Right, so after my passionate rant against Zanzibar, I figured I should follow up with an additional post about Tanzania, (since Zanzibar really is a part of the country).
I'm happy to report that the remainder of Tanzania does not have the same kind of attitude towards white women that the people of Zanzibar sported, at least in Arusha and Dar es Salaam. That's not to say Tanzania is free of problems- I've come to the conclusion that there's a real lack of compassion between the inhabitants.
There was one incident in particular I found to be somewhat frightening. David and I were awaiting a dalla dalla (this time it was a small bus, not a crappy covered truck) to get to the woodcarver's market, which is a wonderful place to get various wooden goods. Tanzanians are very skilled craftsman, and the woodcarver's market offers a great selection at fairly reasonable prices for lovely pieces.
Ok, woodcarver tangent aside, David and I were trying to catch a dalla dalla, along with a decent number of other folk (about 30 or so). These buses come often, as far as I could tell every 5-10 minutes. When a bus pulled up to the curb, a mob immediately surrounded David and I. The people coming from the woodcarver's market fought their way through the crowd as they clambered off the bus. When the last guy attempted to disembark, the mob pressed forward and refused to let him off, so much so that he ended up with his spine pressed against part of the door with people smashing into his chest. This young man, maybe 19 or so, fought to not only get off the bus but to breathe as he was crushed in the onslaught of people wanting to get a seat on the bus so they wouldn't have to stand for the 20 minute trip.
I would liken this scenario to one I would imagine if there was some sort of emergency- like if azombie apocalypse had just started. That's how fevered the atmosphere was to get on this bus, and that's what this young guy was up against. It was frustrating because it was impossible to help him- I kept shouting to let him off, but of course no one cared, and even if someone else had, the press from the mob pushed anyone by the door forward in this hectic crush. Eventually the poor kid made it off. I would not be surprised if he'd ended up with some fractured ribs, he was pressed so violently and in such an awkward position.
As someone who's spent half a year in DC mastering the metro (shout out to my DC bud Nicole!) I can honestly say that even during the Fourth of July, when hundreds of thousands storm the metro, I have never seen people choose causing someone pain and getting a good seat over just sucking it up and standing.
What really gets me is that it's not like the bus was only coming once a day or something- again, there were several buses running and if people really wanted a seat, they could have easily waited an hour for rush hour to be over and then had most of the bus to themselves.
Transportation woes aside, we soon left Dar for Arusha, to embark on a four day safari on the Serengeti. Our charter was Sunny Safaris, and if any of you are considering doing a big game safari, I really can't recommend it enough! It was a "camping" trip, though as an outdoorsy Idahoan I can't really call it that- we had an extraordinary chef, access to showers, and a roomy 4 person tent to ourselves. It was a wonderful experience! We saw all of the "big five" (lions, water buffaloes, leopards, elephants, rhinoceroses) and a giraffe watched me use the bushes in the middle of the night! Unfortunately the last day was cut short when I got a sinus infection. One thing that must be said for Tanzania- while access to medical professionals is seriously lacking, when you actually can find a "doctor," they hand out pills like candy. And it's all free! But despite all of the fun different colored complementary pills, I much prefer the American system where they actually examine you as opposed to just giving you a quick once-over and hand you a pack of red pills.
Along the same lines, it's kind of a bit scary how casually people use Penicillin and Cipro in Africa. People seem to take Cipro here the same way we use Advil in the states.
Too soon it was time to leave Tanzania for Kenya. Zanzibar & bus craziness aside, I enjoyed Tanzania. Following the riots in 2007/2008 tourism in Kenya tanked, and Tanzania was quick to step up to the plate and fill the void. I don't think there's been another country on our trip thus far where we've seen so many westerners. It's clear from the over one hundred safari companies in Arusha that tourism is really thriving.
Overall, I'd say Tanzania is worth visiting. But please do skip Zanzibar.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Sorry Zanzibar, You're not a Real Country
I would like to begin by saying that in the off chance something I say in this post offends you, I apologize profusely because it is not my intention to do so.
Thus far my blog has been characterized by posts lacking in controversial nature; I created this blog for the purpose of entertaining my friends and family, as a way for them to keep track of my life for these three months (hence the occasional colloquialisms and random inside jokes). While I plan on continuing to keep it "light and fluffy," I am using my post on Zanzibar and Tanzania to discuss the constant undercurrent of racism that I experienced during the past two weeks. I find this necessary to do because it really did temper my view of these two beautiful locales. I do not plan on sharing all of my memories, or the conclusions I have drawn. Those of you who know me, I will undoubtedly be picking your brain upon my return (or through email now). So with that little disclaimer, here's my post for Tanzania (and Zanzibar):
We arrived in Dar es Salaam after some intense security screening, and a random $60 fine for "luggage handling" that only David and I (apparently white people's luggage require more care- must investigate further upon return) were charged. It was actually kind of funny, because the airline seemed to only have 2 employees, as the same people who checked us in also ran the security screening and helped us board. David and I started to wonder if they'd also be flying the plane. They didn't.
Upon our painfully early morning arrival we took a taxi to the Jambo Brothers Inn, a hole-in-the-wall hotel with more security precautions than most American prisons. The next day we took a water taxi to Zanzibar. David and I were fortunate in getting front row seats on the deck- unfortunately the view was soon obstructed by young men striking pensive poses directly in front of David and I in an attempt to get my attention. It was pretty funny. What was not funny was the 7 or 8 year old boy who kept grabbing my butt, and trying to touch my underwear. His parents refused to tell him to stop, even after I'd asked (for once in the history of African transportation there was ample room to even move the kid from directly behind me). After I was on the verge of throwing the kid off of the boat, David asked them to move the kid and they finally did. Note: his parents told him to stop immediately when he poked a man on my row from his new seat. The man did not have to ask.
