Throughout the past year I have sustained mild annoyance over the fact I wasn’t allowed into Abu Dhabi en route to South Africa. Nothing pains me more than foregoing a free travel opportunity, particularly one deemed unworthy of dedicated destination status…and especially when it is Air Canada’s fault. But in one of life’s little ironies, I finally made it there almost exactly one year to the day later. And…well…it turns out I hadn’t actually missed much.
To be honest, after the excitement of Dubai, Abu Dhabi is kind of a snooze. As opposed to its neighbour, which is where Emiratis and the rest of the world come to spend their money and eat like gluttons, Abu Dhabi is very relaxed and overwhelmingly (or maybe under-whelmingly is more appropriate) beige, lacking the showiness and dynamic energy of its younger neighbour. While they are building skyscrapers at a shocking rate, these tend to be conservative in design and the city mostly comprises pleasant parks (no small feat when you see the bleak desert and oil refineries that surround this place), offices and smaller scale shopping malls. It is the city where most Emiratis chose to live and seat of the UAE government and is therefore more conservative and more strictly Muslim. Like Dubai, life here also centres around a shopping complex, this time the Marina Mall and I must hand it to the Emirati: they do shop like champions.
Express buses run between the two cities every twenty minutes, and the drive takes around two hours. Upon arrival we caught a taxi straight to AD’s purported highlight, the Corniche, which is their answer to Vancouver’s seawall. While it offered a pleasant stroll past the city centre via the waterfront, construction was underway along the beach blocking us from the sand. There were views of the Marina Mall and government buildings but other than that it was not outstanding. Quickly bored, we headed for the CBD in search of souks and skyscrapers. I was surprised to find a lot of poor, decrepit apartment buildings which while ubiquitous across the rest of the Middle East were surprising to find in the world’s wealthiest country. These people are mind blowingly, vastly, filthy rich. Unfortunately the CBD didn’t appear to have much to offer either, so we made an executive decision to head back to Dubai and enjoy our last day there instead. The only things I was disappointed to have missed were the museum containing the sheik’s car collection and Ferrari World theme park, both of which appealed to my inner tomboy.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
One Year Anniversary - Time Flies!
Boy, how the time flies. On Christmas Day I celebrated my leaving- Vancouver-one-year which means I have officially been away for a long time. As to be expected, I have completely forgotten what Canadian life feels like and am rather starting to feel like a South African, albeit one who has a better passport. I am also apparently starting to sound like one as certain words and phrases enter my lexicon, unnoticed by me but endlessly amusing to my local friends.
The last few months of the study year were hectic so I have fallen a little behind in my blogging. I have settled in well, having just moved into a gorgeous new apartment in the historic area of town and have acquired yet another South African boyfriend, Johannes, an extremely sweet philosopher who lectures at the university. He is finishing his second PhD from Cambridge University and is genius enough that I don’t actually understand what he is talking about some of the time. I suppose he is amused by my endless stream of nonsense talk and ability to find amusement in the simpler things. However, we travel well together and are heading to the Seychelles, Dubai and Abu Dhabi in a couple of days. While I do still really miss my friends from home I have at least established a solid base of people who I really like here which also helps with the settling process.
I have managed to undertake a few activities of note, including cage diving with great white sharks off the coast of Ganesbaai. It wasn’t as terrifying as one might expect and turned out to be a really interesting experience. It’s a shame the visibility is so bad in the waters though because you can only see the shark when it is about a metre from the cage...and your face. It makes for a pretty up close and personal encounter, and one’s tail even managed to slip between the bars while we were in there, as did an overly friendly sea snake which then proceeded to wrap itself around my leg. If there was one thing shark cage diving taught me, it is that I will never go swimming off the coast of South Africa again. We were maybe 350 metres from shore and were surrounded by ten sharks, some of which were five metres long and one of which had a giant bite out of its fin (her name was Demon and she is known to be a real bruiser). With the terrible visibility you could be swimming two metres from a massive shark and have no idea, which is not an appealing thought.
I also made the trip to Robben Island, a notorious former jail situated off of Cape Town and best known as Nelson Mandela’s home from 1964-1994. As far as prisons go, I found Alcatraz more interesting. The idyllic location and relatively comfortable surroundings actually make this one feel more like a resort. Though it has been a prison for more than 400 years, in its 20th century heyday it housed a lot of ANC political prisoners, particularly those involved in the fight against apartheid. I couldn’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to return some of the current crop of outrageously corrupt and inept ANC politicos to the island. To be blunt, I worry for the future of this country. Beyond the crime, illegal immigration and seriously flawed policies supposedly promoting equality (BEE does not work in anyone’s best interests)…the general ineptitude and greed of the ANC may well see South Africa head the way of Zimbabwe. Living here, it’s hard not to develop strong opinions about the farcical state of the government.
I have also visited Cape Point National Park on the Cape of Good Hope, which is the southern most point of SE Africa and a notorious ship wreck location containing an old lighthouse and other historic buildings as well as the usual baboons, bokkies and wildlife. It’s a stunning spot! Simonstown, a small coastal settlement has turned out to be my favourite local area with its penguin colony and pretty setting sandwiched between ocean and mountain. I made the trek to Franchoek a couple of times, a town setteled by French Hugenots in the 1700s and with some of the best wine farms the area has to offer, which is no small feat when you consider there are literally hundreds to choose from. In Johannesburg I went to the Joberg Day music festival and learned that there are a lot of great South African bands…which led me to reflect on just how much crap music Canada produces (Lavigne-Bieber-Dion-Nickleback anyone?). We also drove up the wildflower route through a bizarre little drag queen and farmer village (odd combination, I think?) called Darling to the coastal towns of Langebaan and Paternostre, which boasts some pretty impressive fields of colour in springtime.
