what is there to say about zanzibar except that it's a postcard. likely the most picture perfect place i've ever been.
we arrived in the afternoon, surprised at how aggressively the burka'd women would shove their matronly, mountainous bellies into the throng, swimming past us with henna'd hands and sausage arms, mindless of the little children (theirs) who bobbed along in the crowd.
once i fought my way off the boat (one arm around my drum, the other my purse, and the bow and arrow slung across my bag), the breeze soothed me immediately. zanzibar is cooler than the mainland. the old stone town is a labryinthe of alleyways, bullied by the unruly buildings, crooked paths laboriously carving their way amongst the shops, houses, and mosques. incomplete street cats littered the dust, yowling and fighting and lounging. they missed eyes, ears, tails, as if there weren't enough parts to go around.
that first night, we stowed our stuff at the flamingo guesthouse (our predetermined rendezvous with jakob, who would arrive the next day), and set off to find dinner. we ended up at monsoon, where we sat on the cushioned floor and listened to the live taraab (taarab?) group. the drummer was amazing. he could make that drum talk (stroking, soothing, prodding, beating). a violin and a 11 stringed lute completed the ensemble. i started with passionfruit calamari salad, had the king fish in coconut ginger sauce with coconut rice, greens, potatoes (i think), and mango salsa (traded the salsa for erika's greens). i finished with coconut ice cream in a bowl. the night was as exotic as our spiced tea and brown sugar cakes, as chill as our passion coladas. just an amazing vibe.
we rolled home stuffed like the fat moon low in the sky. couldn't wait for tomorrow, when we'd make it a point to get lost in stown town.
we spent the entire next day shopping, stopping to have lunch at a vegetarian indian restaurant. the highlight was the passion lassi. that, and the volume. they'd refill your plate as often as you liked...which come to think of it, is not that surprising given the number of indian buffets, but it was unexpected in africa, so i took advantage. we met jakob in the afternoon (after getting amazingly lost which made us 40 minutes late). for dinner, the three of us went to the two tables restaurant, a very literally named private kitchen. we met a south african couple who shared their white wine and our table (the owner of the restaurant was muslim, so he didn't serve any alcohol but didn't mind if we partook). they were the first of the good friends we'd meet in zanzibar. we ate course after course of curry this and coconut that. there must've been 3 starch courses alone. by the time he introduced his signature fruit juice blend, our stomachs were too stretched to finish even 1 jug. we capped the night off at mercury's, but erika and i were both too full to drink much of anything (the bar is named after freddie mercury, who was born in zanzibar).
the next morning we ate an early breakfast on the rooftop of the guesthouse, shielded from the heat by the hanging linen. then we set off on the spice tour that would shape the rest of our trip.
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| jakob, erika, and the stereotypical german nurse zanzibar |
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