I'm now in Zanzibar, Tanzania, which is amazing. Formerly a commercial hub for slave trading to the middle east and India, this place is a very interesting intersection between the Arab and African worlds. It also feels like it is in a time warp; the buildings, churches, mosques, doors, gates and the airport immigration system seem like their hundreds of years old. Beautiful tourquise beaches, white washed stone buildings, and small, narrow footpaths, as well as lots of Europeans (virtually no Americans or Japanese) fill the scenary.
After a few hours of walking around Stone Town (the old part of Zanzibar), i rented a dirt bike and headed up to a popular beach called Nungwi. The one-hour drive ended up taking close to 3 hours, as my two assumptions that a.) roads would be marked and b.) police interference would be non-existence, both proved incorrect. I ended up going up and down the same roads, zig zagging around various back country roads and was stopped multiple times by police officers interested to see my driving permit (i.e. wanting bribes). Eventually, i broke the classic "male code of honor" and asked for directions from various pedestrians which produced more confusion than anything else. One fellow confidently said "Turn left along this road" as he gestured his hands to the right. Another fellow said, "Just turn right at the police station", omitting the fact that the police station that he was referring to was about 60 kilometers away (and after 3 or 4 other police stations en route). Fortunately, the ride was fantastic, kids along the road weren't phased by the yellow shirted foreigner and waved multiple times as I paraded by them again and again, and the police were friendly, jovial and eventually even accomodating when i showed them my fancy brand new Zanzibar driving permit. Moreover, once i reached Nungwi, the beach was so beautiful that i ended up just staying the night there, despite having a hostel room and my luggage back in Stone Town. Fortunately, with plenty of experience of traveling without luggage (not to mention pants with a working zipper) under my belt, i felt pretty comfortable with that decision.
I had a fun beach BBQ last night during which time i befriended a local Zanzibarian (uh, not sure if that's the right way to describe someone from Zanzibar, but i think it should be) fellow who saved me, the solo American traveler, from unsuccessful mingling with the predominantly European crowd that seemed shockingly opposed to yellow t-shirts. Several beers later, with thanks to my friend "Ozy", i could claim significant improvements in my Swahili language capabilities and could temporarily carry on a full conversation in Swahili (assuming the conversation was limited to: Person 1: "Where you coming from?", Person 2: Nodding and pointing direction towards point of origin).
I also squeezed in a day of diving, which frankly, was not quite as amazing as the phrase "Diving in Zanzibar" may suggest. But what is amazing is "Spice Coffee" next to a plate of Coconut Toast and a Mango Shake. Mmmm. And Pocket Wookie agrees.
I also began re-reading my all-time favorite book "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" which i picked up at the "give and take library" at the hostel that i stayed at in Johannesburg. The alternatives that were available there included the "1985 Listing of South African Airways Routes" and several romance novel in other languages, so i felt pretty happy with my find, which, in a Zen-like way, seems to fit very well with my current life.
Tomorrow i head up to northern Tanzania and will begin either a safari in Ngorongoro or begin hiking Mt. Kilimanjaro. As I think that the internet connection atop the mountain may be spotty and as my Blackberry apparently doesn't speak Swahili, my next blog will likely be severals days away...
Finally, for all of you thinking, "My God, my life is pretty much perfect, but i just wish I could make comments on Jonas' blog site", fear no more. i changed settings on this blog page so that it is easy to make comments (even if you're not a "blogger" user).
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I'm in Manhattan as always and although I've grown hardened to its charms, in fact it is amazing. Formerly a commercial hub for slave trading from Africa (systematic use of black slaves in New Netherland began in 1626 through the Dutch West India Company and later the Royal African Company when the British took over in 1664, and control of the colony passed to the Duke of York and his cronies), this place is a very interesting intersection between the Dutch, British and African-American worlds, as well as Irish, Italian German, French worlds from mid 19th century immigration and Slavic peoples (from the influx of eastern europeans at the turn of the 20th century). It also feels like it is in a time warp; the buildings, banks, apartment buildings, doors, gates and the airport immigration system seem like there are from the future, or the year 2000 (after the robotic uprising of the mid 90s). It is a real mish-mash of humanity, WASPy men in Armani suits, ethnic men in jump suits, old men in electric scooters, grime-covered transients, short skirted actresses/waitresses, white washed speeches by morning news correspondents, yellow taxis innumerable like stars in the sky, and small, narrow footpaths, as well as lots of horses around central park (virtually no children, Eskimos or New Zealanders) fill the scenery.