I’m sure the next year will hold more adventures, especially as I plan to head out further into Africa.
The last few months of the study year were hectic so I have fallen a little behind in my blogging. I have settled in well, having just moved into a gorgeous new apartment in the historic area of town and have acquired yet another South African boyfriend, Johannes, an extremely sweet philosopher who lectures at the university. He is finishing his second PhD from Cambridge University and is genius enough that I don’t actually understand what he is talking about some of the time. I suppose he is amused by my endless stream of nonsense talk and ability to find amusement in the simpler things. However, we travel well together and are heading to the Seychelles, Dubai and Abu Dhabi in a couple of days. While I do still really miss my friends from home I have at least established a solid base of people who I really like here which also helps with the settling process.
I have managed to undertake a few activities of note, including cage diving with great white sharks off the coast of Ganesbaai. It wasn’t as terrifying as one might expect and turned out to be a really interesting experience. It’s a shame the visibility is so bad in the waters though because you can only see the shark when it is about a metre from the cage...and your face. It makes for a pretty up close and personal encounter, and one’s tail even managed to slip between the bars while we were in there, as did an overly friendly sea snake which then proceeded to wrap itself around my leg. If there was one thing shark cage diving taught me, it is that I will never go swimming off the coast of South Africa again. We were maybe 350 metres from shore and were surrounded by ten sharks, some of which were five metres long and one of which had a giant bite out of its fin (her name was Demon and she is known to be a real bruiser). With the terrible visibility you could be swimming two metres from a massive shark and have no idea, which is not an appealing thought.
I also made the trip to Robben Island, a notorious former jail situated off of Cape Town and best known as Nelson Mandela’s home from 1964-1994. As far as prisons go, I found Alcatraz more interesting. The idyllic location and relatively comfortable surroundings actually make this one feel more like a resort. Though it has been a prison for more than 400 years, in its 20th century heyday it housed a lot of ANC political prisoners, particularly those involved in the fight against apartheid. I couldn’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to return some of the current crop of outrageously corrupt and inept ANC politicos to the island. To be blunt, I worry for the future of this country. Beyond the crime, illegal immigration and seriously flawed policies supposedly promoting equality (BEE does not work in anyone’s best interests)…the general ineptitude and greed of the ANC may well see South Africa head the way of Zimbabwe. Living here, it’s hard not to develop strong opinions about the farcical state of the government.
I have also visited Cape Point National Park on the Cape of Good Hope, which is the southern most point of SE Africa and a notorious ship wreck location containing an old lighthouse and other historic buildings as well as the usual baboons, bokkies and wildlife. It’s a stunning spot! Simonstown, a small coastal settlement has turned out to be my favourite local area with its penguin colony and pretty setting sandwiched between ocean and mountain. I made the trek to Franchoek a couple of times, a town setteled by French Hugenots in the 1700s and with some of the best wine farms the area has to offer, which is no small feat when you consider there are literally hundreds to choose from. In Johannesburg I went to the Joberg Day music festival and learned that there are a lot of great South African bands…which led me to reflect on just how much crap music Canada produces (Lavigne-Bieber-Dion-Nickleback anyone?). We also drove up the wildflower route through a bizarre little drag queen and farmer village (odd combination, I think?) called Darling to the coastal towns of Langebaan and Paternostre, which boasts some pretty impressive fields of colour in springtime.
I’m sure the next year will hold more adventures, especially as I plan to head out further into Africa.
Lesotho: Africa's Mountain Kingdom
The month-plus torture exercise otherwise known as final exams has concluded, just in time for the onset of African summer. With the weather turning and the first of my three years in South Africa drawing to a close, my boyfriend and I decided the time was right for a road trip. I had heard nothing but fantastic things about the Kingdom of Lesotho, described as ‘the Switzerland of Africa’ so without further ado, the destination was decided.
Lesotho is a solid 1100 km or 15 hour drive from Cape Town. Riddled with road works and stretching through the Karoo desert, it is not the most scenic motorway – but it was a great opportunity to see more (or rather most) of South Africa. Tired, sweaty, sunburnt and suffering from a serious case driving overdose, we crossed the overland border into Lesotho’s capital city Maseru.
Maseru is not the star attraction in Lesotho, but rather a necessary evil situated en route to the six-plus mountain ranges, national parks and nature reserves that comprise its countryside. It would be safe to say that Lesotho is in fact all mountains. Don’t quote me on this, but I actually think it statistically qualifies as the world’s most mountainous country... I remember having heard something to that effect. Even the lowlands where Maseru is situated are more than 1000 metres above sea level. The heights made for challenging driving and hiking at times and I did notice my pace was much slower…not to mention the puffing , panting and dramatics (mine) that accompany uphill exertion were just a little worse than usual.
