Exotic Zanzibar - Spice World - 21 May 2002
A bit more Basil
A brief aside
Spice World
We really could not say any more about dear Mark in the last missive as we were using the email in his office to complete our report and he kept dashing in and out as we worked. We had had some measure of good hospitality and so it seemed inappropriate to upset our genial, if somewhat mad, host.
He told us in hushed tones about his time in Saudi when it appears that he had been working as an undercover agent for some non-specific government organ. His claim to have a full understanding of the Islamic 'problem' seemed somewhat immature and blinkered. His solution was even more forthright and dramatic - round them all up and shoot 'em. This is apparently the commonly held opinion of all the information-gathering end of the secret service. Any attempt from Hippy to forestall these rantings by pointing out how wonderful and caring we had found Moslems to be wherever we have met them was met with a tirade about how the buggers were just trying to butter us up.
His inability to comprehend why the British government did not step in to stop government corruption in all the countries of Africa displayed a suspicious naivety with regard to international politics. A strong whiff of bullshit permeated the air each time Mr Walter Mitty gave us more of his acquired knowledge of world.
Mark is basing the recovery of the Silver Sands hotel on the attraction of the forthcoming World Cup and has invested in the hugest telly that he could find on the African continent. His barman - a simple chap with no aspirations to become a manager or anything - succinctly pointed out to us in Mark's absence that because of the time difference, there will be almost no interest in watching live World Cup football at this longitude. I'd mark his card for management training in the planning department straight away.
We keep little moments here and there as we go and find it difficult as to how to fit them in once we move on. So here's a little resume of recent missed snippets.
When walking in Lushoto, Pat seemed to be some kind of magnet for the local lumberjacks who came swarming out of the forest to get sight of the muzungu. He was most relieved to find that the majority of lumberjacks are in fact lumberjills. He still found their wielding of sharp heavy objects a little off putting from an attraction point of view.
On the road down to Dar Es Salam we stopped for a snack at a roadside kiosk. We were offered chicken and chips and when we balked at the price, we were offered chips omelette. We assumed this to be omelette and chips but described in broken English. In fact, it was a perfect description. Fry up some chips and make an omelette with them. Seems mad, but the Spanish have been doing something very similar for some time. We are now going to reappraise our strategy of discarding unused chips purchased in a drunken frenzy. We can of course make a substantial breakfast with them the morning after. Nice.
The other thing is our unintentional effect on the children here and in Sudan. Where children do not often see white folk, as we approach some of the younger ones take one look and run screaming in the opposite direction. Once in Sudan Pat and Scully had stopped to ask some children the way to the pontoon to cross the Nile. No sooner had Pat spoken and the kids stared at him in horror and run hell for leather across the fields, didnít stop to take a breather until they had reached the sanctuary of their homes. Maybe ëpontooní is some kind of swear word, or they have been told stories of white slavers, or simply we look far too bizarre and scary, I donít know.
Just a point of information, we are now convinced of the existence of aliens, in that the Egyptian definitely did not build the pyramids! As the blatantly could not organise a falafel party in a souq!
Roundabouts ñ donít talk to me about roundabouts. There are more conventions for their use than you would believe. Motorcycle technique generally boils down to give way to all larger vehicles ñ that is all other vehicles. Traffic lights are the same.
Many years ago, long before those innocent charmers, The Spice Girls, were forced upon the unsuspecting public, almost all references to spice were concerning cooking ingredients. The source of, a huge number of, these was the exotic island of Zanzibar. Now much famed for diving and other holiday pursuits, it seemed mad to pass it by simply because the ferry price is a little steep for budget travellers like ourselves.
We resolved to bargain hard at the dockside and see what discounts we could muster - it being low season and all that. We arrived to find a German biker engaged in the same process and hoped that our combined financial pressure may have more effect on the greedy ferry operators. Arne had come down much the same route as us but had whipped through so fast, he was on a return leg from South Africa to Nairobi to complete his tour. He has had the same, if not more, experience of hard bargaining as us. We watched his bike for him as he went from office to office in an effort to beat down the price.
The faster boats to Zanzibar are all of the new breed of catamaran. Essentially like big gin palaces and for passengers only. They tried to sell us tickets all the same and then we had a peep to see how to get the bikes aboard. Up 15 steps, round a tight corner, down 30 steps, lift, blah, blah blah. It wasn't going to happen.
Just then, Arne got dragged off to see another ship - a traditional ferry which needed for the bikes to be merely driven over a gang plank from the dockside. Price was OK (considering that muzungu always have to pay twice the local rate) so we set off to the boat via an unconvincing detour through the wharves of Dar. When we got to the boat, our dodgy agent had not turned up to get us clearance to take the bikes on and when he did arrive, he was asking for more money. We ignored his protests and rode the bikes onto the boat telling him that he had had the money he had asked for and that he could sort out the dock officials as that was his job. There were no repercussions and it was obvious that this was an attempted scam.