Probably my favorite moment that day was the realization that Zanzibar has it's own customs, and it's much more thorough than any other customs we'd been through, despite the fact that Zanzibar isn't even a country. For the first time during our entire trip, I had to present the yellow WHO form (sorry mom, I know what a pain it was to get that sucker filled out) to prove I'd had my Yellow Fever vaccine. Thus far, no other country has cared.
The moment we finished with "customs" Zanzibar we were pestered by people offering taxis, trying to grab our luggage, and more. We managed to out walk them without too much effort. Of course we were followed, but believe it or not we're accustomed to it.
We visited the Beit ul- Ajaib, which is Zanzibar's nautical history museum. I must say, I cannot consider it much of a museum as it was so incredibly one sided. There was absolutely no mention of Zanzibar's key role in the slave trade (as people who captured and sold their geographic neighbors), but they were quick to villainize the West, specifically the United States. Our Muslim guide, who understood all of our other questions, refused to respond to queries about Zanzibar's role, and flat out ignored David when he asked about Muslim slavery, which predates(and was far crueler- eunuchs, anyone?) than anything in the US by several centuries.
But the part that really got me was one part of the exhibit- which had the audacity to accuse England of destroying their economy- extreme and repeated interrogation of our guide (who probably hated us at this point for refusing to accept the half-truths the museum sold) revealed that the part of the economy England had "destroyed" was the slave trade, which was done when the British banned slavery. At this point, the statement "damned if you do, damned if you don't" comes to mind.
Now this experience is accented by the fact that the moment we set foot back in the marketplace, we're accosted by different vendors trying to sell us their wares. If we don't buy, we're accused of racism. If we don't take a certain man's taxi, we're racist. If I glare at a man who is pointedly staring at my crotch, I'm a racist bitch for not smiling back. What's worse is that since I'm a white female, it's assumed I am less than human. Here's an example (again, one of many) so you can see how I've come to that conclusion:
After spending a couple of days at Nungwi Beach, we took a dalla-dalla (aka a crappy covered pick up truck used for transit) back to Stonetown, which is the seaport were we arrived at the island. The dalla dalla at first wasn't too bad- but then, the men started boarding. There were around four Muslim women and eight or so Muslim men on the truck with us (the only white folk). Here's what happened-
1. One of the women had a heavy suitcase on the truck. A man boarding the truck saw the suitcase, saw me, and then before I realized what was going on, raised the suitcase and brought it down on my feet, then added his weight to the top of the suitcase, all while smiling in this sadistic way at me. I managed to pull my feet out from under it before the guy could put on his full weight, but it still hurt. He then sat across from me and stared at my breasts the entire time he was on the truck. At this point it's important for me to highlight what I'm wearing- a generic t-shirt that's a size too big, and men's zip off pants. Essentially I've managed to kill every curve I have for the entire purpose of avoiding sexual attention. Epic fail.
2. A man climbs into the truck, and avoids touching anyone to get to a seat. He sees me, and reaches over to grab my knee and starts moving his hand toward my crotch. I do a swift karate chop and he lets go. Let me be clear- this was no accident, he hadn't lost his balance- he wanted to touch me. As with the first man, he also ignored the black women on board and sat adjacent to me so that he could smile at me the entire 45 minute trip.
3. A third man comes in and drops a metal L bar on my feet. At this point I regret wearing open toed shoes. I'd like to point out that David is sitting next to me during all of this, and no one is harassing him. The women are staring at him, but not as brazenly as the men are at me.
4. A fourth man comes in, sits across from David, and stares at my crotch the remainder of the trip. This guy gets hypocrite points because he then chastises David for putting his arm behind the woman sitting on the other side of him to brace himself better over the bumps. White woman in very conservative clothing < black Muslim woman.
5. And finally, the herder, or the person who is responsible for getting people into the truck, gripped my knee as he pulls chickens out from under our bench. Never mind that it'd be easier for him to balance if he were using David. David noticed this and moved the guy's hand to his knee.
And this was just one 45 minute bus ride. Congratulations, Zanzibar. You've convinced me that not only racism, but sexism prevails in your "country." For those of you reading this blog with a desire to travel, if it is your desire to be treated like a sex object, look no further than Zanzibar. There were two people who treated me with the basic respect I believe all humans are entitled. Only two.
Well, it seems I got carried away ranting, so I'll try to do a separate post on Tanzania. Again, I apologize if anything I've said offends- again, it's not my intention to do so. Unfortunately when negativity dominates an experience, it's difficult for it not to contaminate the memory.
Thus far my blog has been characterized by posts lacking in controversial nature; I created this blog for the purpose of entertaining my friends and family, as a way for them to keep track of my life for these three months (hence the occasional colloquialisms and random inside jokes). While I plan on continuing to keep it "light and fluffy," I am using my post on Zanzibar and Tanzania to discuss the constant undercurrent of racism that I experienced during the past two weeks. I find this necessary to do because it really did temper my view of these two beautiful locales. I do not plan on sharing all of my memories, or the conclusions I have drawn. Those of you who know me, I will undoubtedly be picking your brain upon my return (or through email now). So with that little disclaimer, here's my post for Tanzania (and Zanzibar):
We arrived in Dar es Salaam after some intense security screening, and a random $60 fine for "luggage handling" that only David and I (apparently white people's luggage require more care- must investigate further upon return) were charged. It was actually kind of funny, because the airline seemed to only have 2 employees, as the same people who checked us in also ran the security screening and helped us board. David and I started to wonder if they'd also be flying the plane. They didn't.