Maseru is really just another African city, full of corrugated metal shacks, stray animals and garbage strewn streets. There are a few remnants of the 1860's British colonial period including a police station, post office, courthouses and the King’s palace (yes, Lesotho is still ruled by a King who lives in a heavily guarded palace – how typically, quintessentially African dictatorial), but otherwise it’s just a quick supply pit stop before heading for the hills. While we saw very, very few white people anywhere on this trip, oddly we did see hundreds of Chinese who are now conducting serious business in Lesotho, including diamond mining and clothing manufacturing. The Chinese contingent was especially concentrated at the local casino where we went to find food during what I now realize is an African standard: all day, city-wide power outages that effectively shut down an entire region. I had a hunch that somehow the casino would have ultra-powerful generators running in order to keep the money flowing, and I wasn’t wrong.
We headed out of Maseru asap, following what can only be described as one of the grossest yet expensive meals in recent memory, and straight to Thaba Bosiu, the mountain top fortress ruins of legendary Basotho King Moshoeshoe. The fort, considered impenetrable back in the day, has nothing on Masada but provided some seriously stunning views and a fun if slightly precarious climb scrambling over rocks and lizards. There were some interesting ruins at the top, though slightly less grand then expected, and we even made friends with a man we found hiding behind a rock. I thought he was going to mug us but instead he launched into a story about his life as a poor orphan whose siblings had died of HIV. He asked for a ride to the next town, and when we said ‘yes’, ran home to change out of his tattered rags and into designer jeans and an expensive sports jersey…and to grab his mobile phone, which was nicer than mine. Obviously this beggar was not quite the tourist milking mastermind he fancied himself to be.
By this point a serious thunder storm was brewing, so we decided to head for the university town of Roma where we spent the night in a little thatched roof hut at the Trading Post Lodge, which I loved but Johannes kept combing for spiders. Thankfully the power had returned at this point as I was not keen on the combination of candles and straw.
The next morning we climbed another mountain (as you can see, a pattern is starting to form) to check out some preserved dinosaur footprints. While the footprints themselves were a disappointment, the views were spectacular and I enjoyed hiking through the dirt village and being chased by seriously cute children demanding “pompoms”, their name for sweets. We were happy to oblige and I have to say that I was smitten with more than a few of those kids. The Basotho are generally really friendly, and everyone greets you, though of course very little English is spoken. They are simple country people who still dress in traditional blankets and hats, ride horses and donkeys for transport, and often delight in seeing their photos taken on the digital camera. Almost everyone in rural Lesotho is a sheep/goat/cow/donkey herder, and there are very, very few modern buildings. It is like taking a trip back in time – for the most part the modern world doesn’t exist, which I actually loved because I was craving a ‘getting away from it all’ experience.
We then hopped in our rented VW Polo – possibly the most ridiculous car to take to a country where there are two paved roads and everything else is mud, gravel and boulder dotted – to head deep inland through some of the higher mountain ranges. Needless to say, everyone else tackles these roads with huge trucks and 4x4 SUVs, but we decided to do it differently (read: like total clueless tourists). There were a few times where we nearly got stuck, and once we just had to give up and walk. Next up was some bushman cave paintings located down the roughest, rockiest, muddiest seven km road cutting through a valley that itself looked like a painting. The setting was beautiful, and the paintings were found on colourful rock faces lining a river and yet again there were no tourists anywhere – just a couple of shepherds and one extremely ripe smelling guide who led the way but spoke no English. We then headed deeper into the mountains over the Bushman’s, Molimo Nthuse and Blue Mountain passes towards the Mohale Dam, driving through settlements with unexpected names like Nazareth. The dam is part of the Lesotho Highlands Water Project, which wouldn’t be the type of attraction that usually catches my eye when traveling – but I am so glad we went. It looked like a giant crystal lake contained between a number of green mountains --and when you are trekking through extremely rural parts of Africa something like this makes for an unexpected sight. The drive alone makes the trip worthwhile because the views are seriously out of this world.
Our ultimate destination was Semonkong, a mountain lodge located in Lesotho’s central highlands by the Drakkensberg range and found at the very end of a dirt and gravel road running through another series of mountain passes with fitting names such as ‘God Help Me”. The drive is only 120 km, but takes between 4-5 hours to complete thanks to the treacherous climbs (average height is 3000 metres) and road conditions that prevent driving at speeds greater than 30 km/hour. I’m not going to lie: we were often scared. There were moments when we discussed fast evacuation strategies should the car slide over the side of a cliff. For once a seatbelt didn’t seem like such a good idea. The drive is considered one of Africa’s most stunning, and takes you past the “Breast Mountains” (they have nipples...maybe you need to see them to understand) and through lush green peaks and valleys. Apart from the occasional shepherd and his sheep/mountain goat flock (you should see the cliffs those things climb – unbelievable!) and a few thatched rondavel hut villages built on steep mountain faces, we encountered no other humans. I can’t ever recall a time I felt more in the middle of nowhere. Not that we minded since it was so incredibly beautiful…however, one small problem was that we underestimated the length of the drive and the sun was quickly setting. Soon we were enveloped in total blackness, in a region with no electricity, no people and no legible road signs…oh yes, and a one lane rocky gravel road with no guardrail. It was starting to look like we would be spending the night in the car with nothing but mountain goats for company. The route seemed to wind on forever, and we have never felt such relief as when we finally found Semonkong, which was completely non sign posted. It ended up being this tiny oasis in the middle of nowhere, with a South African chef (food, let alone edible food is hard to find outside of Maseru so a meal that wasn’t a stale bag of chips was welcome) and an electrical generator that was running for a whole hour! Bliss.