Today, after a few hours of walking around Bryant Park (a classic part of mid-town adjoining the New York Public Library, where about a month ago my roommate and I listened to Christopher Hitchens debate Reverend Al Sharpton on the greatness of god (a third party - Nietchze - won the debate), i headed up to a popular place (to me) called Burritoville. The fifteen-minute walk ended up taking close to twenty minutes, as my two assumptions that a.) the police barracades from last week's explosion at Grand Central were down and b.) pedestrian interference would be non-existence, both proved incorrect. I ended up going up and down Madison Avenue twice, zig zagging around various tourists stalled on the sidewalk and was stopped multiple times by beautiful ladies interested to see my "handsome permit" (i.e. wanting digits). Eventually, i broke the classic "code of legally acceptable social behavior" and asked some of these lovely ladies if they could point me the way to a metaphorical record store where I could find the metaphorical sexual healing album by marvin gay, metaphorically speaking that is I said with a wink to obviate any possible misunderstanding, which ironically, and yet upon review, understandably, produced more confusion than anything else. One comely lady confidently said "Turn left along this road" as she gestured his hands to the right. Another pretty lady said, "Just turn right at the police station", omitting the fact that the police station that she was referring to was full of armed personnel authorized and eager to protect the public from people the likes of me. Fortunately, although none of these ladies could accurately guess the kind of metaphorical goal I had in mind, the walk to Burritoville was fantastic, the throngs of people pushin their way along the narrow sidewalks weren't phased by the stifling Manhattan humidity and all the ladies - I ounted 13 - were friendly, jovial and eventually even accomodating when i showed them my fancy fake business card. Moreover, once i reached Burritoville, the line was so short and tables were empty so i ended up just spending my whole lunch there, despite having a my office and computer back at 44th and 6th. Fortunately, with plenty of experience of lunching without the benefit of Internet access under my belt, i felt pretty comfortable with that decision.
I had a fun elevator experience the other night during which time my roommate and sometimes friend Dave (we're constantly getting in conflict over whether "Law and Order" or "Underage and Engaged" is his favorite TV show) saved me, the awkward social neophyte, from unsuccessful mingling in the elevator with one of the denizens of the predominantly college-aged crowd that is always milling about my apartment complex. Although Dave provided his usual casual banter and palaver on a variety of topics (principally involving his growing fondness for the Bush administration policy) as well as recommendations on how to talk with the ladies, later that same night i bumped into a girl who I once tried to ask out (via a note under the door since she wasn't home) and the upshot of that encounter is that there is no way I can claim significant improvements in my interpersonal capabilities. Not even temporarily can I carry on a full conversation with anyone I meet in the halls or elevator of our building (even assuming the conversation was limited to: Person 1: "Where you coming from?", Person 2: Nodding and pointing direction towards point of origin).
I also squeezed in a short jaunt through Times Square on the way home from work, which frankly, was not quite as amazing as the phrase "jaunt through Times Square" may suggest. But what is amazing is a peanut butter sandwhich next to a plastic carton of the $3.00 fruit salad I purchase at the moveable stand at the corner of 45th and 6th. Mmmm.
I also began reading an interesting book "Stumbling on Happiness" which i picked up at Amazon.com. The alternatives that were available there included the "1985 Listing of South African Airways Routes" and several romance novel in other languages, as well as about every other book currently in print anywhere in the world, and yet i had a seen a clip of the author of the book on the Daily Show and he struck me as a interesting fellow and so i felt pretty happy with my find. The general point of the book is that for three basic reasons (fallibility of memory, poverty of imagination, ingrained tendency to rationalize) we tend to be grossly incompetent in predicting our future feelings. This general proposition is not particularly relevant with my current life but that's largely because I grossly overestimate how much I know about things.
Tonight i head up (this is true) to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the White & Case Summer Dance. This will involve a safari through the dinner buffet and some dancing with a honey or two. As Jonas next blog will likely be serveral days awa, my next blog commentary will likely be severals days away...
Finally, since I have been wishing and fearing about my capacities to make comments on the pfunkworldtour blog site, I appreciate the switch to the new easy access format.
And now here is a song about Zanzibar, courtesy of Robert Valaas, for you to sing to all your new Zanzibarian friends (the tune is something like They Might Be Giants' "Particle Man", but not quite):
Zanzibar, Zanzibar,
Zanzibar is very far,
You can't get there in a car,
It's too far
to Zanzibar
In Zanzibar they grow ground nuts,
The people who grow them live in huts
To grow them you need lots of rain
To get there you must take a plane.
Post a Comment