Upon our painfully early morning arrival we took a taxi to the Jambo Brothers Inn, a hole-in-the-wall hotel with more security precautions than most American prisons. The next day we took a water taxi to Zanzibar. David and I were fortunate in getting front row seats on the deck- unfortunately the view was soon obstructed by young men striking pensive poses directly in front of David and I in an attempt to get my attention. It was pretty funny. What was not funny was the 7 or 8 year old boy who kept grabbing my butt, and trying to touch my underwear. His parents refused to tell him to stop, even after I'd asked (for once in the history of African transportation there was ample room to even move the kid from directly behind me). After I was on the verge of throwing the kid off of the boat, David asked them to move the kid and they finally did. Note: his parents told him to stop immediately when he poked a man on my row from his new seat. The man did not have to ask.
Probably my favorite moment that day was the realization that Zanzibar has it's own customs, and it's much more thorough than any other customs we'd been through, despite the fact that Zanzibar isn't even a country. For the first time during our entire trip, I had to present the yellow WHO form (sorry mom, I know what a pain it was to get that sucker filled out) to prove I'd had my Yellow Fever vaccine. Thus far, no other country has cared.
The moment we finished with "customs" Zanzibar we were pestered by people offering taxis, trying to grab our luggage, and more. We managed to out walk them without too much effort. Of course we were followed, but believe it or not we're accustomed to it.
We visited the Beit ul- Ajaib, which is Zanzibar's nautical history museum. I must say, I cannot consider it much of a museum as it was so incredibly one sided. There was absolutely no mention of Zanzibar's key role in the slave trade (as people who captured and sold their geographic neighbors), but they were quick to villainize the West, specifically the United States. Our Muslim guide, who understood all of our other questions, refused to respond to queries about Zanzibar's role, and flat out ignored David when he asked about Muslim slavery, which predates(and was far crueler- eunuchs, anyone?) than anything in the US by several centuries.
But the part that really got me was one part of the exhibit- which had the audacity to accuse England of destroying their economy- extreme and repeated interrogation of our guide (who probably hated us at this point for refusing to accept the half-truths the museum sold) revealed that the part of the economy England had "destroyed" was the slave trade, which was done when the British banned slavery. At this point, the statement "damned if you do, damned if you don't" comes to mind.
Now this experience is accented by the fact that the moment we set foot back in the marketplace, we're accosted by different vendors trying to sell us their wares. If we don't buy, we're accused of racism. If we don't take a certain man's taxi, we're racist. If I glare at a man who is pointedly staring at my crotch, I'm a racist bitch for not smiling back. What's worse is that since I'm a white female, it's assumed I am less than human. Here's an example (again, one of many) so you can see how I've come to that conclusion:
After spending a couple of days at Nungwi Beach, we took a dalla-dalla (aka a crappy covered pick up truck used for transit) back to Stonetown, which is the seaport were we arrived at the island. The dalla dalla at first wasn't too bad- but then, the men started boarding. There were around four Muslim women and eight or so Muslim men on the truck with us (the only white folk). Here's what happened-
1. One of the women had a heavy suitcase on the truck. A man boarding the truck saw the suitcase, saw me, and then before I realized what was going on, raised the suitcase and brought it down on my feet, then added his weight to the top of the suitcase, all while smiling in this sadistic way at me. I managed to pull my feet out from under it before the guy could put on his full weight, but it still hurt. He then sat across from me and stared at my breasts the entire time he was on the truck. At this point it's important for me to highlight what I'm wearing- a generic t-shirt that's a size too big, and men's zip off pants. Essentially I've managed to kill every curve I have for the entire purpose of avoiding sexual attention. Epic fail.
2. A man climbs into the truck, and avoids touching anyone to get to a seat. He sees me, and reaches over to grab my knee and starts moving his hand toward my crotch. I do a swift karate chop and he lets go. Let me be clear- this was no accident, he hadn't lost his balance- he wanted to touch me. As with the first man, he also ignored the black women on board and sat adjacent to me so that he could smile at me the entire 45 minute trip.
3. A third man comes in and drops a metal L bar on my feet. At this point I regret wearing open toed shoes. I'd like to point out that David is sitting next to me during all of this, and no one is harassing him. The women are staring at him, but not as brazenly as the men are at me.
4. A fourth man comes in, sits across from David, and stares at my crotch the remainder of the trip. This guy gets hypocrite points because he then chastises David for putting his arm behind the woman sitting on the other side of him to brace himself better over the bumps. White woman in very conservative clothing < black Muslim woman.
5. And finally, the herder, or the person who is responsible for getting people into the truck, gripped my knee as he pulls chickens out from under our bench. Never mind that it'd be easier for him to balance if he were using David. David noticed this and moved the guy's hand to his knee.
And this was just one 45 minute bus ride. Congratulations, Zanzibar. You've convinced me that not only racism, but sexism prevails in your "country." For those of you reading this blog with a desire to travel, if it is your desire to be treated like a sex object, look no further than Zanzibar. There were two people who treated me with the basic respect I believe all humans are entitled. Only two.
Well, it seems I got carried away ranting, so I'll try to do a separate post on Tanzania. Again, I apologize if anything I've said offends- again, it's not my intention to do so. Unfortunately when negativity dominates an experience, it's difficult for it not to contaminate the memory.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Zambia, Land of Wooden Giraffe Afro Combs
As our time in Zimbabwe came to an end, we crossed Livingstone bridge into Zambia, and had relatively easygoing experience with customs.
Random aside- In my last post, I briefly mentioned that David and I had hurriedly filled out a form in an effort to avoid being sent to the back in to purgatory (also known as the Zimbabwe customs line). I neglected to mention what actually went on my form. First off, in my haste I checked the "male" box for gender. Under "reasons for visiting," I left a violent scribble, and wrote my birthday as 02/09/23. Finally, failing to awkwardly shimmy out my passport from my leg pouch while being yelled at by customs people to get back in the line, I made up a passport number that was actually two digits short. After all of this, the customs official gave my form a cursory glance and stamped my passport before shoving it back at me and shouting, "Neeeeext!" Ahhh, Bureaucracy.
