it while he bundled up the bills in an elastic (an obvious hint that something was not right). He took our fifty and handed me the elastic bundled wad, but as he did so I noticed that the outside bill was a purple 5,000 note, but all the inside bills had suddenly become green 500 shilling notes. I would have loved to watch a video reply of me snatching our fifty out of his hand while smacking away the money he was trying to give me. After a brief session of me yelling at him for trying to cheat us, we decided to quickly get out of there as it’s usually best to quit while ahead when dealing with criminals. Lesson learned.

A leisurely three hour ferry ride took us through the turquoise waters to the island of Zanzibar. Stone Town, once the center of the African slave trade, is the most interesting and exotic city we have visited in Africa. A twisting labyrinth of narrow alleyways lined with grandiose wooden doors make up the core of the town and bicycles and scooters swerved around us as we tried to find our way back to our hotel. Many corners open up into small courtyards where men sit around on stone benches drinking five cent cups of the best coffee I have tasted served by an old man with a kettle. It is a predominately Muslim area, and the city's 51 mosques can be heard belting out the call to prayer at 4:30am either waking me up, or strangely mixing in with my dreams. Women with only their eyes visible through black satin or beautiful sheer fabric sport intricate henna tattoos on their hands and often you could catch a glimpse of colourful fabrics peeking out from underneath.

Fresh seafood for sale

In the evening most tourists congregate on the balcony of the Africa House hotel, cold beer in hand, to watch the sun drop into the ocean. The view is spectacular, but for peace and relaxation, it pays to get there early. Once the sun nears the water, the balcony becomes packed with snap happy tourists trying for that perfect sunset shot. After the sun disappears, the market gets rolling, where all sorts of delicacies (and in our case on the third night a nasty stomach bug) can be bought for less than a dollar. Most tables are piled high with fresh seafood, all grilled while you wait. “Hello my friend! Let me show you what we have to offer” each vendor enthusiastically shouts as you walk by seemingly oblivious to the fact that each table sells the same thing. Octopus, calamari, barracuda, tuna, swordfish, marlin and practically anything else you can name is skewered and served with a salad. Our favorite was the Zanzibar Pizza. In record time, meat, vegetables, mayonnaise, cheese, and a raw egg is piled on top of a thin layer of dough, folded over, and thrown on the grill. The end result is more like a pancake/burger than a pizza, but absolutely delicious.

After a few days in Stone Town, we headed to Kendwa beach on the northern part of the island, the sweet smell of cloves filling the air. The white sand beach and picture perfect turquoise water made for one the most beautiful beaches we have visited on our trip. Snorkeling, diving, and lying on the beach are the prime activities and “hakuna matata” (no worries) is the attitude of the locals. I always liked that song from the Lion King, and loved the idea of hakuna matata, but after a couple days at Kendwa it was a phrase I began to loathe. A typical conversation would go like this:

Me: “Where’s my food…I ordered it two hours ago”
Waiter: “Hakuna Matata my friend”
Me: “No Hakuna Matata…I’m hungry. Everyone that ordered after me has gotten their food”
Waiter: “It works like a lottery here. You know how a lottery works don’t you?”
Me: “Yes I know how it works. Hurry up and get our food”
Waiter: “Hakuna Matata”

Zanzibar underwater

I lay on the bed of our 117th hotel room (not including countless nights spent on buses, planes, and trains) staring through the blue mesh of a mosquito net at the fan slowly, but noisily, rotating over my head thinking about the remaining months of travel. So far throughout the trip I would always be looking towards the next step with excitement. Now I just felt weary and couldn’t really get the same feelings I used to. All throughout our trip people would ask if after so long on the road we get sick of traveling. Up until that point, I could truthfully answer “No.” Now I wasn’t so sure. Our budget was getting stretched so thin that it would be a miracle if we were actually able to pull off lasting to our original return date of December 22. At this point, it came down to us only having enough to eat and get a hotel room and anything else would put us over budget. It had been close to fourteen months on the road and we were both starting to feel incredibly weary. So sitting at the most perfect beach in the world, we finally came to the conclusion that it was time to go home.

With mixed feelings we said goodbye to Africa and boarded a plane (actually three planes) bound for Ireland. Travel here had been both exciting and frustrating, but always rewarding and leaving it early would give us reason to return one day and do it properly on a bigger budget. With just one last stop to make on our world tour, it was hard to believe that it was almost at an end.

Click Here to see the photos

Posted by brett at September 23, 2006 02:01 AM

Comments

Posted by: Shawn at September 23, 2006 02:28 PM

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