An impromptu decision to use up the rest of my vacation
days before I’m no longer able to do so resulted in planning a trip with someone
from my training group. Lindsay and I
have a history of awful travel mishaps, but we threw caution to the wind and chose
an adventure in Tanzania. With several communication problems (she doesn’t have
electricity or cell phone service at her post), we forged ahead and bought the
plane tickets with the understanding that we’d be winging most of the itinerary.
We started off as expected – rushed and wondering if we’d
be narrowly missing our flight. Luckily
though, we struck up a conversation with an amicable mama selling bean
sandwiches who tracked down a private car for us. Tired from not sleeping more than two hours
the night before, I fell asleep in the backseat, only waking every now and then
to hear snippets of the driver’s music.
At first I found it catchy but Lindsay’s wide-eyed expression and raised
eyebrow begged me to listen closely to the lyrics which were full of intense
messages about abortion and “Micky Mouse Freedom.” We made it to Douala in record time though and
settled comfortably into our seats for the official start to our vacation –
signified by a crappy in-flight movie and mediocre airplane food that tasted so
good I was practically licking the wrapper.
After a quick layover in Addis Ababa, we arrived in Dar
es Salaam. Although there were a lot of
people clamoring to get their visas, we were in no hurry since it was 2am and
we had nowhere to go. Not trusting middle
of the night transportation, we napped on some benches for a few hours until
dawn when we took a taxi to the YWCA. We
slept a bit more until we felt ready to face the day, then set out towards the nice
part of town. We were clearly entering
ex-pat territory and things were a bit overpriced, but after two years of fighting
against the tourist stigma, we made a pact that we’d allowed ourselves minor indulgences
on this trip.
The next morning, we took the ferry to Zanzibar, an
island just off the coast. The ride was
a little choppy but it still felt glamorous.
After a few tries, we settled into a hostel that had rooms open (it wasn’t
in our guidebook, but had reasonable rates, friendly staff, and free WiFi!) and
then went in search of lunch to quell our groaning stomachs. We were looking for a particular Italian
restaurant we had heard about, but got a little lost (and were given blatantly
wrong directions by people we asked) so were particularly eager when we finally
arrived. I rushed right to the railing
to take in the stunning ocean view then heard a voice behind me call my
name. In a small-world coincidence, it
was Suzanne, a friend/classmate/fellow American Studies major from college! I was speechless at the thought of all the
details that came together for our random reunion. Lunch was amazing (lime garlic penne followed
by chocolate cake topped with mango ice cream) and we worked off the calories
afterwards by walking around leisurely exploring shops and trying on
dresses. While having sunset drinks on a
rooftop bar, we ran into Suzanne and her friend again so enjoyed the evening
catching up and hearing about what everyone has been up to. We capped off the evening by partaking in
sugar cane juice and the street food of the night market.
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| Manch Lodge - our charming hostel in Stonetown |
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| Oceanside view from Amore Mio Italian restaurant |
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| 19th-Century Anglican Cathedral, next to the Old Slave Market |
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| Monument to the slave trade |
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| Stonetown |
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| Night market |
Zanzibar is made up of Stonetown, the historical touristy
west side of the island, and...well…everything else. The north and east coasts have beautiful beaches
and we decided to head to one of these.
We had a general idea that we wanted to try Paje Beach, but weren’t
entirely set on where to stay. During
the bus ride across the island, I rattled off a few names we were thinking of,
but the charger warned that they might be full.
He recommended a new place that hadn’t really gotten publicity yet, but
in keeping with the spirit of being open to suggestions, we said we’d check it out. Our van pulled up to a resort with bungalows
dotting the landscape right alongside a white sand beach. Lindsay and I looked at each other and tried not
to say “We’ll take it” too eagerly. The
restaurant overlooked the water and we spent the evening taking it all in and
treating ourselves once again to delicious food.
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| In a word...paradise |
The next day was all about utter relaxation as we lounged
on the beach chairs. I went in the water
a few times but mainly we just lay out in the sun reading and napping all day. I walked along the beach to explore a bit and
allowed the hammock to lull me into an afternoon snooze. Unfortunately, common sense was also on
vacation as I didn’t apply nearly enough sunscreen throughout the day. By evening, we realized we were burnt to a crisp
on our legs and backs. Despite the crisp
cool white sheets of the bed, I was suffering as I attempted to sleep.