The ferry was Greek, so let's hope that there in no need for life jackets, a) because all the instructions are in Greek and b) they had them padlocked in chests lest anyone might want to survive. On a tour of the boat in a bored interlude it became clear that this was originally a roll-on, roll-off ferry but no one in Dar had had the foresight or enterprise to construct a docking ramp for the ferry to go on to. Instead we have to totter across the gangplank and cars are craned on and off each end. Now that's cost effective isn't it -not! Some times the lack of organisation in African can be so self-defeating.
One bonus was the lunch, for 35p we got a plate piled high with pilau rice, fragments of meat, potato and pickled veg. Can't really complain at that. The bikes happily rested against the railings with the assistance of a few bungies, as the boat undulated over the waves, whilst we snoozed on the gangway.
Arrival in Zanzibar was a little more complex. The gangplank provided had vertical railings, which meant that our bike was a little tight for width (a lot of our luggage we had left in Dar), but poor Arne who was fully loaded had to remove his panniers to get off the boat. As a crowd gathered to watch the sight of the strange muzungus on bikes, we were deluged with information about one particular guesthouse. It seems that the whole of Zanzibar is employed to usher unsuspecting tourists into this hotel. I sat watching the bikes as Arne and Pat did negotiating. I'll be honest, I was getting more and more tense by the second. I am generally distrustful of touts, especially if there are many working for the same place. To me, if a place is OK and suitably priced it should not need that many people working for them. So in my mind either the place is overpriced and wants to avoid you seeing alternatives or it's standard is lesser. But, Pat and Arne were so ensconced in conversation it seemed inevitable.
We looked at one other place (also recommended) but plumped for the most popular tout option, which was in fairness clean and friendly. In addition it was run by Moslems, who so far we have found to be very honest.
Stone town itself has a very Arabic feel to it, small twisty streets and carved doorways. Unfortunately the town, like many other Arabian cities has not been maintained and the beautiful wooden balconies are rotting away, and the constant humidity plays havoc with any attempt at paintwork, which leaves the place looking rather shabby version of itís glorious past. The most obvious feature of the architecture is the ornate doorways. These were apparently the first part of the building constructed in each case. The oddest thing is that they are all studded to prevent elephant attack even though the doors were all built after the 15th century and the last reported elephants were here in the 10th century. Maybe some might swim over in the night.
That night was a real treat, we met up with Ben and Louise again (they were splashing out on a splendid room in a lovely hotel, all wood panelling and air-con.). Went off to a rather nice Thai restaurant, which I have to say was one of the best meals so far on the trip, a fair feast.
We needed to start saving a bit of cash and so had a day wandering around taking in street food and calling in at the museums which were quite reasonable. In the evening, we met up with a VSO, Fiona McAllister, who is the press and publicity organiser for the Zanzibar Film Festival (ZIFF 28th June to the 13th July) . Not a bad venue for any film buffs fancying a holiday abroad. They were holding a talent contest to sort out bands to accompany the film festival goings on.
We were much amused by the audience participation at this arena event. Between acts they would leap up on stage and boogie in the poseiest way to the fill-in music. Early evening bands were traditional and featured an awful lot of large women wobbling their bottoms and hip thrusting in a provocative manner. I managed to be unprovoked by this most un-Islamic display.
During the acts, which became increasingly hip-hop during the evening, youths would come and Michael Jackson in front of us until we took a photo and then theyíd clear off. It got a bit nasty at one stage when it was clear that a couple of the hip-hop bands had brought their cronies with them to fill the audience and lend support. Various factions eyed each other up and at one stage the compere had to call for a cessation of hostilities. Eventually the dust settled and the judges made a sensible choice of selecting all three of the most supported bands to play at the festival.
Next was a trip out of town to the north to take in a spice farm visit. These are generally organised with a guide in Stone Town, but as we had our own transpy, we headed off to the spice region to find our own spice farm. It proceeded to rain and so we went into the first one that presented itself to us. Regrettably, we ended up being shown around by a monosyllabic youth who taught us little other than the local name for our old friend the cattahar is the jack fruit.
The rain persisted and we drizzled up to the north coast in search of a cheap gaff. We couldnít spot any of the places mentioned in our guide and ended up at the end of town to find a turtle preservation aquarium. This is one of the repeating events in our travelling (turtles that is). Here they had Hawksbills and Greens floating around in a tidal pool. We could pick up the small one and hand feed the large ones (up to 150 kg) with seaweed. All rather lovely.
The guide at the aquarium led us off to find ìthe cheapest place in townî and we splashed our way through the sand village to some rather nice bungalows that cost 16 dollars. We balked a bit at the price and after an hour of haggling secured a discount of Ö One dollar. Heh, ho.
We spent a rainy day at our beachfront bungalow before setting off south to hopefully another sea creature experienceÖ