Lesotho is the skiing capital of southern Africa, and is covered by a thick layer of snow much of the year, which meant we were actually staying at a little thatched roof winter lodge complete with down bedding and a miraculous sight: indoor heating. It is located on a rushing river and is built on a steep mountain side, with little cottages dotting the hill – we loved it, and will definitely return though next time we will be making the drive in a 4x4. From the lodge we explored the Thaba Putsoa mountain range, with its rolling green hills dotted with the standard huts, donkeys, horses and flocks of sheep. The highlight was a hike to Maletsunyane Falls, which are southern Africa’s tallest at 150 metres, found in a narrow crack between two mountains and so tall that the bottom isn’t even visible from the top. Such an incredible area! The drive back was equally stunning, past farms with rust red soil fields, colourful people in traditional dress, and of course…sheep.
My final thoughts on Lesotho: While the roads and mountain passes are rough, winding, crumbling and at times terrifyingly steep, they provide some of the most dramatic, scenery of mountains and valleys to be found anywhere. And surely the population of sheep and goats is hundreds of times that of humans. In all, it is a really special place, friendly, laid back and primitive in the best possible way. Just bring a 4x4 and decent food should you go.
Next up: Namibia.
Lesotho is a solid 1100 km or 15 hour drive from Cape Town. Riddled with road works and stretching through the Karoo desert, it is not the most scenic motorway – but it was a great opportunity to see more (or rather most) of South Africa. Tired, sweaty, sunburnt and suffering from a serious case driving overdose, we crossed the overland border into Lesotho’s capital city Maseru.
Maseru is not the star attraction in Lesotho, but rather a necessary evil situated en route to the six-plus mountain ranges, national parks and nature reserves that comprise its countryside. It would be safe to say that Lesotho is in fact all mountains. Don’t quote me on this, but I actually think it statistically qualifies as the world’s most mountainous country... I remember having heard something to that effect. Even the lowlands where Maseru is situated are more than 1000 metres above sea level. The heights made for challenging driving and hiking at times and I did notice my pace was much slower…not to mention the puffing , panting and dramatics (mine) that accompany uphill exertion were just a little worse than usual.
Maseru is really just another African city, full of corrugated metal shacks, stray animals and garbage strewn streets. There are a few remnants of the 1860's British colonial period including a police station, post office, courthouses and the King’s palace (yes, Lesotho is still ruled by a King who lives in a heavily guarded palace – how typically, quintessentially African dictatorial), but otherwise it’s just a quick supply pit stop before heading for the hills. While we saw very, very few white people anywhere on this trip, oddly we did see hundreds of Chinese who are now conducting serious business in Lesotho, including diamond mining and clothing manufacturing. The Chinese contingent was especially concentrated at the local casino where we went to find food during what I now realize is an African standard: all day, city-wide power outages that effectively shut down an entire region. I had a hunch that somehow the casino would have ultra-powerful generators running in order to keep the money flowing, and I wasn’t wrong.
We headed out of Maseru asap, following what can only be described as one of the grossest yet expensive meals in recent memory, and straight to Thaba Bosiu, the mountain top fortress ruins of legendary Basotho King Moshoeshoe. The fort, considered impenetrable back in the day, has nothing on Masada but provided some seriously stunning views and a fun if slightly precarious climb scrambling over rocks and lizards. There were some interesting ruins at the top, though slightly less grand then expected, and we even made friends with a man we found hiding behind a rock. I thought he was going to mug us but instead he launched into a story about his life as a poor orphan whose siblings had died of HIV. He asked for a ride to the next town, and when we said ‘yes’, ran home to change out of his tattered rags and into designer jeans and an expensive sports jersey…and to grab his mobile phone, which was nicer than mine. Obviously this beggar was not quite the tourist milking mastermind he fancied himself to be.
By this point a serious thunder storm was brewing, so we decided to head for the university town of Roma where we spent the night in a little thatched roof hut at the Trading Post Lodge, which I loved but Johannes kept combing for spiders. Thankfully the power had returned at this point as I was not keen on the combination of candles and straw.
The next morning we climbed another mountain (as you can see, a pattern is starting to form) to check out some preserved dinosaur footprints. While the footprints themselves were a disappointment, the views were spectacular and I enjoyed hiking through the dirt village and being chased by seriously cute children demanding “pompoms”, their name for sweets. We were happy to oblige and I have to say that I was smitten with more than a few of those kids. The Basotho are generally really friendly, and everyone greets you, though of course very little English is spoken. They are simple country people who still dress in traditional blankets and hats, ride horses and donkeys for transport, and often delight in seeing their photos taken on the digital camera. Almost everyone in rural Lesotho is a sheep/goat/cow/donkey herder, and there are very, very few modern buildings. It is like taking a trip back in time – for the most part the modern world doesn’t exist, which I actually loved because I was craving a ‘getting away from it all’ experience.
