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We are in Nungwi at the northern tip of Zanzibar Island in Tanzania, relaxing towards
the end of our month in East Africa. Nungwi is a fishing village turned holiday destination, and our week there
was a respite from the miles and miles of traveling that we’d done. This was a time for us to slowly stroll along
the beach, to stretch out on the sand and listen to endless waves pounding the shore, to sleep in as late as we
wanted to (not getting up before dawn for a game drive or bus ride), to watch the fishermen’s boats glide by offshore,
a time to make difficult decisions like, “Do we swim now, or do we read for awhile and swim later?” If this isn’t
paradise, then someone please take me “there” cause wherever it is, it must be someplace really, really special.
To get there we left Lushoto by bus to Dar es Salaam (about 6 hours), where we took a taxi to the port and bought
tickets from Seabus for their ferry ($40 each, including $5 port tax). The boat ride took about 90 minutes, and
was preceded by what could best be described as “organized pushing and shoving”. Before boarding women and men
were separated into two lines. First, the women were allowed to aggressively push and shove each other to get on,
and then the men. I’ve experienced some chaotic queuing in my life, but this free-for-all captured the prize hands
down. You would have thought that they’d told all those waiting to board that the first 25 people on the boat would
be awarded $1,000,000. Considering there were so many children in the two lines, it’s a miracle that no-one was
trampled to death!
When we reached the island we passed through immigration, since Zanzibar, even though a part of Tanzania, maintains
a certain degree of autonomy and insists on subjecting all visitors to passport control. We then paid a local man
about 15 cents to guide us through the maze of streets in Stone Town to the Malindi Guest House ($20 for dbl with
breakfast), where we enjoyed our breakfast the next morning on a terrace overlooking the fish market and its bustle
of activity. We then left for Nungwi, about 56 km away, via shuttle bus. Upon arriving we selected Amaans Bungalows,
and as we dropped our packs on the floor and flopped down on the beds we rejoiced at the thought that we would
be there for an entire week. For one week we would spend absolutely NO time bouncing around in a bus, truck or
van... eating dust! Time to just chill.
Our thatched-roof bungalow ($20 for dbl with breakfast) was located about 100 meters from the beach. It was simple,
but clean and comfortable, with shared bathrooms which were thoroughly scrubbed twice a day. The garden area out
front was filled with papaya trees, blooming flowers, and butterflys flittering around. Along the nearby beach
were several restaurants, each offering a daily menu of grilled fresh fish and seafood purchased from local fishermen,
as well as tree-ripened tropical fruit. Plus there were a few dive shops, some stalls selling crafts and souvenirs,
a small store and tourist information.
I’ve been on many superb beaches in my life and although I’m not willing to rate this one as absolutely number
one, it is certainly very high in the ranking. Who can complain about fine white sand, warm turquoise-colored water,
and gentle breezes wafting through the palm trees? I certainly found temperatures that hovered around 30 degrees
C (high 80s F) to my liking. Within a few meters walk is plenty of liquid refreshment, just in case you’ve worked
up a big sweat doing absolutely nothing. In the evenings we enjoyed our candle-lit dinners while looking out at
a riveting sunset, our chairs either directly on the sandy beach or on a veranda.
Walking along the shore in one direction are clumps of mangroves, amazing rock formations carved up by eons of
thundering waves, and hordes of crabs, either clinging to rocks or scurrying around and quickly burrowing into
the sand when approached. There’s no problem finding a quiet spot with privacy, but you’re wise to leave your valuables
behind and not walk alone. (Yet another travel advisory!)
Boat building has gone on in Nungwi for generations, and as you walk the beach the other way you’ll find sail boats,
called dhows, in various stages of development, as well as many anchored in the water. As fishing boats bring in
their catch, women wearing the typical brightly-colored sarongs wade out into the surf with pails, collecting the
fish. A local man showed off his catch of the day, red snapper and kingfish, proudly informing us, “Good fish...
fresh, not frozen!” Here and there, little kids tore off their clothes and plunged into the surf, screaming with
glee. Continuing on, there’s both a lighthouse and Mnarani Aquarium, where for about $2 you can view sea turtles
swimming and feeding in a natural setting. There’s also a simple village we explored, houses primarily made from
stone, rather than sticks and mud as we had seen elsewhere. At times children came by selling coconuts or seashells.
