I love maps, and I’m betting that some of you are not even sure that Zanzibar is a real place.
I wasn’t going to post about Zanzibar. In fact, I’m kind of over Tanzania in general, but I’ve got these silly photos sitting around (dust speckled en plus, thanks to Kilimanjaro), and the faithful blogger in me feels compelled to at least document that we made it there and back without further incident. Well- almost. As you can see from my leading photo, I did manage to hold my stomach at bay until they closed the airplane doors and we had safely departed the Tanzanian pattern. But I digress.
The lucky thing about our trip to Zanzibar was that it was completely paid for in advance- a fortuitous detail, considering the fact that Sara and I were now conducting our holiday with only $200 of accessible funds to our names. So even though we were without credit or ATM card, we managed to continue our journey and not deviate from our original plan. We were headed to the beach.
Behold the beach. We made it.
We got to the resort on the east side of the island, and we pretty much didn’t do anything during our entire stay (I told you that this part of our trip really doesn’t merit a blog entry). During our time in Uroa, we just kind of sat around, read books, explored the beach- essentially an opportunity to regroup after our adventures on mainland Tanzania.
Zanzibar is really nice- if you happen to be the “go to tropical locations and lay on the beach” kind of person. I imagine that most of you are. Don’t hate me for saying so, but this mode of relaxation has never been my thing. I’m much more of the inclement weather, miles-to-go-before-I-sleep garden variety girl. This is a little tragic when you consider that my job has allowed me to visit many pristine beaches in the intertropical zone- but I guess we always want what we don’t have, n’est-ce pas?
Having said all of that, I no doubt enjoyed the ability to soak my feet in the Indian Ocean (my toes were still really angry at me from the mountain climb). Sara and I walked up and down the coastline, and were only minimally harassed by the Maasi people and children who were wondering the beaches.
The resort is nice- with most of the tourist population coming from Italy. The beaches were thus littered with cute little kids yelling “ciao!” to us. Less cute were the Maasi dudes, pictured here. They just “wanted to keep you “company” as you tried to stand by the ocean and wonder when you’d have good internet access again reflect silently. Where have I heard this song before…
Our resort is pretty, but I continue to struggle with the “poverty just next door” reality that is rampant is so much of the world. Makes it hard for me to feel like I am on vacation.
Of our stay, people might ask, “Did you do any sightseeing? Did you go to the Stone Town?” The answer is an emphatic “No”. Sara and I were happy to just exist in our designated spot. As for me, I was in no mood to head into the most touristy part of the island and potentially set myself up for further interaction with eejits who might want to make my travels even more interesting.
I just wanted to post a photo of the shampoo that Sara brought with her on this trip. I’m pretty sure it’s a volumizing formula, but somehow the Arabic translated this into the completely logical English, “fall fight”. Every time I got in the shower, I felt like her shampoo was antagonizing me.
So that’s all the love that I have for Zanzibar. I was happy to leave, even though a 16 hour layover awaited us in Addis Ababa. You might accuse me of being a stick in the mud for turning in such an uninspired account of this idyllic island, but again I think that’s the New Englander in me showing through.
I’m back in Dakar now, and it’s wicked hot outside. It’s also Ramadan and midday- and I’m getting ready to hop into a little pirogue to go hang out on a deserted island for the afternoon. Is this something that sounds like a Megan-approved activity? Well, no- but I’m still kind of living the “When in Rome” experience here in Senegal. I may always keep utopian visions of gray Cape Cod days in my head, but that is never going to stop me from heading out and continuing to push the edges of my comfort zone. For better or for worse.
