Me in the classic "Completely ridiculous, isn't it?" pose:
I probably reached an all-time activity low on Zanzibar, choosing to eat my way through the island. Before we had even checked into our hotel in Stonetown, I was happily chewing on the best street meat kebabs I've ever had that a fellow was cooking up a convenient 10 paces away from the hotel. If only he had been cooking all the time I could have followed my nose and not gotten lost in the narrow streets (although there were plenty of cool doors to look at while wandering aimlessly).
The first night we went to a section of town where vendors sold the most amazing array of street food and I absolutely gorged. Setting up for the evening (that's a sugar cane press on the right):
The crowds begin to arrive at sunset:
The soda man:
Can you say "smorgasboard?":
Matt has time to smile in between mouthfuls:
A small listing of delicacies I ingested included: white shark kebabs, tuna kebabs, shrimp kebabs, lobster kebabs, marlin kebabs, calamari, samosas, some awesome veggie surrounded by fried mashed potato things, "Zanzibar pizza" (spiced ground lamb/beef, egg, tomato, onion, spices, etc, on a thin tortilla type bread), cassava, naan, sugar cane juice (just what it sounds like - juice extracted from sugar cane squeezed through a press in front of me), ginger tea (unbelievably good), the list goes on. It was all quite cheap, but, as we later learned, geared toward tourists and there were cheaper street vendors around.
Cooking up some lovin':
Hot off the griddle:
So we found a couple more over the next few days, including one dilapidated area of about 15 food stalls huddled under a low, leaking roof, where I don't think another white person had been in some time (we had some fresh chapatis and the most incredible cup of spiced chai there while the locals tried not to be impolite and stare) that we stumbled upon after wandering around the fish market.
Unloading the morning catch:
Sorting the morning catch:
Selling the morning catch. Why yes, I'll take the entire swordfish, please:
Then there were other odd foods I tried for the first time like this thing which came in a cool woven container (still not sure what it was called but it was some type of sweet) and jackfruit. 
The jackfruit is the massive thing on the bike:
Some may call it gluttony, I call it expanding my cultural horizons.
Basically, all I did was eat and take pictures in Stonetown.
Basically, all I did was eat and take pictures in Stonetown.
Market scenes:
Haute couture Zanzibar style?:
Old fort:
Outside the ferry terminal:
Woman watching the world go by:
I couldn't get enough of the patterns created by the stained glass and woodwork:
Bao board (African game) seller:
Kind of tough to tell from the pic, but the guys are taking refuge from a torrential rainshower in the narrow streets of Old Town in Stonetown:
Bao board (African game) seller:
Laundry day:
Dilapidated art:
Bright shutters:
Bright shutters:After a few days we headed north to Nungwe, home to yet more beautiful beaches and clear water. Diana and I decided to conduct a study to find out if the beaches at a 5-star hotel were perhaps whiter than the other beaches, the water bluer, and the sunsets more magnificent. This necessitated, of course, that we actually stay at a 5-star hotel. So we trekked down the beach with our backpacks to the glorious La Gemma del Este
The "Lost Island" at La Gemma which featured a restaurant, bar, and a hookah bar:
and walked up the grand stairway to reception (after receiving visitor passes from the hotel guard posted at the beach), where we were greeted with arched eyebrows from the Prada-attired Italian guests and barely restrained amusement from the staff.
When we tried to pay with credit cards, one of the staff said "Oh, you don't need that, just show your voucher."
"Uh, voucher? We don't have a voucher," we replied, confused.
"You just...walked in??" he responded in jaw-dropped, unabashed disbelief. Apparently, nobody just walks in and requests a room, especially not two grungy Americans in travel-torn and grease-stained clothes. We just laughed. For some reason, perhaps for their own amusement, the staff took a liking to us and gave us not only a 20% discount, but also arguably the best suite in the place (excluding the private villas on the grounds, of course).