Back to Zambia. One of the first things we did upon our arrival was head to the Zambian side of Victoria Falls. We'd spent the previous week hearing many times a day that the Zimbabwe side of the falls was superior, from Zimbabweans. I was surprised that not a single Zambian had the same advocacy for their side, but I soon found out why. The Zambian side is so stunning, that there's absolutely no need to advertise it. Don't get me wrong, the both sides are beautiful, but the Zambian side affords you the opportunity to get ridiculously close to the falls. Coincidentally, safety-wise, the Zambian side is downright frightening. There's these foot high vertical stumps connected by chains that follow the edge of viewing area. That's also the only thing between the viewer and certain watery death as beyond the chains is a sheer drop. Adding to that is water and moss everywhere- seriously not for those prone to vertigo.
One of my favorite things about Zambia were the random vendors we haggled with during our stay. After doing some serious damage at the curio market in town, David and I began our quest to find me a new pair of sunglasses. Yes friends, it's true- Madagascar not only is the hiding place of the evil mosquito that gave me Malaria, but also the final resting place of my beloved aviators. In any case, we happened upon a vendor who was selling some "Roy Bans." We found a pair of aviators, but they were pretty shabbily constructed and the end pieces immediately fell off. Without missing a beat, the vendor told us that that was a benefit of the glasses, as it made them easier to take on and off. We didn't get them.
The greatest part of our stay in Zambia for me was getting a chance to raft on the Zambezi. It was my first time doing class fives...and I loved it! Our guide was a guy who called himself Potato. It turns out we were quite lucky- Potato claimed that our boat was the first boat he'd led that hadn't capsized during the run. In any case, it was great fun, and we even had a chance to jump off of 30ft high rocks into the water!
Of all of the countries we've visited so far, Zambia joins the Comoros as the two that I'd love to come back to in the near future. Now we're off to Tanzania (specifically Zanzibar)!
Random aside- In my last post, I briefly mentioned that David and I had hurriedly filled out a form in an effort to avoid being sent to the back in to purgatory (also known as the Zimbabwe customs line). I neglected to mention what actually went on my form. First off, in my haste I checked the "male" box for gender. Under "reasons for visiting," I left a violent scribble, and wrote my birthday as 02/09/23. Finally, failing to awkwardly shimmy out my passport from my leg pouch while being yelled at by customs people to get back in the line, I made up a passport number that was actually two digits short. After all of this, the customs official gave my form a cursory glance and stamped my passport before shoving it back at me and shouting, "Neeeeext!" Ahhh, Bureaucracy.
Back to Zambia. One of the first things we did upon our arrival was head to the Zambian side of Victoria Falls. We'd spent the previous week hearing many times a day that the Zimbabwe side of the falls was superior, from Zimbabweans. I was surprised that not a single Zambian had the same advocacy for their side, but I soon found out why. The Zambian side is so stunning, that there's absolutely no need to advertise it. Don't get me wrong, the both sides are beautiful, but the Zambian side affords you the opportunity to get ridiculously close to the falls. Coincidentally, safety-wise, the Zambian side is downright frightening. There's these foot high vertical stumps connected by chains that follow the edge of viewing area. That's also the only thing between the viewer and certain watery death as beyond the chains is a sheer drop. Adding to that is water and moss everywhere- seriously not for those prone to vertigo.
One of my favorite things about Zambia were the random vendors we haggled with during our stay. After doing some serious damage at the curio market in town, David and I began our quest to find me a new pair of sunglasses. Yes friends, it's true- Madagascar not only is the hiding place of the evil mosquito that gave me Malaria, but also the final resting place of my beloved aviators. In any case, we happened upon a vendor who was selling some "Roy Bans." We found a pair of aviators, but they were pretty shabbily constructed and the end pieces immediately fell off. Without missing a beat, the vendor told us that that was a benefit of the glasses, as it made them easier to take on and off. We didn't get them.
The greatest part of our stay in Zambia for me was getting a chance to raft on the Zambezi. It was my first time doing class fives...and I loved it! Our guide was a guy who called himself Potato. It turns out we were quite lucky- Potato claimed that our boat was the first boat he'd led that hadn't capsized during the run. In any case, it was great fun, and we even had a chance to jump off of 30ft high rocks into the water!
Of all of the countries we've visited so far, Zambia joins the Comoros as the two that I'd love to come back to in the near future. Now we're off to Tanzania (specifically Zanzibar)!
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Zimbabwe: Where American Money Goes to Die
Our arrival in Zimbabwe was characterized by extreme sleep deprivation, having taken a night bus from the Johannesburg bus station at 7pm, and arriving close to 10am in Masvingo, the city adjacent to the Great Zimbabwe.
Customs in Zimbabwe is a treat. After the smooth, well organized South African side, we were let off the bus to stand in a line at 4am until dawn, only to be told to get back in line when the agents found out we hadn't filled out the proper form (because they'd run out of forms), at which point we scribbled incoherently on the customs form and ducked back in line in front of the officials.
By some miracle we managed to make it back onto the bus, and through the customs chaos. The ride itself was very entertaining. Whenever I would try to move to stretch my legs, the women nearby would hiss at me. Yes, hiss. Like cats. And when a piece of luggage fell of the shelf and smacked me on the head, the owner quickly collected it and glared at me, as though I had willed it to nearly give me a concussion. From my observations, I would say say Zimbabwe women are some of the most dramatic people I have ever encountered.
The attitude of Zimbabweans towards white people is very interesting. President Mugabe's land reform program has chased out much of the white (by his logic, colonial) population. From my observations, Zimbabweans complain about racism from South Africans, yet they seem to overlook that many of their own citizens were forced to seek refuge in South Africa due to their president's policies. In any case, tourism is all but dead. David and I were treated very well though- beyond the hissers. While at the Great Zimbabwe, which is the second oldest archeological site in Africa, we saw only 2 other tourists.
