Thursday, July 25 and Friday, July 26
Stonetown, Zanzibar: Malindi Guest House
We'd arranged to have Mr. Chimbeni pick us up on our return from Chumbe to take us on a spice tour. Before we left Stonetown, though, we stopped at the Old Slave Market and the neighboring Anglican Church. Zanzibar has a dark side as well, with a long history of slave trading, particularly to Arab and other African nations. The only part of the slave market that has been preserved are the rooms where slaves were kept before being sold. The two rooms (one for men, and the other for women and children) are in the basement, have very low ceilings, and have one small window in each room. The guide tells us that the rooms were extremely overcrowded, people were chained or shackled, and sewer water ran into the floor of the building. The rooms were intentionally built to increase the slaves' suffering, so that only the strong would survive and make it to market. We then went next door to the Anglican Church, which was built on the site of the slave market. There are several red marble tiles in the floor that mark the actual spot slaves were sold and are meant to symbolize the blood that was spilled there.
After this sobering visit, we head out for our spice tour. The spice farms are not working farms, but are set up for tourists. Still, it's interesting to see where so many different spices come from. We see a wide variety of spices being grown -- cardamom, clove, nutmeg, cinnamon, black pepper, turmeric, and lemongrass, among others. In addition to telling us all about the spices, our guide makes us some gifts out of palm and pineapple leaves. Randy gets a hat and glasses, my mom gets a purse, and I get a lovely necklace. We then go over to a palm grove, where we watch a local guy climb an incredibly tall tree in no time flat, singing at the top of his lungs the whole way up. He brings down a couple of coconuts that they break open so we can drink the milk and eat the coconut.
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| Randy's new hat and glasses | Mom's new purse | Climbing for coconuts |
Mr. Chimbeni turns out to be a minor celebrity in Zanzibar, and everywhere we go with him people know him. He's even referred to by a couple of people as the "Bill Cosby of Zanzibar." He is part of a local band, which has traveled and played all over Europe. My mom asks if he has a tape of any of his music, and, of course, he does. The tape starts, and in a James Earl Jones with a Swahili accent voice, we hear: "Dear passenger, welcome to taxi no. 739405, sit back and make yourself comfortable, you are in the safe hands of Mr. Chimbeni, taxi driver extraordinaire," followed by clips from Mr. Chimbeni's music. The tape continues for a while, and then we hear: "We are now approaching our destination. Thank you for riding in taxi no. 739405," and miraculously, we arrived at our destination at that exact moment. At Mr. Chimbeni's suggestion, we are having lunch at the Mtoni Marine Restaurant, part of a beachside resort just outside of Stonetown. The setting is perfect, right on the beach, and the food, while somewhat pricey, is delicious -- a sort of Italian-Swahili fusion cuisine. After lunch, we go back to Stonetown, and Mr. Chimbeni takes my mom to the airport to start her long journey home.
We go back to the Malindi Guest House, a very pleasant and well-appointed budget hotel. While this guesthouse is more upscale than most of the places that we had been staying when we were on our own, after Emerson & Green's and Chumbe Island, it's hard to go back to budget. As we wander back into town, we stop at a craft bazaar for local artists. Although we don't buy anything today, I decide to get henna tattoos on my legs. The tattoos looked lovely, but several weeks later they started to itch and I developed a bad rash. Through some research on the internet, I discovered that the henna being sold all over in Zanzibar is not real henna, but a dye which contains a very harsh chemical and causes bad reactions on lots of people in addition to being very harmful to the women who sell it. (Click here for more information.)
As we walk through Stonetown, we realize that it's the first time in three weeks that we've been on our own and that it was strange not knowing anyone else anymore. Not 15 minutes after this conversation, we run into Nico from our safari. Not only is he staying in the same guesthouse that we are, but he's in the room right next door. Stonetown is starting to feel like home now, and we go back to Blues for drinks and then one more dinner at the Forodhani Gardens market.
Our last full day in Zanzibar, we arrange to kayak out to Bawe Island, a small, uninhabited island just a few miles off Stonetown's coast. We organize the trip through 180° Adventures, a big South African organization, that operates out of Blues Restaurant here. We paddle for an hour or two, and then the tide is so far out that we have to get out and walk to the end of the island. We snorkel for a while, but there are so many sea urchins and the water is so shallow, that it's not a particularly relaxing activity. When we get out, the guides have prepared a fabulous lunch: grilled kingfish, baked potatoes, homemade bread, salad, and chocolate brownie pie, all served on china plates with linen napkins. We rest for a little after lunch, paddle back, and stop for a drink at Mercury's, a bar with a deck and a nice view of the harbor, and lament the end of our trip and our last days in paradise.
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Although he only lived in Zanzibar one year after he was born, Freddie Mercury, of QueenXð fame, is a favorite son in Zanzibar. Not only did we have drinks in a bar bearing his name (which turned out not to be located on any property that had nothing to do with him), that evening we had dinner at Camlur's, a very good Goan restaurant, that was located on the ground level of the apartment building where he lived as an infant.
Saturday, July 27
For the last time, back to Dar and The Safari Inn
The next day, we had planned a shopping extravaganza before taking a 4:00 ferry back to Dar. We went back to the craft bazaar, where we purchased some tinga tinga paintings and watercolors of Zanzibar doors. As we left the bazaar, it was starting to drizzle, and by the time we got our purchases back to the guesthouse, it was pouring. So, instead of a shopping extravaganza, the day turned into an eating extravaganza, with a little bit of shopping thrown in. We started out at the Old Dispensary, a beautiful old colonial building that has recently been restored. After spending some time looking at an exhibit on the restoration process and another one on the history of the kanga, the traditional dress worn by East African women, we sit in the small cafe until the rain lets up a little. From here, we walk for a while until it starts to pour again, and we duck into the Zanzibar Serena Hotel, one of the fanciest hotels in Stonetown. After checking out the lobby and the pool, we peak into a couple of the guest rooms. While it's very beautiful and posh, it lacks the character at Emerson & Green's. We sit at the poolside cafe and split a Zanzibar pizza, which is really more like a crepe stuffed with cooked ground beef, onions, green peppers, and spices. After our snack, we go to the Dolphin restaurant for an excellent fish curry for lunch, and entertain ourselves by watching the resident parrot talk to the patrons.
It stops raining long enough for us to get our stuff and make it to the ferry dock without getting soaked. After clearing immigration, we board the very modern Sea Express ferry for the two hour ride back to Dar. While the sea is not particularly rough, there are quite a few passengers retching loudly. We're too wet and too cold to go outside, but at least the crew passed out bags early in the trip.
We arrive back at the Safari Inn for the last time, and go back to the Holiday Inn for a celebratory (sort of) dinner. The next morning at the airport, we ran into George and Ursula, the Swiss couple who had been on Chumbe Island with us. As we waited for our flight home, we realized that some advice I'd been given on my first solo trip was true: You're never alone when you're traveling.