We then hopped in our rented VW Polo – possibly the most ridiculous car to take to a country where there are two paved roads and everything else is mud, gravel and boulder dotted – to head deep inland through some of the higher mountain ranges. Needless to say, everyone else tackles these roads with huge trucks and 4x4 SUVs, but we decided to do it differently (read: like total clueless tourists). There were a few times where we nearly got stuck, and once we just had to give up and walk. Next up was some bushman cave paintings located down the roughest, rockiest, muddiest seven km road cutting through a valley that itself looked like a painting. The setting was beautiful, and the paintings were found on colourful rock faces lining a river and yet again there were no tourists anywhere – just a couple of shepherds and one extremely ripe smelling guide who led the way but spoke no English. We then headed deeper into the mountains over the Bushman’s, Molimo Nthuse and Blue Mountain passes towards the Mohale Dam, driving through settlements with unexpected names like Nazareth. The dam is part of the Lesotho Highlands Water Project, which wouldn’t be the type of attraction that usually catches my eye when traveling – but I am so glad we went. It looked like a giant crystal lake contained between a number of green mountains --and when you are trekking through extremely rural parts of Africa something like this makes for an unexpected sight. The drive alone makes the trip worthwhile because the views are seriously out of this world.
Our ultimate destination was Semonkong, a mountain lodge located in Lesotho’s central highlands by the Drakkensberg range and found at the very end of a dirt and gravel road running through another series of mountain passes with fitting names such as ‘God Help Me”. The drive is only 120 km, but takes between 4-5 hours to complete thanks to the treacherous climbs (average height is 3000 metres) and road conditions that prevent driving at speeds greater than 30 km/hour. I’m not going to lie: we were often scared. There were moments when we discussed fast evacuation strategies should the car slide over the side of a cliff. For once a seatbelt didn’t seem like such a good idea. The drive is considered one of Africa’s most stunning, and takes you past the “Breast Mountains” (they have nipples...maybe you need to see them to understand) and through lush green peaks and valleys. Apart from the occasional shepherd and his sheep/mountain goat flock (you should see the cliffs those things climb – unbelievable!) and a few thatched rondavel hut villages built on steep mountain faces, we encountered no other humans. I can’t ever recall a time I felt more in the middle of nowhere. Not that we minded since it was so incredibly beautiful…however, one small problem was that we underestimated the length of the drive and the sun was quickly setting. Soon we were enveloped in total blackness, in a region with no electricity, no people and no legible road signs…oh yes, and a one lane rocky gravel road with no guardrail. It was starting to look like we would be spending the night in the car with nothing but mountain goats for company. The route seemed to wind on forever, and we have never felt such relief as when we finally found Semonkong, which was completely non sign posted. It ended up being this tiny oasis in the middle of nowhere, with a South African chef (food, let alone edible food is hard to find outside of Maseru so a meal that wasn’t a stale bag of chips was welcome) and an electrical generator that was running for a whole hour! Bliss.
Lesotho is the skiing capital of southern Africa, and is covered by a thick layer of snow much of the year, which meant we were actually staying at a little thatched roof winter lodge complete with down bedding and a miraculous sight: indoor heating. It is located on a rushing river and is built on a steep mountain side, with little cottages dotting the hill – we loved it, and will definitely return though next time we will be making the drive in a 4x4. From the lodge we explored the Thaba Putsoa mountain range, with its rolling green hills dotted with the standard huts, donkeys, horses and flocks of sheep. The highlight was a hike to Maletsunyane Falls, which are southern Africa’s tallest at 150 metres, found in a narrow crack between two mountains and so tall that the bottom isn’t even visible from the top. Such an incredible area! The drive back was equally stunning, past farms with rust red soil fields, colourful people in traditional dress, and of course…sheep.
My final thoughts on Lesotho: While the roads and mountain passes are rough, winding, crumbling and at times terrifyingly steep, they provide some of the most dramatic, scenery of mountains and valleys to be found anywhere. And surely the population of sheep and goats is hundreds of times that of humans. In all, it is a really special place, friendly, laid back and primitive in the best possible way. Just bring a 4x4 and decent food should you go.
Next up: Namibia.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Exotic Isle of Zanzibar
Zanzibar has always intrigued me. I think I had a romanticized notion of it dating back to childhood, from stories of slaves and pirates, of Sultans and their harems, and spices. And it didn’t disappoint.
While not exactly clean, and predominantly third world, the word that best sums up Zanzibar is exotic. It’s also eclectic in the sense that your surroundings make it hard to pinpoint where exactly in the world you are. Technically it’s Africa yes, but both the population and the architecture are a diverse mix of Arab, Indian, Malaysian, as well as African – though the people are predominantly Muslim and dressed accordingly no matter their racial denomination. To disembark from the ferry into the crazy melee at the terminal wasn’t a terrible experience. I actually found it enhanced the sense of adventure and reinforced the knowledge I was thousands of miles from home.
Zanzibar comprises two islands, and is two hours by high speed ferry ride from Dar Es Salaam. It is surrounded by the clearest, bluest waters imaginable and is bordered by beaches of the whitest sand I have ever seen – it has the consistency of talc and felt like clay between my toes. Add to this coral reefs, colourful fish and gigantic seashells – and what you get is paradise. It has so much to offer: it is so astoundingly rich in culture and history, and the natural physical beauty of the place is truly breathtaking.