As we traveled on to Harare, Bulawayo, and Victoria Falls, we saw a good number of Europeans, but still fairly low all things considered.
Mugabe's controversial actions towards "colonialists" aside, during his reign the value of the Zimbabwe dollar tanked, losing all value in 2008. So now they use American currency, which is hilarious because most of the bills are on the verge of falling apart. They even actively use $2 bills! Seriously these bills are so nasty that you don't want to touch them. They're always damp. Shudder.
Truth be told, I left feeling bad for Zimbabwe. It's a country that has a ton of potential, but has completely been screwed over by terrible leadership. Between Victoria Falls and the Great Zimbabwe, they could have a thriving tourism industry. But between the tooth-pulling of customs and negative international view given the land reform program, there needs to be some changes.
Customs in Zimbabwe is a treat. After the smooth, well organized South African side, we were let off the bus to stand in a line at 4am until dawn, only to be told to get back in line when the agents found out we hadn't filled out the proper form (because they'd run out of forms), at which point we scribbled incoherently on the customs form and ducked back in line in front of the officials.
By some miracle we managed to make it back onto the bus, and through the customs chaos. The ride itself was very entertaining. Whenever I would try to move to stretch my legs, the women nearby would hiss at me. Yes, hiss. Like cats. And when a piece of luggage fell of the shelf and smacked me on the head, the owner quickly collected it and glared at me, as though I had willed it to nearly give me a concussion. From my observations, I would say say Zimbabwe women are some of the most dramatic people I have ever encountered.
The attitude of Zimbabweans towards white people is very interesting. President Mugabe's land reform program has chased out much of the white (by his logic, colonial) population. From my observations, Zimbabweans complain about racism from South Africans, yet they seem to overlook that many of their own citizens were forced to seek refuge in South Africa due to their president's policies. In any case, tourism is all but dead. David and I were treated very well though- beyond the hissers. While at the Great Zimbabwe, which is the second oldest archeological site in Africa, we saw only 2 other tourists.
As we traveled on to Harare, Bulawayo, and Victoria Falls, we saw a good number of Europeans, but still fairly low all things considered.
Mugabe's controversial actions towards "colonialists" aside, during his reign the value of the Zimbabwe dollar tanked, losing all value in 2008. So now they use American currency, which is hilarious because most of the bills are on the verge of falling apart. They even actively use $2 bills! Seriously these bills are so nasty that you don't want to touch them. They're always damp. Shudder.
Truth be told, I left feeling bad for Zimbabwe. It's a country that has a ton of potential, but has completely been screwed over by terrible leadership. Between Victoria Falls and the Great Zimbabwe, they could have a thriving tourism industry. But between the tooth-pulling of customs and negative international view given the land reform program, there needs to be some changes.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
The Comoros are, in Fact, All That and a Bag of Chips
The Comoros Islands are awesome.
Ok, well truthfully I can't attest to all of the islands, but Grand Comore is amazing.
This is the first Islamic state we've visited on our trip, and truth be told, I was bowled over by the beauty of this place and the people. While this could be because I was still recovering from the spider hive known as Madagascar, in truth I feel it was due to the fact that everyone was very friendly and made an effort to understand David and my massacring of the french language.
We stayed in Moroni, which is the capital of the Comoros. The town was covered in concrete houses and framed amongst countless palm trees.
After arriving at the Prince Said Ibrahim International Airport, we lodged at the Los Arcades Hotel, which was comfortable hotel right on the coast. The hotel itself was hilarious. We ended up switching rooms 3 times because the A/C kept breaking. The first night we stayed in the "Executive Suite" which had an automatic sink which wouldn't work half the time because of the power outages, and a huge refrigerator that wouldn't plug into the wall because it was from Asia and the plugs didn't match up.
During our first full day, we explored Moroni. The vendors were friendly, and didn't push their goods quite as much as Madagascar's. At some point David made friends with the assistant curator at the national museum, who was very friendly. Upon discovering our interest in Islam, he had us follow him through this labyrinth of vendors to the alMa ruf Mosque. We were let inside (I was wearing a headscarf) and led to a shrine devoted to Muhammmad Ahmad, who allegedly brought Shadhiliyya to the Comoros, so the observers are Sufi. Please forgive spelling errors. David wrote out all of the names, but reading his writing is like reading french. Painful. :P
It was my first time inside a mosque, and I was very interested to see how David and I would be received- it was interesting because the men didn't really care too much, but the women gave me their greatest death glares possible. David later on said that the shrine we visited is patronized by single people seeking husbands, especially on the day we visited, which happened to be the anniversary of Ahmad's death. Which means that the women could have viewed me as competition, hence the "I hope a thousand emus devour your liver" looks. But the head of the mosque was very nice- they gave us two baggies of food when we left.
We continued to wander around town a bit more, but eventually went back. Unfortunately, as most of you know at this point, I got Malaria (we counted back the days and surprise surprise it was from a Madagascar mosquito) and didn't get too much of a chance to see the rest of town as I was bedridden and on an 8 pill a day regiment.
But on the bright side getting Malaria caused me to really fall in love with the people of the Comoros- once the owner of the hotel found out I was sick, she and her sister insisted on taking care of me. They sent us oranges (they kept going on and on about the importance of Vitamin C), and when I had to get my blood test, they drove David and I to the hospital, stopping at their house to run inside and grab several of their sweaters to keep me warm as my body temperature plummeted. When we got to the hospital, David had to fight with them to be able to pay the bill! They even tried to pay for my blood test! Again, these are complete strangers, and we were literally the only Christians on a Muslim island.
Side note- my Malaria is cured- the meds work really fast.
I really can't say enough positive things about the Comoros- I wish we'd had more time there. But alas, the trip must go on, and now we're off to Zimbabwe!