We wanted to photograph everything and everyone as there were golden opportunities galore, but when it comes to
taking pictures of the people, don’t even ask. It is disliked, even from afar. A traveler we met there told us
she’d been scolded by some local women for simply walking around with her camera draped around her neck. Heide
tried to discreetly get a shot of an offshore dhow, but when she raised her camera a man on the boat waved her
away. I’m such a knucklehead I thought he was cordially waving to us and I enthusiastically waved back to him.
Duh!
One day we paid $20 each to go out on a snorkling boat. Joined by five others we headed off in the morning to Mnemba
Island, about an hour’s ride away in our home-made, but outboard powered craft. The island itself contains an exclusive
resort ($500/night/person!), but we dropped anchor offshore over coral reefs in water about 3 to 4 meters deep,
and everyone but yours truly spent a leisurely hour underwater checking out the plant life and brightly colored
fish. I no longer wear contact lenses, and I’m too near-sighted to snorkle without glasses, so instead I just relaxed
and enjoyed a heavenly swim in the spectacular, warm waters of the Indian Ocean. Apparantly dolphins occasionally
pay a visit... but not that day.
Later an outrigger canoe came up with a couple of guys spearfishing, towing their catch behind them. Our guide
Diego bought some fish and cleaned them on the bow of our boat. This, we later discovered, would be our lunch as
we eventually pulled anchor and headed to a deserted stretch of beach where we waded ashore. As we sat in a thatched-roof
hut, one of our companions mumbled something about Robinson Crusoe, and then someone else asked if anybody’d seen
Tom Hanks in “Castaway”. I must admit that I contemplated what life might be like marooned in a place such as this,
an idyllic setting if there ever was one. Toes buried in the sand, we smacked our lips devouring red snapper and
grouper, smoked to perfection, accompanied by freshly-made chapatis. And for dessert - all the succulent sweet
mango we could gorge ourselves on.
There are several other places of interest on Zanzibar Island: spice plantations, small equatorial forests including
Jozani Forest, which is a nature preserve for the rare red colobus monkey; the Mbeweni Palace ruins of Arab design;
the Mvuleni ruins from Portuguese times and Shirazi Dimbani Mosque, which dates from 1107. There are also several
neighboring islands, such as nearby Changuu Island which is also known as Prison Island since it housed “recalcitrant”
slaves in the 19th century. Then there’s Uzi Island in the south where automatic weapons are manufactured under
license for sale to Israel (I am totally joking, but there IS an island with that name.). Ras Kizimkazi are waters
off the southern tip where there’s a fairly good chance you can view or even swim with spinner dolphins, common
dolphins and False Killer Whales. But we were quite content to stay right where we were... just chilling.
But finally our stay in paradise was coming to an end and it was time to start the long journey back to Nairobi,
first by returning to Stone Town. I approached a young man sitting in a shuttle bus near the bungelows regarding
possible travel arrangements. A week prior, we’d taken a bus to Nungwi for 3000 Tsh ( about $3.25) each, but later
discovered that others had made the same trip for as little as half of what we’d paid. So I asked if he would take
us for 2,500 Tsh each, or 5,000 Tsh total, and leave at 8:30 the next morning. We felt this was a very reasonable
offer, and he instantly agreed to it. So the next morning we met him there, and after confirming the pre-arranged
price we headed off with our driver, a different man. Upon arriving we handed the driver 5000 Tsh, plus a small
tip.
“But the cost is 25,000!” he quickly informed us.
“Excuse me, but that is definitely NOT what was agreed upon. It was 2,500 Tsh each, and 5,000 Tsh total... we would
be insane to pay 25,000!” Well, we went around and around with this guy and since we were absolutely sure about
what the understanding had been with the other man, we adamantly refused to pay any more. We then stored our backpacks
for the day at the hotel we had stayed at a week prior and left to explore Stone Town. But when we returned later
both of the men were awaiting us, and the discussion resumed. We were clear about what had been agreed to, but
in an effort to finally resolve the matter we tried to get them to accept that it was a “shared misunderstanding”,
and to compromise on a cost somewhere in the middle. Fat chance!
They threatened to take us to the police but Heide called their bluff, pointing out how they’d get no new business
if they spent all afternoon sitting around in a police station. At the same time we knew that if we did end up
at the authorities we would also be wasting our valuable time, and in addition, the police, who seldom speak English,
would probably side with them... possibly for a slice of the profit. So as we continued to sit and argue in the
steaming hot bus, and they kept insisting on driving us to the cops, we eventually ended up paying them almost
20,000 Tsh just to get the ordeal over with! Ouch! Another painful lesson learned: write down everything agreed
upon!