The main city is Stone Town/Zanzibar Town, a UNESCO World Heritage site. The settlement is extremely old, and still has a colonial (German, British) vibe. Zanzibar, a Rastafarian I befriended on the ferry told me, doesn’t consider itself part of Africa or Tanzania and in fact has its own separatist movement. Up until the 1960s it was actually presided over by the ruling Sultans of Oman. The city is a jumble of old Indian, Arab and colonial buildings that feature the most intricate architectural detailing – there’s old palaces, an old dispensary, the old slave market (so sad what happened there), the old customs house, old mosques and churches, and bustling spice and produce markets. There’s also a market where you can watch them slaughter chickens as a form of entertainment, but I had neither the stomach nor heart to partake. The Old Quarter is a maze of narrow, winding alleyways lined with small mosques and market stalls. You really need to hire a walking guide for navigation, otherwise you will get lost – and possibly robbed. The buildings are crumbling, but feature carved wooden balconies and shutters, and most famously, massive, elaborate doors. These I learned are what Zanzibar is famous for. The doors are either Indian or Arab made - the Arab version features only ornate wooden carvings, while the Indian ones feature large metal spikes originally designed to stop elephants from charging them. The city’s hotels are built in old mansions painted brightly and with mosaic tiling and ebony embellishments, as well as little balconies and large arch shaped windows. In typical Middle Eastern style every building has a rooftop patio – an amazing venue from which to watch sunset over the roofs of the city (there are no buildings exceeding five floors here). One of the big attractions is the house where Freddie Mercury grew up. I had no idea he was from here and Queen isn't my thing, but it seems to be a huge tourist draw.
The harbour is a mix of yachts, freighters and old wooden dhows, one of which I took to Prison Island, about 30 minutes out. These dodgy wooden boats (I watched them bail one out with coffee mugs before the passengers boarded) seat 5-8 people and have non appropriate names painted across the sides like “Gladiator” or “Jambo”, and the crews are smelly, salty old seadogs in filthy tattered clothes. Anyway, Prison Island was both tranquil and amazing. It houses the ruins of an old slave prison, long since closed and now painted bright colours – it’s the happiest looking prison I have ever seen. It’s a prime diving and snorkeling spot with a deserted beach and best of all a giant tortoise sanctuary. The oldest is age 150 years and the others range from babies to more than 100. There are just over 150 tortoises, and you can wander among them, feed them (they love pineapple and cabbage), pet them, play with their babies – it’s like a petting zoo. They have far sharper teeth than I imagined, and they are massive – also, they can move damn fast when they want to. But they are so gentle, and their skin feels so leathery; they are very docile really. And just like dogs they enjoy a good chin scratch.
I also toured the old buildings and Sultan’s Palace in town, and bought the autobiography of national heroine Princess Salme, the Arabian princess who eloped with a German (oh the horror) in the 1800s, escaping the repressive life of a royal Muslim female. These places, which haven’t changed since the colonial period, effectively transport you back in time. The nightlife isn’t bad – we hung out at various cafes and a rooftop bar, sitting on pillows surrounded by Arabic flourishes and an arched roof watching the sunset, drinking watermelon,lemon and sugarcane juice, listening to the ‘call to prayer’. Being a Muslim country, alcohol is prohibitively expensive so we forewent booze. Most eating is done on rooftops, including breakfast for which we had a traditional Zanzibari spread– Papaya, special fried breads and Tanzanian donuts – oooh, and they make the BEST coffee, but damn it’s strong. In general, the food was really good though everything tastes like curry. There was one exception: I bought a peeled mango that looked so tasty at a street stall – but didn't realize that Zanzibar people don`t care for sweet things. So with fruit such as mango, they pour cayenne pepper and loads (seriously-loads!)of salt all over it. Lesson learned: salted, spicy mango is disgusting and not something I`d recommend.
Zanzibar is an incredibly lush place –it's nickname is the `spice island`. I went on a spice plantation tour with some Germans and a Dutch doctor I met, which took us far up the west coast of the island. Once you leave the city, it just has such a feeling of peace and calm, and your body automatically relaxes. The sound of the wind rustling in the palms, the dappled sunlight shining through the spice and fruit trees, the beautiful plants and the smell of spices and flowers in the air… and the locals, so friendly and laid back and in their colourful traditional clothing - there’s something really unique about it. The popular local saying is 'hakuna matata' which means ‘no worries’(you know it from the Lion King I’m sure) and that really is how they live. I have found very few places in the world that make me feel this way. I’m not the type to relax when I travel (always too much to see and do), but here, Uruguay, the French Riviera, Tel Aviv, Macau and Byron Bay have all had a similar vibe about them that I can’t quite articulate. The plantation was fantastic in that they literally picked everything fresh off the trees for us to try – the bark of the cinnamon tree smells amazing! The climate is so conducive to growth and the soil so rich that they can, and do, grow almost everything. We ate pepper corns, fresh cacao, jack and bread fruit, star fruit, vanilla, grapefruits, cayenne, cumin, cloves, cinnamon…and the food was great. A little hot - they use the spices and mix them with coconut milk and vegetables I have never seen before – and it tastes a little like some Thai foods. Unfortunately, Tanzania is also well known for parasites and food poisoning. I fared relatively well but definitely had stomach ‘issues’ for a solid week after returning to SA.
