After a crazy 24 hours traveling between point A (Stone Town, Zanzibar) and point B (Johannesburg), I thought it might be worthwhile to describe what the African version of travel can entail.
ON THE FERRY…
I boarded the ferry on Sunday afternoon, a high speed catamaran, slightly outdated (but top of the line for 1985) for the usually two hour trip between Stone Town and Dar Es Salaam (both in Tanzania). The weather seemed fine - it was sunny and steaming hot. Granted the water had been too rough for snorkeling earlier in the day, but really, there was no indication of eight to ten metre plus swells and gusting winds that awaited us anywhere near the city.
To start, the Zanzibar Town ferry ‘terminal’ is like a third world zoo. Hundreds of bodies pushing and shoving to get on board the boat…unwashed bodies…very sweaty bodies. The smell of curry and serious B.O. was compounded by extreme humidity and the hot sun. There wasn’t much seating, so people were just strewn across the cracked, dirty pavement. And the luggage situation was random as well – people had fridges, old tvs and random piles of outdated electronics equipment, though surprisingly no farm animals. After a hectic boarding where I managed to fight my way to a seat on the back deck, beside a particularly ripe smelling gentleman and a floor littered with Muslims, we were on our way. I was really enjoying the nice sunny weather for the first half hour…and then it got ROUGH. Huge swells, waves coming up over the boat, smashing in our faces – everyone and everything was drenched and sliding around precariously. The catamaran was slapping down hard into the water and rolling precariously from side to side. It was literally like being on a roller coaster. This being Africa, there was of course no life jackets on board – and the knowledge that if anything happened, no one would come to the rescue, and land was out of sight. People were vomiting everywhere – all over each other and the floors. The smell of vomit mixed with curry and BO was absolutely disgusting. I’m so glad I don’t get seasick. I’m fairly certain I was the only person on that boat not retching, but I was soaked and too busy making pacts with god that if he/she let me survive the boat ride I would be a much nicer person forever more to focus on bringing up my lunch. I really did not want to die on a sketchy boat off the coast of Africa, surrounded by strangers. The usually two hour boat ride took 4 hours and Freddy, who was picking me up in Dar told me that when he went to ask where the boat was the officials at the terminal were worried it might not make it. Needless to say, I have vowed to avoid all ferries in the developing world from now on. Actually, I will not be found on any small boat in stormy waters in less than a life jacket and wet suit.
ON THE CITY…
When we limped back in Dar nearly two hours late and spent, I was desperate to shower, being covered in salt and the smell of sick people. However it was not to be. The power was out for the entire city, which is a regular occurrence and the emergency generator was also broken. So despite my filthy state, we went for a nice dinner in hopes that it would be fixed in the meantime. Nope. So I used my ipod to light my way up the stairs to my room. Even though there is no hot water in Tanzania, I figured I would make do with a cold shower in the dark. Nope again. There was no running water either. And in the dark I couldn’t even open my suitcase to get my toothbrush and a bottle of water. I also couldn’t pack my suitcase for my 5:30 am trip to the airport the next morning. So, with no other options, I crawled into bed, poking around in the dark for the opening in the mosquito netting, fully clothed to sleep, smelling like god knows what…and to be dripped on like Chinese water torture by the disabled air conditioner. The lights came back on suddenly at 3 am, at which point they were the last thing I wanted to see.
ON THE AIRPORT…
At 5:30 am I was happy to see the power was still on, even though I continued to be without running water. At least I was able to SEE my suitcase in order to pack it.
Freddie dropped me at Dar Es Salaam International airport. Due I suspect to the Muslim leanings of the population, a number of security checks must be cleared the first of which is the terminal entrance. So I put my bags on the x-ray machine, which had large signage asking people to ignore the security staff’s bribe requests, and walked through – to find the security guy trying to loot my purse. I stood there watching (he didn’t realize I was) as he searched for my wallet and valuables. I then asked him what exactly he was doing. He was only mildly embarrassed at getting caught (he was actually probably more disappointed – he hadn’t yet found something to steal), saying ‘oh, this is yours’ and sheepishly handed it over. Luckily I had packed well and he didn’t find anything. This, I repeat, is the airport security.