Ok, well truthfully I can't attest to all of the islands, but Grand Comore is amazing.
This is the first Islamic state we've visited on our trip, and truth be told, I was bowled over by the beauty of this place and the people. While this could be because I was still recovering from the spider hive known as Madagascar, in truth I feel it was due to the fact that everyone was very friendly and made an effort to understand David and my massacring of the french language.
We stayed in Moroni, which is the capital of the Comoros. The town was covered in concrete houses and framed amongst countless palm trees.
After arriving at the Prince Said Ibrahim International Airport, we lodged at the Los Arcades Hotel, which was comfortable hotel right on the coast. The hotel itself was hilarious. We ended up switching rooms 3 times because the A/C kept breaking. The first night we stayed in the "Executive Suite" which had an automatic sink which wouldn't work half the time because of the power outages, and a huge refrigerator that wouldn't plug into the wall because it was from Asia and the plugs didn't match up.
During our first full day, we explored Moroni. The vendors were friendly, and didn't push their goods quite as much as Madagascar's. At some point David made friends with the assistant curator at the national museum, who was very friendly. Upon discovering our interest in Islam, he had us follow him through this labyrinth of vendors to the alMa ruf Mosque. We were let inside (I was wearing a headscarf) and led to a shrine devoted to Muhammmad Ahmad, who allegedly brought Shadhiliyya to the Comoros, so the observers are Sufi. Please forgive spelling errors. David wrote out all of the names, but reading his writing is like reading french. Painful. :P
It was my first time inside a mosque, and I was very interested to see how David and I would be received- it was interesting because the men didn't really care too much, but the women gave me their greatest death glares possible. David later on said that the shrine we visited is patronized by single people seeking husbands, especially on the day we visited, which happened to be the anniversary of Ahmad's death. Which means that the women could have viewed me as competition, hence the "I hope a thousand emus devour your liver" looks. But the head of the mosque was very nice- they gave us two baggies of food when we left.
We continued to wander around town a bit more, but eventually went back. Unfortunately, as most of you know at this point, I got Malaria (we counted back the days and surprise surprise it was from a Madagascar mosquito) and didn't get too much of a chance to see the rest of town as I was bedridden and on an 8 pill a day regiment.
But on the bright side getting Malaria caused me to really fall in love with the people of the Comoros- once the owner of the hotel found out I was sick, she and her sister insisted on taking care of me. They sent us oranges (they kept going on and on about the importance of Vitamin C), and when I had to get my blood test, they drove David and I to the hospital, stopping at their house to run inside and grab several of their sweaters to keep me warm as my body temperature plummeted. When we got to the hospital, David had to fight with them to be able to pay the bill! They even tried to pay for my blood test! Again, these are complete strangers, and we were literally the only Christians on a Muslim island.
Side note- my Malaria is cured- the meds work really fast.
I really can't say enough positive things about the Comoros- I wish we'd had more time there. But alas, the trip must go on, and now we're off to Zimbabwe!
Monday, May 30, 2011
Well, there's lemurs.
Typin' this on a french keyboard with dial up, so pardon the syntax/grammar issues lol.
After our luxurious stay in South Africa, I'd be lying if I said Madagascar didn't take some getting used to.
We flew Air Madagascar from Johannesburg into the capital, Antananarivo . The plane ride itself was fun if for no other reason then that it was extroidinarily relaxed- the stewardess didn't care if you lollygagged in the aisle and I swear all of the Africaaners on the plane with us were more than slightly inebriated. The food on Air Madagascar was by far and away the best airplane food I've ever tasted- I had roast duck!
Upon arriving in Madagascar, we met with our tour guide, Angelo, who David had booked through www.rijatours.mg. After quick night catching up on sleep, we took off for Antsirabe, a lovely town that was covered in rickshaws. It was at this point in the trip that I discovered that I really do love beef of all cultures- I fell in love with the Zebu, which is basically the Madagascar cow. They're delicious.
The next day we continued to drive through the countryside, arriving at Miandrivazo in the early afternoon. It was at this point that I began to realize that the spiders of Madagascar were stalking me. First in the shower, then the bathroom, then at night, while I cowered in fear protected by a flimsy layer of mosquito netting. My relations with spiders was not improved over the course of the next several days; as we departed Miandrivazo and set off on the Tsiribihina River, I noticed spiders at every turn. In my morning tea. In my potatoes. On my legs. Swimming up to my section of the canoe. In my hair. And these are not "awww cutesy spider" sized spiders. These are the "take off your show and scream bloody murder" variety. David found it amusing, as they seem to be sexist and avoided him at all costs.
Spiders aside, the canoe trip was lovely. I felt extremely lazy as we actually didn't have to row ourselves, as Angelo had hired two boatmen. We saw many different kinds of birds, four crocodiles, and this stunning waterfall right before we arrived in Morondava, which was the end of the canoe trip. Except for the waterfall, which required a 5 minute ascent up a hillside to get to, the water on the river was pretty gross.
Madagascar is a third world country, so we did see a fair share of that on our trip. Whenever we arrived in a city, we'd be greeted by swarms of children demand "stylos, bonbons or a cadeau." We faced down a couple of scams, and I've started to really learn how much I take privacy for granted back in the U.S. During our canoe trip, as the one female, our guides did not take my, err, privacy needs into account. Each night we'd be camped on a sand bar smack in the middle of the river, with a little bit of brush, so I'd have to walk out quite a ways to make myself a blur and much less visible. Even during the day, when David asked for a bathroom break, despite the ample coverage along the riverbanks, I was traipsing the dry riverbed enviously glaring at the shrubbery across the river that could offer me the privacy I craved. Even when we did get to the banks, the local children would watch and follow David and I, so we either had to wait for them to get bored with us (10-20 minutes), or run and do our buisness in the <2 minutes we had before the descended upon us.