I was also lucky enough to be on the receiving end of a serious marriage proposal from a toothless old Muslim as we finished up the spice trip. Apparently the women of Zanzibar are ‘nasty’ and `a handful` but he had heard that Canadian women were well behaved and obedient. I had to decline – probably worked out best for him as well – I’m not sure many of my exes would describe me in those terms...and I like my men with teeth.
Next up, I headed along the East Coast (the deserted coast) to a thatched hut cabin for a couple of days of seriously needed peace and quiet. It was located between the villages of Paje and Jambiani, right on the beach. I didn’t love the miniature jumping spiders that looked suspiciously like tiny tarantulas, or the constant power outages – but did love pretty much everything else there. For three days I wore no shoes, didn’t comb my hair and basically just lived in a bikini on the most incredible beaches. Yes, I looked like a filthy hippie but I didn’t care. There were a few small hotels along the beach, and a kite surfing school, but otherwise it was quiet except for some annoying Masai from Kenya who lived in a tent and spent their days lying on the beach (sun tanning???) and harassing girls. I had to make up a fake husband to get rid of them – maybe I should have brought my toothless suitor along. I spent the days beach combing and found some incredible shells, as well as swimming, and lazing on the white sand or lying in a hammock listening to the waves and reading about the renegade princess. I also spoke with a few locals about living conditions in Zanzibar, and was even invited to a birthday party one night – but in the interest of my safety didn’t go though I really wanted to (sometimes being a girl sucks). I also trekked out to a super remote village to snorkel with dolphins, but as luck would have it a massive storm hit that morning. At 7 am I was not stoked to be on a rickety wooden boat with two non English speakers in gnatty speedos, chasing dolphins through massive waves that were totally unsnorkle-able. I ALMOST lost my breakfast over the side. So after beating a hasty retreat, I instead visited some small villages and saw how the people lived and played with local children. And then later in the day, I lay on the beach surrounded by a random herd of cows that just wandered down to sit at the water’s edge. Nights were spent socializing with the other guests – there were ten of us in all, dining by candle and star light on the actual beach, with millions of twinkling stars lighting up the sky. It was magical.
While not exactly clean, and predominantly third world, the word that best sums up Zanzibar is exotic. It’s also eclectic in the sense that your surroundings make it hard to pinpoint where exactly in the world you are. Technically it’s Africa yes, but both the population and the architecture are a diverse mix of Arab, Indian, Malaysian, as well as African – though the people are predominantly Muslim and dressed accordingly no matter their racial denomination. To disembark from the ferry into the crazy melee at the terminal wasn’t a terrible experience. I actually found it enhanced the sense of adventure and reinforced the knowledge I was thousands of miles from home.
Zanzibar comprises two islands, and is two hours by high speed ferry ride from Dar Es Salaam. It is surrounded by the clearest, bluest waters imaginable and is bordered by beaches of the whitest sand I have ever seen – it has the consistency of talc and felt like clay between my toes. Add to this coral reefs, colourful fish and gigantic seashells – and what you get is paradise. It has so much to offer: it is so astoundingly rich in culture and history, and the natural physical beauty of the place is truly breathtaking.
The main city is Stone Town/Zanzibar Town, a UNESCO World Heritage site. The settlement is extremely old, and still has a colonial (German, British) vibe. Zanzibar, a Rastafarian I befriended on the ferry told me, doesn’t consider itself part of Africa or Tanzania and in fact has its own separatist movement. Up until the 1960s it was actually presided over by the ruling Sultans of Oman. The city is a jumble of old Indian, Arab and colonial buildings that feature the most intricate architectural detailing – there’s old palaces, an old dispensary, the old slave market (so sad what happened there), the old customs house, old mosques and churches, and bustling spice and produce markets. There’s also a market where you can watch them slaughter chickens as a form of entertainment, but I had neither the stomach nor heart to partake. The Old Quarter is a maze of narrow, winding alleyways lined with small mosques and market stalls. You really need to hire a walking guide for navigation, otherwise you will get lost – and possibly robbed. The buildings are crumbling, but feature carved wooden balconies and shutters, and most famously, massive, elaborate doors. These I learned are what Zanzibar is famous for. The doors are either Indian or Arab made - the Arab version features only ornate wooden carvings, while the Indian ones feature large metal spikes originally designed to stop elephants from charging them. The city’s hotels are built in old mansions painted brightly and with mosaic tiling and ebony embellishments, as well as little balconies and large arch shaped windows. In typical Middle Eastern style every building has a rooftop patio – an amazing venue from which to watch sunset over the roofs of the city (there are no buildings exceeding five floors here). One of the big attractions is the house where Freddie Mercury grew up. I had no idea he was from here and Queen isn't my thing, but it seems to be a huge tourist draw.
The harbour is a mix of yachts, freighters and old wooden dhows, one of which I took to Prison Island, about 30 minutes out. These dodgy wooden boats (I watched them bail one out with coffee mugs before the passengers boarded) seat 5-8 people and have non appropriate names painted across the sides like “Gladiator” or “Jambo”, and the crews are smelly, salty old seadogs in filthy tattered clothes. Anyway, Prison Island was both tranquil and amazing. It houses the ruins of an old slave prison, long since closed and now painted bright colours – it’s the happiest looking prison I have ever seen. It’s a prime diving and snorkeling spot with a deserted beach and best of all a giant tortoise sanctuary. The oldest is age 150 years and the others range from babies to more than 100. There are just over 150 tortoises, and you can wander among them, feed them (they love pineapple and cabbage), pet them, play with their babies – it’s like a petting zoo. They have far sharper teeth than I imagined, and they are massive – also, they can move damn fast when they want to. But they are so gentle, and their skin feels so leathery; they are very docile really. And just like dogs they enjoy a good chin scratch.