I checked in and then promptly went through the wrong security check, which is easy to do when there is no signage in any language. I was a little nervous about clearing security since I had several large cans of bug spray (malaria requirement) and sunscreen stuffed in my bag. Not to worry, I cleared all three security checks with ease since they don’t even look at what’s in your luggage (unless it’s something they want personally). They did manage to dump my jewellery upside down in the x-ray machine, but luckily it all came out the bottom and could be found scattered on the floor underneath.
As I entered the gate I was grilled about my passport for more than ten minutes while an assortment of nefarious looking characters file past unquestioned. The officer held it up to various lamps and x-rays convinced it was a fake. Because really, I don’t look like a legitimate Canadian at all. Maybe he thought I was a Chinese spy…. I’d say perhaps he was concerned about the Middle Eastern stamps I gathered earlier in the year, but literacy isn’t big in these parts so I’m fairly confident he couldn’t read what they were.
As we sat waiting for the plane, another power outage struck leaving the entire airport in the dark. Luckily it’s not a busy airport and most people had already cleared security. So, sans power we finally boarded the plane. A large, piss drunk man in army boots (not to stereotype, but I’d put my money on him being Nigerian- they are as notorious here as elsewhere) was bothering everyone in the waiting area. I couldn’t believe they were going to let him on the plane, but was becoming less surprised by anything at this point. Once we’d all boarded and seated, there was a delay during which a group of soldiers and armed police got on board to haul off the drunk. Turns out he was some kind of dangerous criminal. Awesome. Luckily I was seated beside the former Tanzanian ambassador to Canada for the flight – an interesting man to talk to. Thank god because my mood was turning seriously foul at this point.
And THAT is a fairly typical travel in Africa experience. I wonder what adventures Namibia holds in December.
Lessons learned:
Hide your wallet and passport deeply in your belongings
Carry-on luggage only
Always carry toilet paper (there is none) and hand sanitizer
Be careful when buying anything – they will try to change the price when it’s time to pay. Also, count your change.
Nowhere accepts credit cards
Carry lots of USD because no one wants the local currency
Bring lots of extra camera batteries because no adapters seem to fit the outlets
Spend one night in a nice hotel…you have no idea how amazing a hot shower feels after days/weeks without one
Monday, July 25, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Tanzania: Dar Es Salaam & Bagamoyo
I walked off the plane at Dar es Salaam, capital of Tanzania, straight into a hot, muggy mosquito swarm - a malaria bearing welcome wagon. After being finger printed like a terror suspect, and exhausted from being jammed into a middle seat between two massive men for the duration of a four hour flight, I was glad to have a coworker picking me up in an air conditioned SUV.
Dar es Salaam turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I know my criteria has changed as increased exposure to the third world expands my horizons and obviously it’s not ‘nice’ like Paris or New York, but really…it’s not bad. It is a melting pot – Indians, Chinese, Muslims and Africans blend together, and what’s more, everyone gets along. Israel: take note. The people are genuinely nice; friendly and warm and the women dress beautifully. I love the traditional African costumes - the colours, the patterns, the head wraps…It’s such a nice, cheerful change from South Africa. The city itself is green and lush with vegetation – it smells like flowers, and the buildings are colourful. Tanzania is a former German colony, and the architecture is a real blend of Indian, Arabic and German colonial painted with Miami style pepto pink, mint green and purple. The traffic is crazy – think tuktuks weaving in and out of massive traffic jams, the city busses, called Dala Dalas – old, purple, hand painted and overcrowded to the point of tipping, and safari jeeps all jammed together in a seething, honking mess. As you head away from the CBD, goats, chickens and markets selling everything imaginable line the roadside.
Freddie took me first to the fish market which lies on the harbor. It was already steaming hot by 9 am, so you can imagine that the smell wasn’t appetizing. But it was worth enduring to see the exotic tropical fish, caught on traditional wooden dhows, laid out for purchase– think orange, yellow and turquoise scales.
I enjoyed watching the fish mongers haggle, and the women carrying large buckets of fish balanced on their heads – now THAT is a talent. The water was crystalline turquoise and between the fish I have seen here so far and the colour of the ocean, I cannot wait to snorkel in Zanzibar!
