Travels in Africa #5 - Tanzania Part 1

This is continued from Kenya part 3.

The Jumbo Inn greeted us nicely and we quickly showered off the previous two days of dirt and grime before heading out in search of food.

Tanzania's religious mix contains about 30% Muslims. After a brief exploration within a 10 minute walking radius of our hotel we settled down to a felafel platter at a Muslim restaurant. It hit the spot just right. Exhausted, we decided against any further exploration. Without Blackberry service in Tanzania, we spent an hour at the internet cafe keeping loved ones apprised of our well being and ensuring we weren't overdrawing our bank accounts. From there it was with great pleasure that we went to sleep before 10pm.

The ferry from Dar es Salaam to the island of Zanzibar was only a short 2 hours. Halfway during the journey
I stepped out to the back of the ferry to catch a few rays of sun. Splashes of the Indian Ocean cooled my hand with its spray. Robert joined me shortly thereafter and we laughed about all that we'd been through to get to where we were. It was rewarding, surely, but we still had a ways to go.

Zanzibar, part of Tanzania, is actually 99% Muslim. Many of the women on the ferry were covered with colorful dress. Nevertheless, when we exit the ferry and cleared Zanzibar immigration (I'm still confused as to why we needed to immigrate to an island presided over by the nation we'd already immigrated into) the touts were waiting for us. From taxis to hotels to spice tours to water safaris these guys could get it for us.

We'd already agreed on a new philosphy of dealing with these guys: the silent treatment. Neither politely talking to them nor sarcastically conversing with them ever led to anything productive. Deadpan silence between both of us as well as to the touts would hopefully express our lack of desire to deal with them. And, as we trekked past them it seemed as if our new philosophy was intent on working.

We stopped inside the offices of a few airline carriers and travel agents to see what it would cost for us to fly from Zanzibar to Arusha, where we'll gather to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, on the 1st of the year. Burnt from the events we lived through to get us to the island, we were eager to maximiaze our time on it. That said, we weren't so devastated by our trip that we wanted to pay $150 each to avoid a lengthy return trip.

From the offices we walked through some of the narrow streets of Stone Town, Zanzibar's only city. Like the Trastavere part of Rome, many of the streets of Stone Town are too small for cars and wind in ways that can easily render those unfamiliar lost in no time. We slithered through the streets, admiring the small shops below many of the residential quarters above us. The three story buildings so narrowly separated kept the sun from beating in. Eventually we settled in for lunch at an Indian Vegetarian restaurant.

Eager to catch a bus to the eastern part of the island, the food seemed to take particularly long to be served. We walked outside after eating and admired the turquoise blue waters of the harbor we'd entered just a couple of hours earlier.

The normal confusion ensued when we walked to the bus station on the other side of town. We were spotted as targets looking for a bus and there were countless people interested in being our "fren" and leading us to the right bus. Normally we can easily figure it out on our own, as was the case today. Nevertheless, as we handed our bags to the "helper" to load onto the roof covering the bed of the truck we were going to ride in, one guy insisted we give him money. We found a spot on the bench seats, directly behind the driver's cabin, facing out the back of the truck, and ignored the tout's pleas.

At first this island cousin of the mainland's matatu seemed like a pleasant surprise. The back was covered but the sides were open to allow the island breeze to relieve us from the thick, humid air. However, as they continued to pile more and more people into the back of the truck it became apparent that it was merely a wolf in sheep's clothing.

There was a Canadian couple on board and as we got pushed closer and closer together we joked about the number of people they continued to push in. Things were muttered in Swahili, but I doubt if many of them were complaints - this was just a part of life. It was a bit frustrating not to be able to see much of the scenery along the hour and a half ride to the island's eastern side. We could see all of the people in the large truck bed as well as the handful of guys hanging off the back, however.

Similar to Stripey and Claw 9's work on the bus, periodically throughout the relatively short ride the driver would pound on the window just behind Robert and I. He would then slow and all of the guys hanging off the back would jump off and casually walk behind the truck. Lo and behold, within a minute we would be stopped at a small police check point, looking out at five guys trying to act as if they'd just casually been walking down a road with nothing but trees on either side of it. There was defintiely no way the cops didn't know what was going on, so it must have just been an exercise in formalities.

Eventually we got a bit of relief to our sleeping legs and butts when we unloaded half of the bus in Paje. We were continuing on a few kilometers north of Paje. We were able to see the beautiful color of the water and the white sands abutting it. The truck continued on maneuvering through very small sand roads. It seemed as if every time we stopped the helpers would unload a month's supply of staple foods from the roof. It was a Saturday, the one just prior to the New Year at that, and people must've gone to Stone Town to stock up.

When we finally reached the last stop we were greeted by an east island tout. We wern't exactly sure where we were going, but let hinm lead us 15 minutes down the small village road to a stretch of accommodations. He must have gotten the biggest kickback from a budget spot called Shells. There were a few others we passed, but during the period between Christmas and New Year's they promised to be either full, expensive or both.

Shells only had a dilapidated room that people were working on when we arrived. Our tout had told us rooms were $30, but I whipped into fierce negotiation mode and let it be clear that I was unwilling to pay any more than $20 for the night. The room was barely worth $5 between the two uf us, but I was willing to part with the rest due to its location. The guys were hesitant to agree upon it and pulled out a new stop I'd yet to see. One of them got on his mobile phone and "called the owner.". The owner conferred with their last offer, which was $25. I politely told them that it was more than the room was worth to me amd began walking away. By the time we'd made it five steps from the property we were summoned back. Apparently the owner had called back and changed his mind.