I also toured the old buildings and Sultan’s Palace in town, and bought the autobiography of national heroine Princess Salme, the Arabian princess who eloped with a German (oh the horror) in the 1800s, escaping the repressive life of a royal Muslim female. These places, which haven’t changed since the colonial period, effectively transport you back in time. The nightlife isn’t bad – we hung out at various cafes and a rooftop bar, sitting on pillows surrounded by Arabic flourishes and an arched roof watching the sunset, drinking watermelon,lemon and sugarcane juice, listening to the ‘call to prayer’. Being a Muslim country, alcohol is prohibitively expensive so we forewent booze. Most eating is done on rooftops, including breakfast for which we had a traditional Zanzibari spread– Papaya, special fried breads and Tanzanian donuts – oooh, and they make the BEST coffee, but damn it’s strong. In general, the food was really good though everything tastes like curry. There was one exception: I bought a peeled mango that looked so tasty at a street stall – but didn't realize that Zanzibar people don`t care for sweet things. So with fruit such as mango, they pour cayenne pepper and loads (seriously-loads!)of salt all over it. Lesson learned: salted, spicy mango is disgusting and not something I`d recommend.
Zanzibar is an incredibly lush place –it's nickname is the `spice island`. I went on a spice plantation tour with some Germans and a Dutch doctor I met, which took us far up the west coast of the island. Once you leave the city, it just has such a feeling of peace and calm, and your body automatically relaxes. The sound of the wind rustling in the palms, the dappled sunlight shining through the spice and fruit trees, the beautiful plants and the smell of spices and flowers in the air… and the locals, so friendly and laid back and in their colourful traditional clothing - there’s something really unique about it. The popular local saying is 'hakuna matata' which means ‘no worries’(you know it from the Lion King I’m sure) and that really is how they live. I have found very few places in the world that make me feel this way. I’m not the type to relax when I travel (always too much to see and do), but here, Uruguay, the French Riviera, Tel Aviv, Macau and Byron Bay have all had a similar vibe about them that I can’t quite articulate. The plantation was fantastic in that they literally picked everything fresh off the trees for us to try – the bark of the cinnamon tree smells amazing! The climate is so conducive to growth and the soil so rich that they can, and do, grow almost everything. We ate pepper corns, fresh cacao, jack and bread fruit, star fruit, vanilla, grapefruits, cayenne, cumin, cloves, cinnamon…and the food was great. A little hot - they use the spices and mix them with coconut milk and vegetables I have never seen before – and it tastes a little like some Thai foods. Unfortunately, Tanzania is also well known for parasites and food poisoning. I fared relatively well but definitely had stomach ‘issues’ for a solid week after returning to SA.
I was also lucky enough to be on the receiving end of a serious marriage proposal from a toothless old Muslim as we finished up the spice trip. Apparently the women of Zanzibar are ‘nasty’ and `a handful` but he had heard that Canadian women were well behaved and obedient. I had to decline – probably worked out best for him as well – I’m not sure many of my exes would describe me in those terms...and I like my men with teeth.
Next up, I headed along the East Coast (the deserted coast) to a thatched hut cabin for a couple of days of seriously needed peace and quiet. It was located between the villages of Paje and Jambiani, right on the beach. I didn’t love the miniature jumping spiders that looked suspiciously like tiny tarantulas, or the constant power outages – but did love pretty much everything else there. For three days I wore no shoes, didn’t comb my hair and basically just lived in a bikini on the most incredible beaches. Yes, I looked like a filthy hippie but I didn’t care. There were a few small hotels along the beach, and a kite surfing school, but otherwise it was quiet except for some annoying Masai from Kenya who lived in a tent and spent their days lying on the beach (sun tanning???) and harassing girls. I had to make up a fake husband to get rid of them – maybe I should have brought my toothless suitor along. I spent the days beach combing and found some incredible shells, as well as swimming, and lazing on the white sand or lying in a hammock listening to the waves and reading about the renegade princess. I also spoke with a few locals about living conditions in Zanzibar, and was even invited to a birthday party one night – but in the interest of my safety didn’t go though I really wanted to (sometimes being a girl sucks). I also trekked out to a super remote village to snorkel with dolphins, but as luck would have it a massive storm hit that morning. At 7 am I was not stoked to be on a rickety wooden boat with two non English speakers in gnatty speedos, chasing dolphins through massive waves that were totally unsnorkle-able. I ALMOST lost my breakfast over the side. So after beating a hasty retreat, I instead visited some small villages and saw how the people lived and played with local children. And then later in the day, I lay on the beach surrounded by a random herd of cows that just wandered down to sit at the water’s edge. Nights were spent socializing with the other guests – there were ten of us in all, dining by candle and star light on the actual beach, with millions of twinkling stars lighting up the sky. It was magical.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Travel in Africa - A Wild Ride
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
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
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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