And so began an arduous two days that included everything from amazing food (included in the price), to golf carts that ferried guests around the complex, to games of beach volleyball where the staff fetched bottled water so we didn't tire ourselves walking the 15 meters to the bar. Diana and I were able to definitively determine that the beach was indeed whiter, the water bluer (not to mention free of rocks), and the sunsets more magnificent.
When we tried to pay with credit cards, one of the staff said "Oh, you don't need that, just show your voucher."
"Uh, voucher? We don't have a voucher," we replied, confused.
"You just...walked in??" he responded in jaw-dropped, unabashed disbelief. Apparently, nobody just walks in and requests a room, especially not two grungy Americans in travel-torn and grease-stained clothes. We just laughed. For some reason, perhaps for their own amusement, the staff took a liking to us and gave us not only a 20% discount, but also arguably the best suite in the place (excluding the private villas on the grounds, of course).
And so began an arduous two days that included everything from amazing food (included in the price), to golf carts that ferried guests around the complex, to games of beach volleyball where the staff fetched bottled water so we didn't tire ourselves walking the 15 meters to the bar. Diana and I were able to definitively determine that the beach was indeed whiter, the water bluer (not to mention free of rocks), and the sunsets more magnificent.
Sunrises were pretty good, as well. From the hotel room:
I even had my first experience with phosphoresence -- tiny plankton that glow when disturbed, making arcs of light when a person moves their arms and legs in the water. I must have spent hours in the water that night, splashing around in amazement. I'm sure the hotel arranged that experience for me, as well.
It was with a twinge of regret that Diana and I closed the door to our suite and trudged up to reception to check out. We were patiently waiting for the rest of Hot Rock to come pick us up, when one of the staff approached me and said with a barely supressed smile "I think your ride is here." We grabbed our backpacks, walked out the sliding glass doors, and watched a raucously brightly colored van with open sides crammed full of 16 people come careening around the corner and screech to a halt under the covered drive. At first it didn't register that it was our group (we had driven up from Stonetown in a completely different, much larger vehicle), and then I started laughing uproariously once it dawned on me we were going to be making our exit in that. By this point, everyone was laughing uncontrollably. Here we were, at this exclusive, world-class resort where people just don't pay onsite with a credit card, let alone walk in, and we were completely sullying the carefully manicured image by getting picked up in a technicolor van belching black smoke overloaded with ratty climbers. With a final wave to the assembled staff clearly trying to contain their mirth, we backfired our way out of paradise and lurched south to Stonetown.
Sadly, upon our eventual, excruciatingly slow ferry return to our camp outside of Dar, it was time to say goodbye to Sam (who started the trip in Cape Town with me) and Diana. Although Diana was the first woman to join the trip as a client, our group male foul stench and appalling breakfast conversation was not enough to put her off for another tour with Hot Rock. See you in March, Diana!
It was with a twinge of regret that Diana and I closed the door to our suite and trudged up to reception to check out. We were patiently waiting for the rest of Hot Rock to come pick us up, when one of the staff approached me and said with a barely supressed smile "I think your ride is here." We grabbed our backpacks, walked out the sliding glass doors, and watched a raucously brightly colored van with open sides crammed full of 16 people come careening around the corner and screech to a halt under the covered drive. At first it didn't register that it was our group (we had driven up from Stonetown in a completely different, much larger vehicle), and then I started laughing uproariously once it dawned on me we were going to be making our exit in that. By this point, everyone was laughing uncontrollably. Here we were, at this exclusive, world-class resort where people just don't pay onsite with a credit card, let alone walk in, and we were completely sullying the carefully manicured image by getting picked up in a technicolor van belching black smoke overloaded with ratty climbers. With a final wave to the assembled staff clearly trying to contain their mirth, we backfired our way out of paradise and lurched south to Stonetown.
Sadly, upon our eventual, excruciatingly slow ferry return to our camp outside of Dar, it was time to say goodbye to Sam (who started the trip in Cape Town with me) and Diana. Although Diana was the first woman to join the trip as a client, our group male foul stench and appalling breakfast conversation was not enough to put her off for another tour with Hot Rock. See you in March, Diana!