Historically Zanzibar is best known for slave trading, the export of ivory and the growing of spices, especially
cloves. From as early as the 8th century, Arab traders impacted the culture and religion, and under Omani Arabs
in the 19th century as many as 50,000 slaves passed through the market each year up until the end of WWI. Omani
sultans continued to rule under a British protectorate until independeance was gained in 1963. What is commonly
referred to as Zanzibar Island is also known as Unguja, and its port and main city is actually Zanzibar Town, but
is also often called Stone Town by many. In fact, Stone Town is only an area within Zanzibar Town. Did you get
all that, or did I lose you?
We liked Stone Town, a World Heritage site, and enjoyed strolling through its web of narrow alleyways filled with
cafes, market stalls and tiny shops. As you might expect, the architecture there is heavily Arab-influenced with
mosques and bazaars, plus there are former colonial mansions with overhanging balconies and magnificently carved
brass-studded doors, along with whitewashed coral-rag houses. There are several parks and shady squares graced
with old trees, some of them massive. There are also many “sites”, such as the Old Fort, the Beit-el-Ajaib (House
of Wonders), Beit-al-Sahel (People’s Palace), the Na Sur Nurmohamed Dispensary and the Museum which occupies two
buildings. But we were happy to just wander the winding lanes, exploring the shops and gawking at everything.
Later we walked up a spiraling wrought-iron staircase to the terrace of the Africa House Hotel, where we could
look out over the harbor and beach and watch the setting sun while sipping a cold beverage. There, while Heide
walked around finishing up her shopping, I spent some time chatting with Hiyari, an amicable 22-year-old waiter
who works there. Hiyari shared with me that his goal is to get a degree in hotel management. “But my family doesn’t
have much money and they count on me to help feed them... so here I am,” he lamented. “What can I do?” This is
a dilemma facing many young people in Africa who are “trying to break the cycle of poverty and despair”, as it’s
aptly referred to. We had a long, very enjoyable conversation, and through it all Hiyari displayed a firm resolve
that he must not and would not give up his dream. Let’s hope not.
We had a tasty dinner at Mercury’s, named after Freddie himself, of Queen fame. Born Farokh Bulsara in Stone Town,
he left at the age of nine and never returned. But if, like me, you’ve ever wondered what the hell “Bismillah will
you let him go?” from Bohemian Rhapsody means, “bismillah” means “the word of God” in the Islamic faith and became
a rallying cry for Muslim groups pressing for Zanzibar to break away from Tanzania. (Don’t you just love all the
tasty little trivia I provide you with? You can thank me later after you’ve used it to win some big money on a
bet.)
We departed the island via an overnight ferry with Flying Horse back to Dar es Salaam, which was a very smart move.
Costing only half the normal ferry ($20 each) and saving us the cost and hassle of getting a hotel in Dar, we arrived
at 6 am after a noisy night on the boat, and then immediately headed by taxi to the bus station and the first of
two successive full days on buses back to Nairobi. We were concluding our one month trip with four tough days of
travel, and in retrospect we wished that we’d budgeted in and scheduled a flight from Zanzibar to Nairobi instead...
less wear and tear on us at the end for sure.
I now submit to you that Swahili, the common language of East Africa, is the coolest language on the planet. It
just plain sounds cool...even the name of it, Swahili, is fun to say...much more so than English, Japanese, French,
German or Serbo-Croatian, for instance. In an earlier On the Road, I spoke about “baraka”, which means “blessing”.
Let’s check out a few other words and phrases in Swahili and compare them in English, German and French, and you
tell me which ones are the coolest, ok?
- Hello, guten Tag, bonjour, or… jambo?
- Thank you, danke, merci, or… asante?
- Goodbye, auf Wiedersehen, au revoir, or... kwaheri?
- Please, bitte, s’il vous plait, or… tafadhali?