Along those lines did see lemurs, but the circumstances surrounding our sighting is actually quite heartwrenching. The first night, shortly after landing at our campsite, a pack of children approached us, aged between 6-13, if I had to guess. Two of them had lemurs on tight leads, and they were clearly hurting the lemurs as they dragged them behind them and occasionally yanked the lead to startle the poor creatures. David explained that animal cruelty runs rampant in third world countries- that was something I wasn't entirely prepared for.
It was frustrating because there wasn't all that much we could do- David pointed out that if we gave them money to release the lemurs, they would have profited off of capturing them and continue to do so to make more money. It was a sad situation.
On a lighter note, David had a hysterical conversation with Angelo about the different animals of Madagascar. Here's what I remember:
David: So besides crocodiles, what animals can you see in Madagascar?
Angelo: Well...there's the Ring Tailed Lemur, Aye Aye Lemur...
David: Yes, but what other animals?
Angelo: Well, you can see the Propithecus coquereli.
David: What's that?
Angelo: It's the White Lemur.
David: Yes, but what about any animals besides lemurs?
Angelo: *Blank stare*
Overall, I'd say while I enjoyed our time in Madagascar, 10 days was just enough time. The food was excellent (it was colonized by the French, after all), but the people just aren't as friendly as those in South Africa. And the humidity, heat, spiders, and smell at times can be overpowering. Still, it was great to see and made a lasting impression. On to the Comoros!
After our luxurious stay in South Africa, I'd be lying if I said Madagascar didn't take some getting used to.
We flew Air Madagascar from Johannesburg into the capital, Antananarivo . The plane ride itself was fun if for no other reason then that it was extroidinarily relaxed- the stewardess didn't care if you lollygagged in the aisle and I swear all of the Africaaners on the plane with us were more than slightly inebriated. The food on Air Madagascar was by far and away the best airplane food I've ever tasted- I had roast duck!
Upon arriving in Madagascar, we met with our tour guide, Angelo, who David had booked through www.rijatours.mg. After quick night catching up on sleep, we took off for Antsirabe, a lovely town that was covered in rickshaws. It was at this point in the trip that I discovered that I really do love beef of all cultures- I fell in love with the Zebu, which is basically the Madagascar cow. They're delicious.
The next day we continued to drive through the countryside, arriving at Miandrivazo in the early afternoon. It was at this point that I began to realize that the spiders of Madagascar were stalking me. First in the shower, then the bathroom, then at night, while I cowered in fear protected by a flimsy layer of mosquito netting. My relations with spiders was not improved over the course of the next several days; as we departed Miandrivazo and set off on the Tsiribihina River, I noticed spiders at every turn. In my morning tea. In my potatoes. On my legs. Swimming up to my section of the canoe. In my hair. And these are not "awww cutesy spider" sized spiders. These are the "take off your show and scream bloody murder" variety. David found it amusing, as they seem to be sexist and avoided him at all costs.
Spiders aside, the canoe trip was lovely. I felt extremely lazy as we actually didn't have to row ourselves, as Angelo had hired two boatmen. We saw many different kinds of birds, four crocodiles, and this stunning waterfall right before we arrived in Morondava, which was the end of the canoe trip. Except for the waterfall, which required a 5 minute ascent up a hillside to get to, the water on the river was pretty gross.
Madagascar is a third world country, so we did see a fair share of that on our trip. Whenever we arrived in a city, we'd be greeted by swarms of children demand "stylos, bonbons or a cadeau." We faced down a couple of scams, and I've started to really learn how much I take privacy for granted back in the U.S. During our canoe trip, as the one female, our guides did not take my, err, privacy needs into account. Each night we'd be camped on a sand bar smack in the middle of the river, with a little bit of brush, so I'd have to walk out quite a ways to make myself a blur and much less visible. Even during the day, when David asked for a bathroom break, despite the ample coverage along the riverbanks, I was traipsing the dry riverbed enviously glaring at the shrubbery across the river that could offer me the privacy I craved. Even when we did get to the banks, the local children would watch and follow David and I, so we either had to wait for them to get bored with us (10-20 minutes), or run and do our buisness in the <2 minutes we had before the descended upon us.
Along those lines did see lemurs, but the circumstances surrounding our sighting is actually quite heartwrenching. The first night, shortly after landing at our campsite, a pack of children approached us, aged between 6-13, if I had to guess. Two of them had lemurs on tight leads, and they were clearly hurting the lemurs as they dragged them behind them and occasionally yanked the lead to startle the poor creatures. David explained that animal cruelty runs rampant in third world countries- that was something I wasn't entirely prepared for.
It was frustrating because there wasn't all that much we could do- David pointed out that if we gave them money to release the lemurs, they would have profited off of capturing them and continue to do so to make more money. It was a sad situation.
On a lighter note, David had a hysterical conversation with Angelo about the different animals of Madagascar. Here's what I remember:
David: So besides crocodiles, what animals can you see in Madagascar?
Angelo: Well...there's the Ring Tailed Lemur, Aye Aye Lemur...
David: Yes, but what other animals?
Angelo: Well, you can see the Propithecus coquereli.
David: What's that?
Angelo: It's the White Lemur.
David: Yes, but what about any animals besides lemurs?
Angelo: *Blank stare*
Overall, I'd say while I enjoyed our time in Madagascar, 10 days was just enough time. The food was excellent (it was colonized by the French, after all), but the people just aren't as friendly as those in South Africa. And the humidity, heat, spiders, and smell at times can be overpowering. Still, it was great to see and made a lasting impression. On to the Comoros!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
This Time for Africa
*cue Shakira*
I have just a few minutes to write this, so please pardon my brevity!
We have just arrived at the Johannesburg airport, having just leaving Kruger Park, undoubtedly one of the most stunning places I have ever seen. The past three days have been a blur of safaris, sunsets, and tiblicious food.
