My recent trip to Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar was simply amazing. It had been 3 very long weeks since I had seen the ocean, and I was starting to feel a bit like a land crab. I decided I would tackle the bus to get me to Dar, but given that the journey by road is at least 10 hours, flying home was going to be the only sensible option. Nonetheless it was great to see some of the beautiful Tanzanian countryside, even if it meant getting a rather sore bottom in the process. The journey started at 6am from Arusha, and didn’t end until 8pm when I finally made it to my hotel. I was sure the website said it would take only 10 hours, but clearly this is Africa so you need to add at least another 3-4 hours on to that, plus take into account the traffic in Dar es Salaam which is nothing less than complete and utter chaos. A city of 6 million with infrastructure so poor it can barely cope with 1 million people is always going to be recipe for disaster, and I, like everyone else in Dar at rush hour on Friday, found myself sat in one of the biggest traffic jams I have ever witnessed. But after what became a journey that I thought would never end, a hot shower and a very comfortable bed awaited me at my hotel in the middle of Kariakoo, the central suburb of Dar, most famous for its local market. I spent one day in Dar as I thought it would be good to see part of the city considering I had made such an effort to get there. But, like any other big city, once you’ve been to one you’ve been to them all. Dar es Salaam is dirty and smelly, and the people I found to be far more aggressive than anybody I had encountered in Arusha. I witnessed two guys having a heated argument about football which ended in one guy threatening to kill the other one. And I too wasn’t without the occasional scare. A rather aggressive and persistent young man decided to grab me when I wouldn’t buy a pair of his shoes from the market, and despite telling him with a rather stern voice to leave me alone, accompanied by a decent push, he continued topursue me for about 500 metres along the road. The sad reality was that I couldn’t trust anybody to come to my aid so was left to resolve the situation as best as I knew how. But hey, you haven’t travelled through Africa as a young white female by yourself if you don’t get hassled at least once.
Earlier in the day I went to Kunduchi Beach, about 20km north of the city, where located within the Kunduchi Beach Hotel was the Wet n’Wild water park. I arrived at 11am and for the first 2 hours was the only person in the park, other than the odd staff member walking around attempting to look busy. The park had about a dozen pools and the same number of water slides, which for anyone who knows me is my idea of heaven. I just wish there was actually somebody else with me to enjoy it. Eventually a Muslim family arrived. Talk about feeling underdressed. I was in my togs, and they were in more clothes than I think I’ve ever worn since stepping off the plane in Arusha 3 weeks ago. It’s no wonder none of the children could swim. The weight of their clothes alone would be enough to sink a battle ship. They also made use of the prayer room, situated at the back of the park. Not something I’ve ever seen at a swimming pool before, but great that the family could still enjoy the water without it interrupting their daily religious commitments.
The ferry terminal to Zanzibar was about 3km from my hotel, and with the ferry leaving at 9:30am and boarding commencing at 8:30am, it meant I had an early start the next day. I still had to purchase my ticket, which much like everything involving a credit card in Africa is a bit hit and miss, so I had to prepare myself for a difficult battle with the ticketing people. First they said the machine was broken, then they led me to about 4 different counters before I actually spoke to someone who understood English, but somehow I miraculously managed to buy a return ticket, wasn’t ripped off and made the ferry with about a minute to spare before boarding. I think I’ll call that my first of many successes of the weekend. While the locals sit (or stand) outside, tourists enjoy an air-conditioned, serviced cabin equipped with TV’s and complimentary food and drink. Not bad at all. It only took 2 hours to make the crossing, and before long I was lapping up the island life on Zanzibar. And I definitely wasn’t disappointed – it really is as stunning as the pictures you see in tourist brochures. But only if you don’t step more than 100 metres inland from the beach resorts. I very much doubt many tourists would even venture that far. Not when there are miles of white sand beaches, the aqua blue waters of the Indian Ocean and as many cocktails as you could possibly imagine to keep you entertained. I though, decided to take local transport while on the island, rather than fall for the tourist trap that exists. Hotels will charge exorbitant prices for tours to different parts of the island, but having spent all of 30 minutes on the internet discovered that I could also reach these places using the local daladala. Consequently I managed to travel from one end of the island to the other (a distance of about 100km) for the grand total of $3, instead of the $150 the hotel wanted to charge. Success number two – not getting ripped off and travelling with the locals! There are of course more advantages than just saving money when one travels with the locals. I got chatting (as I so often do) with the chef of a restaurant at Nungwi beach – who organised a boat trip to one of the adjacent beaches for a nominal fee. I also got to witness the true Zanzibar, which is a far cry from the tourist resorts scattered along the coastline. Small villages almost identical to those I have seen in Arusha were hidden away amongst banana plantations, filled with people struggling to make ends meet. That didn’t stop me of course getting sucked in to the tourist way of life, and most of my time was filled topping up my tan, swimming and snorkelling in the pristine blue ocean, enjoying a massage, and rehydrating at one of the many beachside bars.
I stayed in Stonetown while on the island, a town comprising predominantly Muslim people. There are over 50 mosques but only two cathedrals, one Catholic, the other Anglican. So not to embarrass myself, unlike many of the completely ignorant tourists who got off the ferry wearing nothing more than their short shorts and skimpy singlets so to reveal every conceivable inch of pasty white flesh, I ensured I was appropriately covered up while taking on a walking tour of Stonetown. In 32 degrees and 90% humidity (felt like 40 degrees) it was a struggle to say the least but I wasn’t going to be one of “those tourists”, and as a result was very warmly received by the locals. Success number three – not making a fool of myself. While I could write paragraphs on the history of Stonetown, I won’t. But I would highly recommend reading a bit on it as the town enjoys a colourful history, which includes none other than Freddy Mercury himself. I even managed to find the house he lived in as a child, mind you it was decorated in a lot of Queen memorabilia so wasn’t too hard to spot amongst the many palaces, mosques and other buildings of interest scattered throughout the town.
On my final day I took a boat trip to Changuu Island, more commonly known as Prison Island. The island is most famous for its Aldabra Giant Tortoises, a gift from the Seychelles. Through my uncanny ability to get things for the local price, the entire trip set me back less than $10, compared to the $90 the hotel wanted. I also quickly became a favourite with the tortoises as I had learned the night before to buy a bunch of bananas to take over and feed to them. On arrival most of them were in a deep slumber but before long the scent of bananas had them all chasing me around the sanctuary. One so eager in fact that all 150kg of him managed to stand on my foot – something I’d rather not have repeated in a hurry. The oldest was a guy aged 192 years, weighing over 200kg. The youngest, only a few days old who could easily fit into the palm of my hand. Wonderful creatures with a pretty sweet life I imagine.
And sadly, after 5 wonderful days away my little retreat to the ocean was over. A 45 minute flight back to Arusha was all it took, but in that short time I managed to befriend an English chap who had lived in Tanzania in 18 years. We exchanged stories of our experiences in Africa, mine far tamer than his – he’s had malaria 3 times and dengue fever once. He’s invited me to the golf course on the outskirts of Arusha this weekend, from where you can see Mt Kilimanjaro and Mt Meru in a single frame. I hope you enjoy the many photos from my time in Dar and Zanzibar and if you ever get the chance I would highly recommend a visit!
