Zanzibar: One Very Hairy Ferry (*dry retches)

Zanzibar. Is there anywhere in the world that sounds more exotic? I almost can’t say the name without languidly draping an arm out to one side, as though holding an imaginary cocktail. Just say it out loud–Zanz-ibahhhh. You don’t so much pronounce it as longingly sigh it. Zanzibar. Conjures up visions of white sandy beaches, ludicrously blue water, palm trees, and you–positively glowing, reclining on a sun lounge, or maybe strolling along the beach in a bikini.

Trouble is, when you’re of Scottish and Irish heritage, with a propensity for seasickness and you’ve overlanded to get there, you arrive on the island a sweaty, fetid, disgusting goblin, scuttling desperately towards shade. Any shade! Think I’m exaggerating?

Rewind to our last blog where we finished our safari at the Ngorongoro crater. From there we truck it back to Arusha where we discover that a group from another big yellow truck will be joining ours. And this’ll mean our numbers swell to a total of 28: That’s. Every. Seat. On. The. Truck. Occupied. A MERGER. Like Survivor, only with no sweet, sweet tribal council to vote anybody out and give you precious space. And mother of God, is it a tense two days travel to get to Zanzibar. The Merge is handled pretty poorly, if I’m honest. They ask everybody to go round in a circle and introduce themselves and well, that’s the extent of the social lubrication.  It’s hot as the seventh level of hell on the truck (imagine a Bikram bus ride, minus any Bikram zen), everyone’s gear doesn’t fit in the lockers under the truck so we’ve got bags piled all around us, there’s confusion and tension over seat allocation, one groups cutlery all goes missing because it doesn’t make it onto the new truck… You get the drift.  It’s a very long day’s travel to get to Dar El Salaam where we camp at a Beach Camp.

Despite being sticky with 5mm of sweat and double that in sunscreen, I defer my shower till the morning because I want to start the day’s travel fresh. I get up in the dark at 4:30am, walk in the dark to the showers with my head torch, strip and turn on the tap. No water. Not a drop. I’m just standing there naked, wearing a frankly futile shower cap in the dark. There’s no water on the site at all. Not a toilet to be flushed, not a sink tap to to rinse anything. I wash my face with bottled water, like I’m f%&*ing J-Lo and march back to the tent to breakfast and pack up.

Another hot truck drive, an hour standing about in the heat waiting for a ferry, a pretty smooth ferry ride and and we finally arrive on the island. First stop– a spice garden. We’re taken around and shown various plants and spices and told what they might be remedies for (if you’re a regular reader of the blog you’ll remember I did something very similar in Sri Lanka). Alas, there is in remedy for Being On The Verge Of An Almighty Strop.

We’re shown what nutmeg looks like in it’s natural state. (It doesn’t grow in Masterfoods jars on trees, who knew???)

And other plants that can be used for natural make up–

One of the guides gallantly applies it so we can see the colour. It’s lovely, maybe a little too orange based for my cool undertones.

Then, (gasp!) a delightful surprise, I’m given a crown and beautiful necklace made of reeds. Possibly because I look quite regal. More likely because they’ve decided in Trinny and Susannah fashion what’s needed is to simultaneously draw the eye both upwards and downwards away from my very tired face.

In a disappointing turn of events, it turns out everybody gets given a crown. Hmph.  We’ve all seen how that turns out in Game of Thrones.

We all spend far too much $$$ at the Spice garden on perfumes and perfumed body lotions, because all of us were hit by the no water for showers crisis and we like the smell of ANYTHING BUT OUR RANK SWEATY SELVES. I also pick up some delicious fresh spice mixes for cooking. Then it’s on to Stone Town where we are staying the night.

A group of us head out for pre-dinner drinks with a view and then onto Indian for a curry.

We’ve been told not to miss the Zanzibar pizzas for sweets, so I bravely forgo the Gulab Jamen at the Indian restaurant and head to the night markets, more or less muttering ‘this had better be bloody worth it’ to myself the whole way.  (Get between me and my Gulab at your peril). I opt for the Snickers, Banana and Nutella option.

They do not disappoint. Highly recommended if you are in Stone Town!

In the morning we have the option of several activities and a group of us elect to head out to Changuu Island to see the colony of giant tortoises there. A 45 minute boat ride out to the island….

And we’re there. The island was used in the 1860s by an Arab slave trader to contain rebellious slaves. The British First Minister purchased the island in the 1890’s and built a prison complex on there but it never actually served as a prison. Instead it was a quarantine island, primarily for yellow fever.

The main attraction today is a colony of Aldabra Giant Tortoises. They were initially gifted to Zanzibar from the Seychelles government in 1919, in exchange for some flowering plants.  And the entrance fee to the island includes the opportunity to feed them (barely suppressed squeals)

And they like a little massage on the neck while they’re eating. This guy, btw is 189 years old.

