continued...

So the train, to put it simply, was a microcosm of African traveling in general. Except no one tried to con us out of our money. But we made it to Dar es Salaam safely.

Dar was very cool. It was the first time we've heard the call to prayer live, from loudspeakers at the top of the nearby mosque's turret. It was awesome. One of my favorite parts of traveling is the feeling that I have really entered another world. Beaches are ubiquitous. Historical significance and cultural richess are things you must hunt.

We spent the night in Dar, at a seedy backpacker's with signs posted at the bottom of the stairwell stating "Women of immoral turpetude are not allowed on these premises." My first thought was that they meant women of Western scruples or those not wearing headscarves. But East Africa's muslim influence is not that oppressive. A more accurate guess would probably be in the genre of prostitutes. Both Dar and Zanzibar exuded a calm mysteriousness--a welcome respite from the hectic cacophony that is South Africa. Several of us commented that Islam had bestowed a hearty measure of peace on this sahel, leaving us to contemplate why there is such a chasm between this paradise and the stygian darkness present in other muslim nations.

We took the slow ferry to Zanzibar, which took about 4 hours. We stayed out on the deck the whole time, as they played what seemed to be singing in Arabic from the Qur'an. We pulled into Stone Town and the rest of the day was probably the best day of the trip. We got some food from an Indian restaurant on the waterfront whose owner was not only one of the most garrulous people I've ever met, but could also name the capital of every country in the world. Ironically, he had catered for Peace Corps Tanzania in the past. Small world.

After dinner it was getting dark so we trudged with all our stuff through the tortuous, labarinthine corridors of ancient Stone Town, trying to find our backpacker's. Most of us were still in South Africa mode, meaning that since it was after dark we were on high alert, looking over our shoulders ever 10 seconds and being extremely wary of strangers and dark streets. But the passageways of the city were too hard for us to navigate, so we reluctantly accepted the help of one of the many guys who offered to guide us. He started leading us into a dark alleyway (we later realized that it was actually a street--many of the 'streets' in Stone Town aren't wide enough for a car) and we immediately turned around, expecting an imminent mugging. He saw our concern and took us a different way, through lit streets, and just as we were getting really scared, we stumbled right onto the front steps of our backpacker's!

Over the next week we realized that even though you need to always keep your guard up when traveling, the paranoia needed to survive in South Africa's cities wasn't necessary here. The people were very friendly and everyone was willing to help.

That night we ran all over the old part of town, even after it started to rain. None of us had umbrellas, so we embraced the warm rain and had a blast getting lost in the city. The rain was torrential and soon the narrow streets were shallow rivers.

Most of our time in Zanzibar was in Stone Town, though we went snorkeling at nearby islands and were always exploring. One night we were at the fish market where they cook whatever food you want right in front of you for cheap prices. I'm not a big seafood fan, so my biggest thril came from the freshly-squeezed sugar-cane juice. They had hand-grinders through which they fed whole stalks of sugar cane, adding only a bit of ginger and lime. The result was like uncarbonated Sprite, just 10 times better. I asked one of the guys if I could grind my own. It takes about 4 stalks to make 1 glass, each stalk being fed through the grinder several times, each time being folded first. After I did it, a few other guys in our group tried it, though they had a few difficulties turning the wheel without tipping the whole thing over.

Later that night we were approached by a guy who said "Mambo! Do you know where Jasey is?" I said "Poa poa, I'm Jason..." He said "Yes, you're the guy who made the sugar cane juice, right?" "Uh, yeah." "Yes, I remember you. You were the only mzungu who could make the juice without tipping the machine over! Why don't you come and work for me? You can grind the juice and we'll make so many Schillings!" I was flattered, of course, but the key to any good job interview is finding out how much money you're going to make, so I asked. He didn't want to say an exact amount, but after I pressed he said "Maybe 4,000 Schillings, or maybe, if it's a really good day, 10,000 Schillings!" His smile was so big as he gave me my starting salary that I almost said yes. But I figured that 4-10 dollars a day was a bit too much of a pay cut for me. Even compared to Peace Corps. However, a few days later we came back to the market and the guy approached us again, asking where "Jansson" was and tried again to entice me into the trade.

We spent two days in a small coastal village on the other side of Zanzibar. The public taxis there are very cool looking but surprisingly less comfortable than those in other countries. We rode for over an hour in a converted flat bed truck, fitting more people into that smal space than my 8th grade physics professor could ever imagine. After oozing out of the truck, we sloshed through a village before we got to the shorefront backpackers where we had booked. I was particularly excited about this place not because of the beautiful white sandy beaches or the quaint peacefulness of it all, but because we were staying in bungalows! Woot!

We bartered for about 45 minutes with the guy about the price because he gave us a much different number when we arrived than he had on the phone earlier. Man, I miss fixed prices! But I must say that I've gotten pretty good at bartering. Although I hate doing it, usually. Many times the difference in price is negligible, even to a volunteer, so I try to pick my battles sparingly. But sometimes I feel compelled to barter miniscule amounts when the seller/owner is simply using bad ethics or poor business practices. I figure that in some small way I'm helping them improve their practices so that they can eventually enjoy a bigger slice of the globalized pie.

It was at the Seven Seas Bungalows that we realized just how un-tourist the season was. It was nice not to see any other wazungus anywhere, but there also wasn't any food. Most restaurants were either closed or only offered 1 serving of 2 of the things on the menu. It was here, as well as on the train, that we were extremely glad that we brought a bag of granola from South Africa with us.

We did find some cheap rental bikes one day and pedaled about 26 miles to a monkey park and back. We had managed to find 6 of the worst bikes in history (maybe even approaching the level of my Dad's green monster.) But it was fun. The official Jozani monkey park restaurant only had chips (french fries) and pringles, oddly enough, and the park workers tried to use their hands and bodies to block our view of the monkeys from our table, saying we couldn't watch them until we paid the entrance fee. It was hilariously ridiculous.

The spice tour was one of the coolest parts of the trip. We found a company who organized the whole thing for cheap. They drove us into the jungle and let us try all the spices right from the tree/bush/vine. It was really interesting. One plant was called the lipstick plant, as the red pods inside made an instant orange-red paint, which we applied to our faces. It later ended up on my sleeves, as it was hot, and it never came out. Oh well. We also got to see a cave where the Omanis kept slaves hidden after the British outlawed it in the 1800s. The tour guide took us all the way through it, up slippery rocks, past bats and stalagtites, and out a back way. It was quite dangerous and would never be permitted in the US, but that's what made it so fun.

I got motion sickness for the first time in my life on the fast ferry back to Dar. I counldn't see ahead of us and we caught so much air after each wave that my breakfast had time to peek back up my asophogus, though it never saw the light of day.

To be continued... again...