To follow, we cruised around downtown Dar and saw the tourist sites– nothing terribly exciting. It’s a very political place full of embassies and international banks – obviously an African business hub. But I was charmed by the little things – the men selling coconuts and mangoes off the backs of their bikes, the tuktuk garbage truck, the nuns everywhere (this place is full of convents), the business men in their shiny polyester suits. We went for lunch at the Seacliff Hotel, which is one of the last vestiges of colonial culture in the city. It featured thatched roofs, black service men dressed all in white and a helicopter pad…but the food was good (well, as good as it gets for these parts) and it overlooked the Indian Ocean.
Later, we drove to the town of Bagamoyo , about 60 km up the coast. Bagamoyo is a modern day artist’s colony that happens to contain ruins of an Indian/German palace (the Old Boma) and centuries old slave quarters where prisoners were detained until shipped out to an unimaginably horrible existence in the new American colonies. A sad old tree with a chain suspended from it was used to hang uncooperative slaves. Today, it’s hard to imagine that so much violent suffering could have occurred in a place as peaceful as this – It is really imbued with a feeling of serenity.
The old, crumbling Arabic houses which line the dirt streets are so beautiful –they feature the most ornate doors and windows made from intricately carved local wood. Paintings hang randomly along the road where wild baby goats run freely amongst lush greenery and colourful flowers which scent the air. And the Muslim women wear robes of bright oranges, greens and golds, surrounded by little children so happy and carefree. I fell absolutely in love with this place.
What amazes me is how industrious the people are. They can load their bicycle full of wooden planks, brooms, baskets…massive loads, and somehow they are able to ride with all of it. And what doesn’t fit on their bikes, they balance on their heads. No wonder they all have amazing posture.
I also picked up my ticket for the ferry to Zanzibar tomorrow. I met the first Canadian I have encountered in a long time at the terminal – a smoking hot dive instructor from Ontario. Sadly, we were headed to different places, but we were happy to see each other as it helped alleviate some home sickness. Anyway, for me Zanzibar is a dream trip. It is somewhere I have always desperately wanted to visit, and in my mind is unimaginably exotic. Needless to say, I am thrilled!
Dar es Salaam turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I know my criteria has changed as increased exposure to the third world expands my horizons and obviously it’s not ‘nice’ like Paris or New York, but really…it’s not bad. It is a melting pot – Indians, Chinese, Muslims and Africans blend together, and what’s more, everyone gets along. Israel: take note. The people are genuinely nice; friendly and warm and the women dress beautifully. I love the traditional African costumes - the colours, the patterns, the head wraps…It’s such a nice, cheerful change from South Africa. The city itself is green and lush with vegetation – it smells like flowers, and the buildings are colourful. Tanzania is a former German colony, and the architecture is a real blend of Indian, Arabic and German colonial painted with Miami style pepto pink, mint green and purple. The traffic is crazy – think tuktuks weaving in and out of massive traffic jams, the city busses, called Dala Dalas – old, purple, hand painted and overcrowded to the point of tipping, and safari jeeps all jammed together in a seething, honking mess. As you head away from the CBD, goats, chickens and markets selling everything imaginable line the roadside.
Freddie took me first to the fish market which lies on the harbor. It was already steaming hot by 9 am, so you can imagine that the smell wasn’t appetizing. But it was worth enduring to see the exotic tropical fish, caught on traditional wooden dhows, laid out for purchase– think orange, yellow and turquoise scales.
I enjoyed watching the fish mongers haggle, and the women carrying large buckets of fish balanced on their heads – now THAT is a talent. The water was crystalline turquoise and between the fish I have seen here so far and the colour of the ocean, I cannot wait to snorkel in Zanzibar!
To follow, we cruised around downtown Dar and saw the tourist sites– nothing terribly exciting. It’s a very political place full of embassies and international banks – obviously an African business hub. But I was charmed by the little things – the men selling coconuts and mangoes off the backs of their bikes, the tuktuk garbage truck, the nuns everywhere (this place is full of convents), the business men in their shiny polyester suits. We went for lunch at the Seacliff Hotel, which is one of the last vestiges of colonial culture in the city. It featured thatched roofs, black service men dressed all in white and a helicopter pad…but the food was good (well, as good as it gets for these parts) and it overlooked the Indian Ocean.
