Stone
Town-
Is
this real life? That’s the thought that went through my head repeatedly
throughout my week in Zanzibar…
My
trip started with a farewell as George and I shared a taxi to the airport; oh,
how I will miss her. It also started with the rather thick headed mistake of
putting an aerosol sunscreen can in my backpack (I had no checked luggage) and
having my bag rummaged through, resulting in its removal, making me feel like a
rookie traveller; which I certainly am not.
I
flew from Entebbe to Kilimanjaro to Dar Es Salaam, where I met up with Laura,
then on to Zanzibar and my flights were fabulous; nice small plane, hot tea
that actually tasted good, a packet of cashews, a rainbow in the clouds and
plenty of turbulence, especially during the descent; it was like a roller
coaster ride that I wanted to do over and over again. To top it off, I met an
older Australian couple named Trevor and Wendy who had been in Uganda for a
couple months and were ending their stay with a stop in Zanzibar. As they had
yet to book any accommodation, I invited them to join Laura and I at the
Pyramid Hotel in Stone Town as I had already arranged a pick up from the
airport and, given that it’s low season, I was sure they’d have an available room.
Not
only did it work out wonderfully that Trevor and Wendy came with us to the
hotel, but the place was amazing; 4 stories including the rooftop terrace, all
accessed by a tightly turning staircase including a section that would have
been more accurately described as a ladder. It was a bit after 7pm and we
hadn’t eaten, so after we’d settled and gotten a good solid lesson on how to
avoid getting your purse snatched by two local gentlemen at reception, we
weaved our way through the alleys back to town paying close attention so as not
to get lost on our way back. We ended up at this neat pace called “Mercury’s”,
right on the beach, and ate pizza while listening to the waves and live
musicians playing middle-eastern style music. Side note, I had no idea that Queen’s
Freddie Mercury was born in Zanzibar; given name, Farrokh Bulsara. Fortunately, Trevor and Wendy ended up at the same place so we
were able to walk back with them; walking through the somewhat creepy, dimly
lit alleys, just the two of us, was something we were open to avoiding.
The
next morning, we met up with our new friends on the terrace for our
complimentary breakfast and made plans for the day. They had already inquired
with reception about enlisting a guide for a short walking tour of the city, so
we decided to tag along. He met us outside the hotel and for the next 2 hours,
we explored the main market (including a fish auction), the old fort, a park
built along the boardwalk by the water, the place where the slave trade was
conducted and where there is now an old church that was built as a sort of
memorial just after the slave trade was abolished. There were many aspects to
the church that pointed towards the things that occurred there including an
inlaid piece of red granite-type stone at the front of the church which
symbolized blood and a small round circle of white inlaid within that to
symbolize the whipping post that once stood in that very spot. We also spent a
good amount of time wandering through the network of alleyways peeking into
what seemed like an endless amount of curio shops along the way. The alleys
were all rather narrow, flanked by 3 or 4 story buildings, all aging stone and
the air was constantly filled with the smell in incense and spices. It was
definitely strange to be there and be such a tourist as I haven’t felt that way
in Jinja for a long time.
Once
the tour was complete, we got chicken and chips for lunch at a kiosk in the
park by the water before parting ways for the afternoon. Apart from needing to
use the bathroom, Laura and I wanted to cool off a bit in our air-conditioned
room (as we were literally dripping with sweat) before heading back out to
explore. As we were making our way back through the maze of alleys to our
hotel, we were stopped short as we turned a corner to find a group of about 7
Tanzanian police officers and a small handful of young men in the midst of a
tense situation. To get to our hotel, the only way was through and since the
situation seemed contained for the moment and there were other people that were
walking through them, we pushed aside our hesitation and carried on. Just as I
had made it to the other side of the small courtyard, I heard a commotion
behind me and before I even had time to turn around, someone body-checked me
into the wall. Whether an officer or an accused, I don’t know, but it became
clear very quickly that someone had tried to escape and the last thing I saw
was 3 policemen with batons taking him down in the alley before Laura and I got
the heck out of there. Our hotel was just down from where this all happened
and, Sahiba, the sweet lady at reception who may have seen what happened
apologized for the disturbance and explained it had something to do with a
crackdown on drug addicts who had been caught stealing purses to finance their
next fix. The fact that that man was so outnumbered yet still attempted to run
makes me wonder what detainment leads to in that country. We were both a little
rattled, but we carried on and spent a couple more hours wandering the city before
enjoying an ice cream by the water and going back to our room to shower and
spend some time reading, drinking spiced tea, on the terrace just as the sun
began to set.
Thing
I love about this city? The architecture, the aged look of the buildings, the
history and the Arabian flare; this place had a such a strange and wonderful
mixture of African, Indian and Arabic culture with women in Burkas sharing the
streets with Maasai warriors dressed in traditional garb and the combination
was really quite beautiful.
Things
I dislike? Aggressive vendors, overly friendly men who follow you around making
rude comments and asking all sorts of questions and the fact that unless we
were in our hotel, neither Laura or I felt 100% safe.
After
a day such as that, with the heat and the altercation, we were certainly
looking forward to our 9:30am taxi to Kwenda, on the northwestern tip of the
island, and the beach that awaited us. But not before going out on last time to
locate some dinner.
The
sun was just going down as we walked along the water, silhouetting the mass
amounts of boats anchored near the shore, from small wooden canoes and
Tanzanian dhows to luxury yachts; an interesting contrast. The shore and the
boardwalk became livelier as the light faded; tourists and locals taking in the
sight, boys playing soccer in a small patch of sand and a large group of young
men crowding a large retaining wall where they all took turns jumping into the
water. Each boy tried to out-do the next by diving and twisting and belly
flopping with increased extravagance.
Each
night at about 7, the park near the boardwalk becomes a night market filled
with tables of all sorts of foods, from bread and fruit to all sorts of meat,
plus samosas and falafels and many other creative creations; some made fresh in
front of your eyes. At the beckoning of those that oversaw them, we perused a
number of tables before sitting down on a stone bench with a plate full of
fresh fruit and some coconut naan bread.
The
only thing more staggering then the variety of meat you could get on a stick
was the number of stray cats that came out to enjoy the bits that people left
behind. As good as it looked and smelled, we had been told to avoid the meat during
low season given that the turn over isn’t what it usually is. I wasn’t going to
test that theory as armed with that tidbit of information, my neurotic little brain
would have had me nauseous regardless of its quality.
But
all-in-all, it was a great atmosphere; tourists and locals eating together,
steam rising and the constant sizzle of the cookers and everyone happy with
their full bellies.
We
went home satisfied and settled in for an early night; sadly early actually.
When we were showered and changed and in bed to journal and read, I looked at
my watch and discovered that it was only 8:30. And to make matters worse, we
bumped into our elderly friends on the way back to the hotel where we were
informed that they were just coming from happy hour at Mercury’s, were headed
for dinner at a swanky place called Monsoon and would then be heading to
Livingston’s for some live music; talk about feeling old. To be fair, our
apprehension to stay out late was partly due to our uneasiness about wandering
the streets alone at night, but I’m pretty sure we were lights out before
they’d even finished dinner.
Part II (& pictures) to follow...