Unfortunately the beach on the eastern side of the island was protected by a reef system a kilometer off the coast rendering the water very shallow from the beach to the reef. Fortunately, however, the water was very beautiful.

Riding our negotiation high from the room, we talked down the price of a couple of bikes from our tout. Though I was extremely beat still, we biked into a light headwind towards a lagoon that promised swimming and snorkeling. Along the 6km ride we realized that much of the beach front property was lined with vacation properties. Thankfully the architecture of the small buildings blended with the natural surroundings. There weren't the gigantic high rises you find in may resort destinations.

The lagoon was next to a pier that was surely built by the all inclusive resort there. We were able to head in and get a refreshing feel of the salty waters of the Indian Ocean. If I'm not mistaken, this was my first time in the Indian Ocean! The water felt great and we chided ourselves for not splurging an extra $4 each for snorkeling gear. As we swam about under the early evening sky we noticed people were jumping from the pier. Always ones for adventure, we swam over to join in.

The pier was cool but kind of strange. There weren't many people on it, but we did strike up a conversation with a woman from Seattle whose husband and daughter were jumping from the pier. They were on the "trip of a lifetime," which saw them visit about 6 or 7 National Parks while on Safari and then flying to Zanzibar to be picked up by a private shuttle and plopped on a beach. It was hard to imagine getting to where we were without doing many of the things we'd been through. We were in Africa to see and meet and interact with Africans. Granted Robert and I are in our late twenties and early thirties, respectively, and we're traveling without a teenage daughter, but there just seemed to be something inherently dissapointing about the fact that this family would think of Africa as a paradise because by and large they'd been served by Africans instead of traveling with them. This philosophy is why I'd rather climb a mountain to catch a view of the surrounding beauty than drive up a road to the parking lot just shy of the peak. All of that said, it was obvious that the family was nice and enjoying their time and surely being courteous to those showing them around East Africa.

It was after 6pm when we started biking back. We tracked down at the small restaurant attached to the bungaloes at the property next door and then struggled to stay awake. I laid on a tightly strung cot made of yarn under the gaze of a three-quarters full moon. The refreshing breeze cascade over my body and I relaxed into a brief sleep. The locals and many of the people staying in a few of the adjoining properties were planning a bonfire, and as exciting as that sounded, I opted for a full night's sleep.

As I lay on my bed with the sound of ocean outside my window I realized that $20 may have been a bit much for the room. The thin foam mattress did very little to protect me from the slats of the cheap bed frame. I thought of going to take the cot I was lying on outside, but by that time I'm sure the bonfire attendees were using it.

The night passed with quite a few disturbances: bongos around the bonfire, a dripping shower, a mosquito net which seemed to do a better job of holding mosquitoes in than preventing them from getting in, and a window shutter that kept slamming shut. Nevertheless, exhaustion prevailed and I was startled awake by my 6am alarm. It was time to see the sun rise.

It's always fascinating to me how quickly the sun actually ascends. If you're afforded a clear view of the top of the sphere as it breaks the plane of the horizon, it's only a moment or two later that the bottom joins the rest of the sun above the distant line separating ground from sky. The huge orange ball sat in clear view for a moment before predominantly disappearing behind the cloudy sky.

We sought out breakfast at the Evergreen Resort a few doors down. We were the first ones up but as we drank coffee and I traded Robert my egg for his toast many of the families begun to emerge. Many of their children were eager to play on the beach and in the shallow water.

At 9am we were greeted by a driver who was taking us to a dive center at Jambiani Beach, south of Paje. Our tout had secured us a spot diving with this center after we'd found out all of the spots through the small dive center associated with Evergreen had ben filled. Robert, the more experienced diver among us quizzed the dive master and received satisfactory answers. Though the tout helping us had been friendly and quite good, we had a small fear that he could be sending us out with someone without sufficient qualifications.

The small resort the dive center was attached to was quite ncomfortable and our dive master was a friendly lifetime resident of Zanzibar. Although his English was a tad hard to understand at times, his animated demeanor had a soothing quality.

After we'd paid and met our diving companions, a couple from Johannesburg, Robert gave me a quick refresher of the simple scuba signals and the operation of the gear we'd be using. It was four years ago to the month that I was certified in Egypt. The expense and lack of oppotortunity had prevented me from going back under the water. When you've got so many hobbies that require gear and fees and transportation to get to them, you have to pick and choose those you partake in.

As the dive master and the captain of the small boat got all of their things together we were joined by another couple. These two were German and in their mid-forties. The man plopped himself down and began treading around a tricky situation. It turns out that the scuba company didn't have enough tanks on hand to outfit 7 divers (the German couple, the South African couple, Robert, myself and the dive master) for two separate dives. They only had 12 tanks. The South Africans who'd dived the other day offered to only enter the water once.

By 11am we were on our way to the boat, which we enetered just off shore in front of the hotel. We set off amd the low horsepower motor pushed us out towards the reef. The winds made for choppy seas, and the further we got out the bigger waves made for a few seasick feelings among us. Luckily no one lost their breakfast, but we were all feeling it. Before too long we were helping people get their gear on and they were dumping into the water.

Being in the water soothed everyone's stomachs a bit. As we waited for the dive master to enter the water I felt a bit of anxiousness about the dive. I felt as if I was partaking in something very safe and was thankful to have multiple experienced divers in our group, but it'd been quite a bit of time since I last dove.

To be continued...