Later, we drove to the town of Bagamoyo , about 60 km up the coast. Bagamoyo is a modern day artist’s colony that happens to contain ruins of an Indian/German palace (the Old Boma) and centuries old slave quarters where prisoners were detained until shipped out to an unimaginably horrible existence in the new American colonies. A sad old tree with a chain suspended from it was used to hang uncooperative slaves. Today, it’s hard to imagine that so much violent suffering could have occurred in a place as peaceful as this – It is really imbued with a feeling of serenity.
The old, crumbling Arabic houses which line the dirt streets are so beautiful –they feature the most ornate doors and windows made from intricately carved local wood. Paintings hang randomly along the road where wild baby goats run freely amongst lush greenery and colourful flowers which scent the air. And the Muslim women wear robes of bright oranges, greens and golds, surrounded by little children so happy and carefree. I fell absolutely in love with this place.
What amazes me is how industrious the people are. They can load their bicycle full of wooden planks, brooms, baskets…massive loads, and somehow they are able to ride with all of it. And what doesn’t fit on their bikes, they balance on their heads. No wonder they all have amazing posture.
I also picked up my ticket for the ferry to Zanzibar tomorrow. I met the first Canadian I have encountered in a long time at the terminal – a smoking hot dive instructor from Ontario. Sadly, we were headed to different places, but we were happy to see each other as it helped alleviate some home sickness. Anyway, for me Zanzibar is a dream trip. It is somewhere I have always desperately wanted to visit, and in my mind is unimaginably exotic. Needless to say, I am thrilled!
Friday, July 1, 2011
Two Months in Johannesburg...
For the past two months I have been living in Johannesburg, or perhaps I should say Sandton, since this neighbourhood appears to exist in its own little bubble. Why have I chosen the purported `world`s most dangerous city` as my temporary home, you are likely asking yourself. Well, mostly because we are on break from uni and I was offered a fantastic job by a mining company carrying out some corporate communications work. They have generously put me up in a lovely hotel for two months (having a maid is awesome, but I miss my friends in CT, must say) to undertake a number of projects. I love the CEO and many of the great people I have met here, but am finding the lack of professionalism and work ethic amongst a select few of my coworkers a bit of a shocker. Also, the weather in Cape Town is horrible this time of year and winter in Johannesburg is characterized by cloudless blue skies and decent temperatures. The only downside is the dryness of the air - no amount of moisturizer can make my poor Canadian skin feel human. Put it this way - I feel, and look, like Ashy Larry from the Chappelle Show.
My time in Johannesburg has not been short on adventures, though it has been a little drama (and tequila…and wine…and champagne) packed for my taste. I think the laid back Canadian in me has difficulty with some of the cultural and mind set adjustments required when living here. One thing I do find endlessly amusing is the men – they seem to thrive on the drama almost more than the women do.
As with my life in Vancouver, I have brought along my knack for meeting the most random people to RSA. No Pauly Shore or Richard Branson run ins thus far (though I did sit behind Mandela`s grandson at lunch not long ago) but nonetheless...so far I have managed to end up mid-afternoon sauced at a polo club (and was more than a little unimpressed with myself when I woke up to find a British polo playing banker in my bed the next morning – damn you tequila!), at a pig farm in the middle of nowhere with two massive identical twin professional rugby players, fly fishing in the middle of the South African mountains with a random dachshund who decided to charge me from a cabin and much, much more. I also went to Polokwane once again, this time for my friend`s birthday which was another booze fueled weekend of bush and debauchery. The only downside was that some seriously pathetic South African girl was making snide remarks about Canadians at dinner the very first night (apparently we`re all stupid…interesting observation from a country party planner whose face looked like...a pig actually).