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| Footprints |
The ferry back to Dar es Salaam was a bit rougher than
the first but with a Bendadryl in my system, I barely
noticed. At one point, I woke up but
Lindsay cautioned that I should go back to sleep immediately. Too late – I was now awake to witness people throwing
up left and right. (As an aside,
Benadryl [diphenhydramine] works on your H2 receptors – the same ones that dramamine
works on so it’s a cheap alternative to avoid motion sickness.)
We checked back into the YWCA, making do with the fact
that the only place they had available was a sketchy sliver of a room with the
wall falling down around the holes. We dined
like Americans at a fast food complex that served up a bizarrely mealy veggie
burger and fries, but had strangely creamy soft-serve ice cream. Having heard of a rooftop bar overlooking the bay,
we instead found ourselves walking along an extraordinarily plush red carpet up
to the foyer of a lavish hotel, nervous at our out-of-place villageois
appearance and demeanor. Throwing
caution to the wind, we found the elevator and arrived at the top floor where
we were immediately sized up and somehow allowed to proceed. (Tank top? Check. Flip-flops?
Check. Pocket full of just enough
shillings to order one thing on the drink list?
Check.) Sometimes you resign
yourself to saving money on lodging and food so you can spend money on things
that really matter – like a fancy drink and a nighttime view of the city.
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| In order to afford this... |
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| The hole makes it easy to talk to your neighbors! |
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| ...we slept here. |
The next day, we were off to Arusha in a huge coach
bus. Tanzania has public transportation down
to a science and Lindsay and I were in shock by it all: good music, comfy seats (1 whole seat per
person!), no chickens/goats/urinating babies to share the space… Heck, we even got complimentary cookies and a
bottle of Coca Cola! I read off and on
throughout the 10-hour ride, and we arrived in Arusha at dusk. Unfortunately, our carefree attitude
wasn’t such a great idea here, as we found it was going to be too late and/or
too expensive to organize either a short safari or trip to Ngorongoro Crater. Since we were going to be saving money
though, we splurged on another mid-priced hotel instead of enduring another
hostel in our itchy sunburned condition.
Owned by a very sweet Chinese man, the restaurant featured the same cuisine
and I helped myself to a platter of fried eggplant.
Since we had no itinerary the next day, we got to sleep
in before casually strolling around exploring the fairly developed town. After getting some ice cream, I went fabric
shopping which involved the requisite bargaining process. We had intended to try another restaurant for
dinner, but when it was nowhere to be found we returned to the Chinese
restaurant in the hotel and I enjoyed deep fried bananas for dinner. (Hey, it’s a vacation, right?)
Our return to Dar was a seemingly never-ending 12-hour
bus ride. The only highlights were the 2
hours of Westlife music videos (they were an Irish boy band) followed by an
hour of NSync. (Come on, is there really
any contest in who wins the title for best 90s entertainment?) We gorged ourselves on dairy for our last
meal in the city as we ordered both pizza and cheesy garlic bread. Then, it was off to the airport where we
waited around until our flight. Despite the
sleep deprivation, I couldn’t get comfortable on the plane. Our final leg from Addis Ababa to Douala was
surely dominated by Cameroonians as it involved the typical lack of order that
I’ve come to associate with this country: people boarding and then thinking they could
casually leave the plane for a bit until we took off, not sitting in their assigned
places resulting in fights as other people searched for their seats, oversized
luggage, stealing extra tiny bottles of wine, etc. Luckily, my vacation euphoria hadn’t quite
worn off yet, so I was able to just exchange one of those looks with Lindsay
that says “On va faire comment?”
The in-flight movie was pretty good and again, I ate
almost every crumb offered to me. We
arrived in Douala and chaos reigned as we made our way through the visa
checkpoints and baggage area. We waited
2 ½ hours for our luggage before learning that it wouldn’t be making an
appearance today. This meant we’d be
spending the night in Douala, so we filled out the required paperwork and made
our way to the Catholic mission. We were
exhausted and frustrated, but I felt glad to be back in Cameroon and ready to
tackle the next few months of service.
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