Don’t you think it’s a lot more fun to say “habari“ than “how are you“? And wouldn’t you rather hear “karibu”,
instead of just plain old “welcome”? But my favorite expression in Swahili is “hakuna matata”, which means ”no
problem”. Everywhere you go in East Africa, especially Tanzania, you hear “hakuna matata”... that, and “pole, pole”
(pronounced “pola, pola”, which means “slowly, slowly”. It’s all about an attitude towards life, as if to say “take
it easy...don’t worry, be happy!” It reminded me a lot of being in the Bahamas with their constant response of,
“No problem... mon!”. I like that approach to life, having lived for so long in America and now living in Germany,
where it’s easy and common to become owned by a busy schedule, or where common day-to-day events can so easily
get blown out of proportion, trivial problems sometimes turning into major traumatic crises, “Oh my God... there’s
a scratch on my Mercedes! How can life ever go on!?!”
Of course there always is another side to the story. For instance, when you buy a bus ticket you’re emphatically
told that you must show up 15 to 30 minutes before the bus is scheduled to depart. Come on, give me a break! One
time when we did this, at 5:45 in the morning for a 6 am bus, the bus driver himself showed up at 6:30! “Hakuna
matata... pole, pole”...right? No form of public transportation we traveled on EVER came close to leaving on time,
and even a so-called “super luxury” bus (where you might expect a higher standard of punctuality) left one hour
late. But apparently this is SOP (standard operating procedure).
SOP is for stores and banks to view “opening/closing times” as merely a rough estimate of when you might actually
expect to find them open for business. In restaurants, SOP is to receive your meal about an hour to an hour-and-a-half
after ordering it... the record for us was 2 ½ hours. I eventually suggested to Heide that maybe it wasn’t
such a great idea for us to wait until we were hungry before going to a restaurant. I’m convinced that once you
place your order, the chef then runs... no, let’s make that strolls, saunters, ambles or meanders out to a market
to try and buy the necessary ingredients... and I am totally serious about this! And we also discovered that a
menu is not, in reality, what is actually available to eat, but rather a random hypothetical listing of what is
remotely possible under the best of all theoretical circumstances.
Africa unashamably subjects you to its own time scale, whether you like it or not. Patience is not so much a virtue
there, it’s more an expectation and necessity demanded of you. Those of us who have embraced Western ways for most
or all of our lives become confronted with a radically altered concept of efficiency and urgency. This can be either
maddening or immensely freeing, depending on your point of view at the time. It certainly can provide you with
more time to take in your surroundings and to reflect on one’s priorities. But if you’re not in a reflective mood
at the time, it’s sure nice to have a good book handy!
Our primary way of getting around Tanzania was on buses and our experience on them was most unpleasant, so much
so that it actually got to the point where we dreaded getting on them again. But having said they were so unpleasant,
it is hard for me now to directly put my finger on exactly why it is that they seemed almost unbearable at the
time. To be fair I must say the buses were quite clean, none of the windows were broken, the seats were adequate,
and the staff, although not always the most truthful, usually tried to be helpful. In fact they were more than
happy to supply a “barf bag” to an older lady sitting directly behind us, unfortunately too late for her sake...
and ours!
The road from Arusha to Dar is notorious for accidents, which I can personally vouch for having spotted three trucks
and a bus along the road either overturned or on their side, no doubt with serious consequences to their occupants.
And just why it is so dangerous is not too difficult to figure out when you watch bus drivers pass other vehicles
with reckless abandon and attack curves in the road with the zeal and confidence of a formula-one race car driver.
So the lengthy travel time between destinations is not due to slow driving, I can assure you of that.
What makes bus traveling so slow are the late departures, delays at the bus stations and the fact that they pull
over at just about every wide place on the road to let passengers get on or off. At one of these stops we also
collected about 15 very unhappy goats which were subsequently stuffed into the baggage compartment. In addition
to livestock, “baggage” often consisted of other items probably better suited to a tractor trailer: huge bags of
produce, charcoal and firewood; cases of water, beer and soda; and in one case, several crates of bibles. And how
to cram all of this stuff into the compartments, along with suit cases and our backpacks, took an interminable
amount of head-scratching and debate amongst staff.
And everywhere we stopped there were hordes of people, including children, sprinting up to and swarming around
the buses feverishly trying to sell everything imaginable, from the helpful beverages and foods, to watches, clothing
and footware, sun glasses, picture frames, mirrors, toiletries... you name it! One kid even tried to sell me a
soccer ball! I immediately thought, “Finally...vat long last... just what I’ve REALLY been needing on my travels
in Africa... a soccer ball!”
But we’d both had our share of slow buses traveling in other countries in the past, so once again the question
arises, why was traveling on them so unpleasant? Could it be the constant loud music? Clearly, that make it worse!