Excepting the above's rudeness, it’s actually a pretty good deal being a Canadian here. I have to say, I meet so, so many people because of my accent and pale skin. Sounds strange to say seeing as personally, I think we have one of the worst accents going, but genuinely I am perplexed at how many people want to hear me say certain words and listen to me talk. I suppose I have a bad track record of falling for men`s accents, so that`s probably the root of my paranoia. It seems like my name here is in fact “Canada”. At least that is what everyone calls me. I even went on a date with one guy who insisted on taking me to his friend’s family’s house because they wanted to see ‘a foreigner’. I suppose it keeps life interesting.
I am really excited for next week. I’m reverting to the life of the great unwashed traveler, heading for Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania and Zanzibar, which has always been one of my dream holidays. I can’t wait to snorkel with dolphins again, and am beyond excited for the photo opportunities presented by Stone Town and the spice plantations!
I`ve realized that I`m definitely not ready to settle down for the next couple of years at least. In fact, my travel bug is raging out of control. Maybe it's strange that someone my age doesn`t mind not bathing for days, and living out of a back pack…but it seems like as long as I have a camera and a laptop I`m pretty content for now. I`m still fairly bent on ruling the world at some point down the road, but am actually thinking I may take a different route then initially planned. I have decided that I am going to write and publish a book. Ideally I would like to pull together my photos and musings on my travels, though I know that may not prove interesting to anyone outside of my friend circle. If anyone has any good ideas for subject matter – let me know! In the meantime, the wanderer in me is already getting antsy and I need to FOCUS since I really do need to stay in Cape Town for a couple more years.
Next stop: Tanzania.
My time in Johannesburg has not been short on adventures, though it has been a little drama (and tequila…and wine…and champagne) packed for my taste. I think the laid back Canadian in me has difficulty with some of the cultural and mind set adjustments required when living here. One thing I do find endlessly amusing is the men – they seem to thrive on the drama almost more than the women do.
As with my life in Vancouver, I have brought along my knack for meeting the most random people to RSA. No Pauly Shore or Richard Branson run ins thus far (though I did sit behind Mandela`s grandson at lunch not long ago) but nonetheless...so far I have managed to end up mid-afternoon sauced at a polo club (and was more than a little unimpressed with myself when I woke up to find a British polo playing banker in my bed the next morning – damn you tequila!), at a pig farm in the middle of nowhere with two massive identical twin professional rugby players, fly fishing in the middle of the South African mountains with a random dachshund who decided to charge me from a cabin and much, much more. I also went to Polokwane once again, this time for my friend`s birthday which was another booze fueled weekend of bush and debauchery. The only downside was that some seriously pathetic South African girl was making snide remarks about Canadians at dinner the very first night (apparently we`re all stupid…interesting observation from a country party planner whose face looked like...a pig actually).
Excepting the above's rudeness, it’s actually a pretty good deal being a Canadian here. I have to say, I meet so, so many people because of my accent and pale skin. Sounds strange to say seeing as personally, I think we have one of the worst accents going, but genuinely I am perplexed at how many people want to hear me say certain words and listen to me talk. I suppose I have a bad track record of falling for men`s accents, so that`s probably the root of my paranoia. It seems like my name here is in fact “Canada”. At least that is what everyone calls me. I even went on a date with one guy who insisted on taking me to his friend’s family’s house because they wanted to see ‘a foreigner’. I suppose it keeps life interesting.
I am really excited for next week. I’m reverting to the life of the great unwashed traveler, heading for Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania and Zanzibar, which has always been one of my dream holidays. I can’t wait to snorkel with dolphins again, and am beyond excited for the photo opportunities presented by Stone Town and the spice plantations!
I`ve realized that I`m definitely not ready to settle down for the next couple of years at least. In fact, my travel bug is raging out of control. Maybe it's strange that someone my age doesn`t mind not bathing for days, and living out of a back pack…but it seems like as long as I have a camera and a laptop I`m pretty content for now. I`m still fairly bent on ruling the world at some point down the road, but am actually thinking I may take a different route then initially planned. I have decided that I am going to write and publish a book. Ideally I would like to pull together my photos and musings on my travels, though I know that may not prove interesting to anyone outside of my friend circle. If anyone has any good ideas for subject matter – let me know! In the meantime, the wanderer in me is already getting antsy and I need to FOCUS since I really do need to stay in Cape Town for a couple more years.
Next stop: Tanzania.
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