The weather here is phenomenal-- it's been in the low 70s. In many ways, South Africa isn't all that different from the U.S.- David and I agree that although there seems to be a general dislike of road signs (we got lost a fair amount), the roads are just as nice as any you'd see in Texas.
It's really hard to describe South Africa because you can really see several different biomes- the range of weather, foliage, and plant spacing is massive. There was one point where we drove through a savanna and within 3 hours, we could have sworn we were in the northwest US for all of the pine trees and curvy roads.
Every single day is a sensory overload, and I simply do not have enough time to cover everything, so I will highlight a few of my favorite moments from the past week.
My favorite memory from this leg of the trip is without a doubt being smacked across the arm by an elephant's tail. Apparently he did not take kindly to our safari vehicle, and kind of charged us before turning around and hitting me in the process. This happened during a sunset safari on the second day- possibly the greatest 2 hours of my life, elephant anger aside.
The following day we drove to Blyde Dam, and later to Echo Cave, which is an out of the way cave that neighbors the questionable Museum of Man. Unfortuntely the Museum of Man was closed, much to my dismay and David's amusement. Upon our arrival, I had my very first encounter with "Bus Toilets." Bus Toilets, in this instance as I came to find out actually means "sketchy shack protecting a hole in the ground, with a toilet seat around the edges of said hole, located at the top of some very delapidated stairs." So to effectively use the toilet seat, you'd have to sit on the ground. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and my bladder was calling the shots. It was only after I had begun to utilize the Bus Toilet that I noticed I had an audience of about 20 spiders. This led to a speedy finish and run down the stairs. After my Bus Toilet trauma and the tour of Echo Cave, David pointed out the perfectly functional (with regular plumbing and seats at the regular height), spider free facilities a mere 200 yards from the "Bus Toilets."
Echo Cave also exposed David and I to the word "braaiing." Near the Bus Toilets was a sign that read, "Attention: No Picnicing and No Braaiing." David thought this could be a spelling error, while I chose to go with the zombie theory, in which zombies actually inhabited Echo Caves, and got confused while making the sign and realized that they did in fact want brains, and added a "g" so humans wouldn't drive off. There's also the donkey theory, that Echo Caves is actually an anti-donkey speak establishment, but David pointed out that that couldn't be the case because donkey braying is spelled with a "y." It turns out it's South African slang for grilling. I'm still keeping an eye out for zombies though.
Overall I have to say that I really enjoyed my time in South Africa. It's a beautiful country, the people are friendly, and Bus Toilets aside, it has most if not all of the conveniences one would find in the U.S.
Well folks, that's it! I'm in Madagascar right now, so I will try and post on my week here when we move on to the Comoros! Please pardon any spelling errors- my computer is French so I can't run spell check. Sigh.
I have just a few minutes to write this, so please pardon my brevity!
We have just arrived at the Johannesburg airport, having just leaving Kruger Park, undoubtedly one of the most stunning places I have ever seen. The past three days have been a blur of safaris, sunsets, and tiblicious food.
The weather here is phenomenal-- it's been in the low 70s. In many ways, South Africa isn't all that different from the U.S.- David and I agree that although there seems to be a general dislike of road signs (we got lost a fair amount), the roads are just as nice as any you'd see in Texas.
It's really hard to describe South Africa because you can really see several different biomes- the range of weather, foliage, and plant spacing is massive. There was one point where we drove through a savanna and within 3 hours, we could have sworn we were in the northwest US for all of the pine trees and curvy roads.
Every single day is a sensory overload, and I simply do not have enough time to cover everything, so I will highlight a few of my favorite moments from the past week.
My favorite memory from this leg of the trip is without a doubt being smacked across the arm by an elephant's tail. Apparently he did not take kindly to our safari vehicle, and kind of charged us before turning around and hitting me in the process. This happened during a sunset safari on the second day- possibly the greatest 2 hours of my life, elephant anger aside.
The following day we drove to Blyde Dam, and later to Echo Cave, which is an out of the way cave that neighbors the questionable Museum of Man. Unfortuntely the Museum of Man was closed, much to my dismay and David's amusement. Upon our arrival, I had my very first encounter with "Bus Toilets." Bus Toilets, in this instance as I came to find out actually means "sketchy shack protecting a hole in the ground, with a toilet seat around the edges of said hole, located at the top of some very delapidated stairs." So to effectively use the toilet seat, you'd have to sit on the ground. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and my bladder was calling the shots. It was only after I had begun to utilize the Bus Toilet that I noticed I had an audience of about 20 spiders. This led to a speedy finish and run down the stairs. After my Bus Toilet trauma and the tour of Echo Cave, David pointed out the perfectly functional (with regular plumbing and seats at the regular height), spider free facilities a mere 200 yards from the "Bus Toilets."
Echo Cave also exposed David and I to the word "braaiing." Near the Bus Toilets was a sign that read, "Attention: No Picnicing and No Braaiing." David thought this could be a spelling error, while I chose to go with the zombie theory, in which zombies actually inhabited Echo Caves, and got confused while making the sign and realized that they did in fact want brains, and added a "g" so humans wouldn't drive off. There's also the donkey theory, that Echo Caves is actually an anti-donkey speak establishment, but David pointed out that that couldn't be the case because donkey braying is spelled with a "y." It turns out it's South African slang for grilling. I'm still keeping an eye out for zombies though.
Overall I have to say that I really enjoyed my time in South Africa. It's a beautiful country, the people are friendly, and Bus Toilets aside, it has most if not all of the conveniences one would find in the U.S.
Well folks, that's it! I'm in Madagascar right now, so I will try and post on my week here when we move on to the Comoros! Please pardon any spelling errors- my computer is French so I can't run spell check. Sigh.
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