To Zanzibar By Marine Craft

I spent 5 nights in Zanzibar. This became quite an overwhelming lot of blog so I’ve arbitrarily divided it into two more manageable chapters:

Chapter 1

(Temporal Zygomatic Buccal Mandibular Cervicalà branches of the facial nerve)

“Motorised craft” doesn’t have quite the same ring as “motor car” in the traditional mnemonic, but it is more accurate – we took a ferry from Dar to Zanzibar. Farcically, upon arrival we had to go through customs and immigration despite arriving from the same country. Another tense moment occurred when I was questioned about my (non-existent) yellow fever vaccination certificate– apparently a requirement for entrance to Zanzibar. I had opted not to get vaccinated for some good reasons I think: 1) Tanzania no longer requires vaccination for travellers from Britain, 2) Tanzania is low risk for yellow fever, but most persuasively, 3) The vaccine would have cost me about £60 and I’m cheap enough to really dislike having to pay to not get diseases I wasn’t planning on getting anyway (but I am aware that I may come to regret such hubris.) So overall I thought I should be allowed into Zanzibar without a vaccination, but instead I lied to the officer and mumbled that I’d lost my certificate, he frowned and let me through.

The ferry lands at Stone town or “Mji Mkongwe”, on the larger of Zanzibar’s two main islands, Unguja. 50km to the North lies Zanzibar’s forgotten other half, the more religious, conservative and less developed Pemba – where there is scarcely running water or electricity. Zanzibar was unified with mainland Tanzania in 1963, a few months after both parts gained independence from British rule.

It’s quite hot in Zanzibar and I think am at a risk of sunburn - particularly as one of the many common side effects of my anti-malarial tablets (cheap and cheerful doxycycline, £15) is increased sensitivity to the sun. So far I'm a bit burnt – I am an embarrassing and stereotypical Brit abroad, but I've no malaria or yellow fever yet. Doxy is also used to treat chlamydia, so there’s that. Most other travellers opt for the alternative tablet, Malarone, which is usually much better tolerated and gives the secondary benefit of recreational vivid dreams – but at over 10x the price.

Stone town itself is a labyrinthine mess of narrow twisting alleys linking grand Indian mansions and mosques, a cross between Disney’s Aladdin and Venice minus the canals. It’s impossible to not get lost to the point where to reach a destination it’s quicker and more enjoyable to turn corners at random until you chance upon where you want to be. From what I’ve seen, stone town appears significantly wealthier and more developed than most of mainland Tanzania and, given the stunning beaches, clear waters and lively reefs, is an extremely popular tourist destination – it has been strange to come across luxurious hotels and sea-view restaurants, most cafes even have wi-fi internet.

Consequently, for the first time so far this trip we have felt like proper tourists, holidaymakers rather than travellers, and have enjoyed the novelty of comfort. We have taken some dhow trips to nearby islands and snorkelled amongst menageries of colourful creatures. We’ve seen islands amok with crustaceans, including terrifying coconut crabs (tree climbing monsters as big as a cat) and gruesome public toilets home to several layers of pulsating hermit crabs. We’ve also clambered around a 1500yr old Baobab tree and done a fair bit of lazing on the beaches; I’m beginning to think the tourist hat really quite suits me.

I have also eaten more seafood than ever before in my life. I don’t even especially like seafood but it seems a shame not to sample Zanzibar’s famous octopus soup or barbecued lobster, all significantly tastier, fresher and cheaper than anything I could obtain in Birmingham. Today (Thursday 13th June) we visited Prison Island – once used to quarantine those with yellow fever.  The island is home to a managed colony of 200 giant tortoises, which were once common all over the islands. We made acquaintances with several of these beautiful and peaceful dinosaurs, including a devastatingly charming 189yr-old fellow.

Forodhani gardens evening seafood market is exellent

Chapter 2

I got tattooed yesterday. My first ink looks totally 100% badass: An awesome snake wrapped around a sword on my right deltoid. And it barely even hurt. It’s a shame that Zanzibar is such a Muslim country – I can’t sufficiently display my tattooed guns without being disrespectful. I hope the henna doesn’t fade by the time I get back to the UK.

Today (Friday 14 June) I took a trip 25km north of stone town to the fishing town of Mangapwani. Mary didn’t fancy another daladala trip so she stayed back to lounge by the sea. The daladalas in Zanzibar have open sides so they’re slightly cooler – but just as cramped; there was no room for me inside so I made to hang off the back with some of the other men. To my disappointment my comrades quickly concluded that I didn’t have the mettle to enjoy the breeze and so rearranged the passengers so there was room for me in the front passenger seat. This sort of special treatment is so common that I’m starting to believe that maybe I am VIP, it just hasn’t been recognised in Britain yet.

It was good to get away from the commotion and papasis of stone town, but doing so meant that I was kicked off the daladala in the middle of nowhere. I started walking down the road in an attempt to find the coast and the caves I’d been looking for only to later learn that I was headed in the completely wrong direction. After a fairly long and indirect walk I eventually made it to the coral cavern and was eager to go inside to take refuge from sun. The cavern contains about 200m of tunnels under the village and contains some mineral water pools, from which some of the locals collect water for drinking - in the company of lots of bats. A local boy with a flashlight became my guide and I duly followed as he scrambled and clambered deep inside, quickly regretting my flimsy sandals and cumbersome rucksack. It wasn’t nearly as cool as I’d hoped inside and, worryingly, the boy, Abdhul, would occasionally switch off the light to prove that it was indeed pitch black, before explaining that some of the tunnels had become impassable due to some cave-ins - 127 hours came to mind. Some time later, when my claustrophobia subsided, we managed to squeeze up a narrow chimney to the surface and I then made my way down a dirt track to a small quiet beach where I spent a few hours sitting pensively – and reading Stephen Kings Pet Semetary on my brother’s kindle (verdict so far: okay). When it started to rain I decided to keep exploring and came across the historical slave chambers, another dreadful pit used to hide slaves whilst smuggling after the slave trade was made illegal in 1873.

Attractive feet on my private bit of beach at Mangapwani (Arab's coast)

Now I am back at the hostel where I’m excitedly preparing for my last night in Zanzibar to be disrupted by the England – Italy match at 1am, I have begun to develop my 4-yearly interest in the sport and I really hope England footballs lots of goal-scores. Edit - It wasn’t worth it.