I become a little obsessed with closed ups of the tortoises. They seem to have such distinct little personalities…

We’re also treated to a male peacock on the island, flaring his plumage

We make our way back to Stone Town hoping to have some time to explore the historic town centre and the slave markets, but unfortunately the design of the tour only allows you time to do one of the many optional activities listed 🙁  We are all a bit grizzly about this. Those that went to Stone Town also wanted to see Changuu Island. We all wanted to see Stone Town. It’s a bit disappointing but completely non-negotiable so into mini vans we bundle to head to our beach resort. These views on arrival cheer us up somewhat….

Time to soak up some rays and work on my tan. Lol, are you kidding? With my pallid complexion? Melanin? More like Mela-none. I don my rashie for full sun protection and paddle in that.

On our first full day at the beach, we wander up the coast to Nungwi to visit the Mnarani Natural Aquarium. It’s situated in a large tidal pool formed by coral rock and serves to rehabilitate turtles caught and injured in fishing nets. It’s a long walk to get there (about an hour in the blazing sun) – photo credit to my lovely friend Maeva. Check out her facebook page, it puts my snaps to shame!

But the walk is well worth it! There are dozens of turtles in the rock pool, and you have the opportunity to swim with them as long as you like and hand feed them seaweed. Warning: it is completely freaky when they brush up against your legs under the water because they are quite big and solid and all of your natural instincts scream SHARK.

My friend Kelsea has been complaining on tour that she’s disappointed she is not getting enough of a tan, so I bravely take one for the team and offer to be photographed beside her.

We reach the point feeding the turtles where the seaweed is actually beginning to look appealing so it’s time to wander back down the beach to grab a spot of lunch at Gerry’s bar.

And then a spot of gallery hopping to round out a beautiful day.

It won’t surprise you to hear that the sunsets on Zanziar are genuinely next level beautiful

On the recommendation of one of my friends Cath we wander down to a beautiful local Italian place for dinner called La Fontana, and dine on lobster for under $20 Australian dollars.

It’s one of the best meals that we’ve had in Africa. So much better than food at the beach resorts! (Full disclosure, it’s THAT good that we go back the following night for an encore)

We have another full day on the island to lounge about, swim, read, sip cocktails and it’s complete and utter bliss. This might sound disgustingly smug but don’t worry, I’m about to deliver something grim, so strap in and get ready for some quality schadenfreude .

You may be wondering about the title of this blog: what’s with the reference to a Hairy Ferry ride? Well. Our friend Will had warned us in Ngorongoro about the ferry from Zanibar back to the mainland and described lots of vomiting, but our trip over was really comfortable and pretty easy going, so I had just filed his report away as his bad luck/rampant exaggeration. Hoooooo boy.

We board the ferry to Dar and Toto, we’re definitely not in Zanzibar anymore.

This baby one is 1/3 the size of the first class vessel we took over and looks about twenty years older. It’s packed to the gills. We are squashed in, savage BO permeates nostrils, clothing, it even feels as though it’s in my throat. There aren’t enough seats for everyone and, icing on the cake, the air conditioning unit is busted. Babies are crying all over the place before we even move, and once we’re ten minutes into the journey, the pitching and lurching of the boat up and down up and down up and down peaks and there are more babies crying simultaneously than I’ve ever heard in my life. I feel hot and cold all over my top lip is sweating and mouth is dry but watering all at the same time: never a good sign. I’m trying to breathe deeply and focus on the visible horizon but unfortunately the universe decrees ‘Cue Retching and Vomiting of Everyone Around Me.’ A handful of people start chucking, and honestly, you’ve never seen a ripple effect like it.  Totally CONTAGIOUS. The worst chorus you’ve ever heard. Grunty spews. Copious wet spews. Silent spews. Tearful spews. Cough like spews. Violent full body retches. Then the smell hits and that sets off a fresh wave all over again. Naturally they haven’t done anything as sensible as giving everyone a sick bag in advance. No! They have ONE guy on the floor who equips himself with a maximum of four bags at any time, as though they’re on rations, and he ambles over to the chuckers with zero sense of urgency while people are gagging and swallowing back their own vomit. Some poor parents are catching their kids spew in scarves/wraps. He’s either doing vomit bag distribution,, or wandering very wearily to a roll of paper towel for clean ups for the poor souls who couldn’t hold it in. Prophylaxis is clearly a foreign concept to this ferry company… I almost chuck but sit up really straight and only let it rise as high as my collar bone before literally willing it back down my oesophagus. Not today, undigested food. Not today. We eventually make it to the horizon and I stagger off the ramp and almost fall to the ground in a state of rapture at fresh air and a stationary horizon.

So there you have it, Jarrod. Island life is complete bliss and highly recommended, I’d love to get back to Zanzibar to explore more and see more of the beautiful beaches but I think I’d skip the ferry ride next time round… But I’ll throw it over to you and the readers. Zanzibar: Jarrod, would you go there?