"Africa: Flavor "
Flavorful. That's perhaps the best way to describe Zanzibar. I have a short list of truly remarkable travel experiences, amazing visits to fascinating places that just oozed a singular style, dripped with character. Places with charisma, with, well, flavor. Cuzco, Peru. Vancouver, Canada. Costa Azul, Mexico. Jerome, Arizona. Pittsburgh, Texas (honest).
Zanzibar is near the top of that list. It is at every turn a thrill for the senses.
And does it ever ooze flavor. Zanzibar is perhaps most famously known as the Spice Island, and for all you fans of worthless trivia or VH1's "Behind the Music", the birthplace of Queen's late Freddy Mercury. Dead rock stars not withstanding, Zanzibar was unlike anywhere I had ever been.
We stayed in the town of Malindi, just a short walk from Zanzibar's famous Stone Town. Our boarding house, the Malindi Guest House was an old three-story home, with dozens of rooms tucked into tiny hallways, and decorated with antique Arabic furniture. Our room was spacious with a private bath, air conditioning, hot water and a large armoire. The ceiling was made of dark, round, wooden beams and white plaster. On the roof was the restaurant and bar, and breakfast was served at sunrise, on the roof, and overlooking the spectacularly blue water and the fisherman bartering at the Malindi docks. Cost? $17 per night, per person.
Walking into the Malindi was like walking into an old movie. I expected Humphrey Bogart to be standing at every corner. Mr. Kassidi tried to talk us into staying in Stone Town at a different B&B, but Meredith and I were enamored with the Malindi, and we had no interest in moving.
Zanzibar was during the 19th century ruled by the Omani Arabs, and their influence, as well as the influence of Persians, Indians and Europeans can be seen everywhere in the culture, the architecture, and the people.
We spent nearly a week in Zanzibar. The buildings are white, the doorways ornate, the people Muslim. We toured Sultan's palaces, visited the Livingstone House, stood cold in what was once a slave chamber, explored a massive Angelican Cathedral built on the site a slave market, and walked endlessly through Stone Town. We found ourselves surrounded by African children draped in white veils as school let out for the day.
We toured dozens of antique shops and curio markets with terrific carvings, beads, batiks, and Tanzanian paintings. We sat on the pier, ate and drank till content, and watched the dhous sailing in the harbor at dusk. The water around Stone Town is blue - so blue it mirrored Meredith's eyes. And when she stood near the ocean, it seemed as if her eyes had been poured from the Indian Ocean.
The food in Zanzibar - it was real. Real restaurants, real spices, real good, real cheap. We ate at Blues on the pier, Zee's Pizza, Pagoda Chinese, and a half dozen other tiny local spots. And after two weeks of Arusha's East African cuisine, we were ready to eat.
Perhaps most memorable were the local seafood vendors that work the town square every evening. The seafood is caught fresh, cooked in the evening and sold on carts in the square for only a few shillings. Seafood lovers walk around with paper plates, buying ridiculously cheap crab, shrimp, lobster, tuna, swordfish, and gorging themselves on local beer. At times like these I hate being a vegetarian. The selection of grease bread, rice and chips wasn't nearly as appealing as the swordfish kabob.
The people are primarily Muslim, and women walk wearing veils, men with hats. Locals are terribly friendly, and welcome every tourist with a smile. They greeted us warmly, often with "Karibu - say asante", or "Haburi - say nzuri", correcting our poor Swahili even before we could stutter for the right response. For those not fluent in Swahili, "Karibu" in English is "welcome", "asante" is "thank you". "Haburi", translated as "how are you" is followed with "nzuri", or "fine".
Zanzibar's vendors are, of course, quite tenacious, but after three weeks in Africa, Meredith and I had become quite accustomed to their presence and walked confidently, smiled graciously, and dismissed them easily. One chubby little boy about ten years old did walk up to me, extended a chubby open hand, and blurted "Give money!" I laughed and replied "No". I asked him if he knew English. He shook his head no. I asked if he wanted to learn some. He shook his head no. I just figured that with a few key additions to his terribly limited vocabulary he could refine his blunt (and ineffective) closing technique and dramatically improve his sales.
He didn’t seem to want my help. Just my money. His loss.
Walking around Stone Town is like a trip through time, and I could hardly believe I was still, technically, in Tanzania. The streets of Stone Town are narrow and Byzantine in their complexity. The alleys wind and merge; the tall white buildings seem to lean inward and hide the warm African sun. Children dart from every elaborate Arab doorway while vendors call out to every passing tourist. We lost ourselves in the alleys more than once. One afternoon we began in Malindi, and eventually found ourselves, hours later, back in Malindi, with no idea how the maze of Stone Town led us back to our starting point.
We went on a spice tour - one of the tourist "must do's" while in Zanzibar. Zanzibar is famous for it's cloves, spices, and truly exotic fruit. Our tour found us with about thirty other travelers from around the world stuffed into the converted pickup beds of two tiny trucks, and we were sped off into the countryside to visit a number of plantations. Mohammed, an elderly local gentleman, guided us through the plantations, and periodically would cut or peel a leaf, a root, nut, a seed, a fruit from some plant or tree and in order for us to smell or taste it. Cloves, pepper, cumin, ginger, cinnamon and fruits I had never heard of or seen before.
One fruit in particular, about the size of a cantaloupe, smelled just like dog crap. I don't remember what it was called. The fart fruit I suppose. It tasted sweet, smelled like shit. Literally. I never did get past that smell. I guess it's an acquired taste. Personally, I never felt the desire to acquire the taste for poo.
The spice tour ended with our first trip to the famous beaches of Zanzibar. The fame is well deserved. The sand was blindingly white, the water deep blue and warm - perhaps 78, maybe even 80 degrees. Palms waved in the breeze. I lay in the sand. And I fell in love with Zanzibar.
When I look at the pictures, as I write this story, I know that these words and those photos will never do Zanzibar the justice it so rightly deserves. It's too exotic, too beautiful. And Zanzibar has too much flavor.
You simply have to taste it for yourself.