I think there’s some kind of conspiracy against silence in Africa. We noticed that there always seemed to be music
blaring almost everywhere we went, and abysmal speakers were no deterrent to maximum decibal levels. Most of the
African music was great, but unfortunately for my tastes, rap and hip-hop have made their mark on the artists and
listeners there, and my nerves eventually got seriously frayed listening for six to eight deafening hours to the
likes of Snoop Dogg and Puff Daddy... or is it Snoop Daddy and Puff Dog?
On our way back to Kenya we decided to try and upgrade our buses, so from Dar to Moshi, we opted to go with Dar
Express hoping it would be faster and quieter. But unfortunately it ended up being just as slow and there was still
the same loud, shitty music - for more money! So on our last bus journey from Moshi to Nairobi we paid even more
money to Scandinavia Express for a “super luxury” express bus. It was newer and cosmetically more high-tech, and
they handed out bottled water and bon-bons. But there was no promised air-conditioning, neither of us got a window
seat, it was absolutely no faster whatsoever, and instead of shitty music there was a shitty Steven Seagal movie!
Ok... so let’s get to the bottom line here. Taken as separate issues, most of what’d been wearing on us and making
us actually eager to get back home after a month there were not really that “unbearable” in and of themselves.
I have more than tolerated far slower and less dependable buses in India, dirtier bathrooms in Thailand, water
just as undrinkable in Mexico, more and bigger mosquitos in Alaska, even more heart-breaking poverty in India and
Nepal, more reckless drivers in Turkey, more obnoxious touts in Morocco, louder music in Spain, roads almost as
bad in Poland, more dangerous streets in many U.S. cities, and worse food in England. And Bhutan was far more expensive!
But it was everything all combined together, so intense and relentless, day in and day out, constantly weighing
on us and distracting us, that made it so stressful and difficult at times. It was just sooooooo much of everything!
This brings us to the question of how best to travel in East Africa? We took the budget, backpacker’s route. That’s
our style and that reflects our bank accounts too. No doubt if we had jet-setted around, the traveling would have
been easier, somewhat safer, and a hell of a lot faster. And we still could have met Maasai warriors and seen the
“Big Five”, the beaches and landscapes, Kilimanjaro, and all the other “sights”. One could certainly rent a vehicle
and get around more quickly and simply. No doubt paying top dollar for upscale accomodation would have been much
more comfortable and convenient too... maybe even had toilets that actually flushed! So you could do all that and
I sure as heck wouldn’t pass any judgement on you if you did... more power to you if you can afford it.
Some people like organized, structured tours where the hassles of making arrangements and getting around are handled
for them and there’s added safety in numbers. For them, that can easily be done. But I cannot picture myself being
herded around in a pack, and I also know that I would have missed many memorable, though admittedly difficult,
experiences had we traveled that way. And there’s more than one kind of price to pay for this way of traveling.
For instance, instead of sitting around the campfire having great chats with Africans, I probably would have been
in some artificially contrived lodge, stuck with some pot-bellied old fart bending my ear about “the gross injustices
of the anti-trust suit against Microsoft Corp.”, or subjecting me to endless snapshots of his 8,000 sq.ft. custom-built
estate in Escondido, California. All this, while showing off his “I Saw the Big Five” teeshirt every few minutes!
Ugh... no thanks.
So we did what we did, and we came back safe and sound to share all about it and to show amazing photos to everyone
who has the endurance to get through them all (caffeine helps). And we learned a great deal about two remarkable
countries and their people, and we also learned a lot about ourselves. Africa clearly has a way of dramatically
and unapologetically imposing its own pace and way of life on those who venture there, and going through it all
I definitely gained greater insights into “my attachments and addictions to comfort and convenience”, and into
what pushes my limits of tolerance and patience. I think it’s hard to attach a value to that. Wasn’t it Nietzche
who said, “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”? Or was it Puff Daddy?
Africa is a very unique and special place, and absolutely astonishing! Let’s face it - where else can you go and
do what we did and see what we saw? But is it worth all the challenges? In retrospect I can now honestly say yes...
absolutely yes. Since returning, I’ve been asked a few times if I would ever return to Africa and the answer is,
“Well, maybe... ok, probably yes. But before I do return, I’d like to go somewhere else first that’s a little less
challenging, maybe Crete or Rome.” But, probably yes.
Once again... thanks for coming along for the ride.
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