What an interesting day it has been! I awoke this morning early, eager to arrive at my weekend destination: Zanzibar. I have heard and read many things, but nothing could have prepared me for the experience which lay ahead. My normal taxi driver not available, I arranged for a driver recommended by the Father where I am staying. As it turned out, he spoke excellent English, and explained what was to happen once we arrived at the seaport. This was a good thing, as the confusion and mass of people at the port could have easily been overwhelming.

“When we arrive”, he explained, “You will take your bags and walk quickly with me to the ticket office. Do nothing, and show nothing.” Nodding my head, I agreed, as I had read that many scams went down in this place. Some taxi drivers are simply not to be trusted, as they will take you to a ticket office “front”, where they curteously take your bags for you, take your money, and ensure you that your ferry is soon to come. Of course… it never comes – and if it does, it is a slow ferry that arrives many hours later and takes up to nine hours to make the crossing to Zanzibar. You board, and find your bags mysteriously missing on the other side.

We arrived at the ticket area, across the street, and as soon as I stepped out of the taxi, I was enveloped by at least 20 men, eager to help, grab my bags, and show me the way – all for the manditory “tip” for their services, of course. The driver grabbed my bags for me and escorted me through the throng to the front office. He patiently waited as my passport was checked and my tickets to and back were printed out. 160,000 TZS later (plus taxi fare), I was on my way to the ferry. One final obstacle remained before I boarded – the employee who led the way, carefully asking 20,000 TZS for his “very good” services rendered. Sighing, I smiled, pretended not to understand exactly what he was asking (sometimes it pays to be an ignorant white tourist), handed him a 500 TZS tip and took my place on the top level of the ferry, camera ready.

At exactly 7:00 a.m., the horn sounded and the engines engaged. I watched the shoreline of Dar es Salaam drift slowly away, wondering just what was to come next. The ferry ride across was exillorating. The wind whipped through my hair, and the fine salt spray slowly coated every part of my body. Careful to preserve my camera, I was forced to put it away. Large schools of flying fish soared through the air as the ferry passed – looking the part of small, incandescent birds as their fins glistened in the overhead sun. The time passed quickly, and before I knew it, Prison Island came into view and I knew that the first stage of my journey was coming to an end.

After making my way through the customs line-up (although Zanzibar is technically part of Tanzania, it has its own government), I was met by an employee of the tour company I booked through. We walked through narrow streets to my hotel – the first wonderful smells of Zanzibar cutting through the overwhelming scent of salt water. I settled in, and then made my way once again through narrow alleyways, some so tight you could place a hand on each wall to either side of the street. I settled on a place that seemed inviting and relaxed in the shade and breeze overlooking the beach.

Tourists walked along the beach, cameras in hand, as “street” vendors hawked their wares. I silently smiled as a couple sitting near me were approached by a man selling sunglasses. The glasses could not have been worth much more than 3,000 TZS a piece. The elderly gentleman, quick to impress his partner, diligently had her try on several pairs. Settling on the “perfect” pair, he asked the price, to which he was informed “30,000”. Once again, displaying his keen negotiating skills, he turned to her and announced that it was far too much! He began haggling, settling for 25,000 TZS. Turning proudly to her, he handed her the glasses, declaring, “See, that is how you do it here”…

The beach area was alive with activity. Children played along the water’s edge, carefully burying their clothes in the sand to hide them from anyone wishing to take them. Running gleefully into the water, they played away as life took place all around them. Tourists gathered in groups, waiting for traditional wooden vessels to take them on short trips through the harbour area and back. On the street above, people were in constant motion – each with a mission that carried them ever onward.

Stonetown seems an odd mix of tourist frenzy and traditional East Afrikan life. Women in berkas pass in silence Hords of cameras weave their way through narrow streets, as chanted Islamic prayers sing our above the din of market vendors selling their wares. The smells of tropical fruits, meats and seafood waft their way through the masses of people, mixing with the pungeant smell of salt water. Mosques and centuries-old sultan palaces tower above the streets, marching counterpoint to the tin roofs, satallite dishes, electric wires and water-holding tanks below.

As I write this, the Muslim call to prayer has been announced once again over the towering loudspeakers present on almost every mosque tower. It seems a way of life here – some rush to prayer, others simply lay, relax or talk together outside of their doorstoops, as the blazing sun continues to watch everything from overhead. Tomorrow, I explore the spices, herbs and traditional cookery of “exotic” Zanzibar. Sunday, I hope to touch ancient history as I visit Prison Island, the holding area for slaves to be sold as late as 1872. There is so much to see, do and discover — and so little time. I will post pictures once I return to Dar, as I seem to have forgotten my download cable…

Until next time,

“Good Night… and, Good Luck”

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