Solo Travel in Zanzibar
This post is specifically designed with the solo female traveler in mind.
Zanzibar is a wonderful and intriguing place filled with incredible history. If you are a nature lover, you will also delight in Zanzibar’s coral reefs and forests. Traveling alone, particularly to Zanzibar, might seem like a daunting endeavor, but I found it to be quite freeing and I got to spend some quality time writing, thinking, diving and exploring.
I started my trip out of Johannesburg, South Africa as I had already been traveling throughout Mozambique, South Africa and Zimbabwe. I traveled using South Africa Airways from Johannesburg to Dar es Salaam with onward travel on Precision Air to Zanzibar. Zanzibar is a 17-minute flight from Dar es Salaam. There are a number of airlines that will get you there. I chose Precision on a whim because it fit my schedule; to and fro I had zero delays. Also, when you return to Dar es Salaam, you get to skip the big line filled with European tourists heading back to Germany or other destinations because Precision is a domestic airline. It was a joy to jump ahead in a separate domestic line rather than being placed in the international line.
Upon landing into Zanzibar, I had a bit of a snafu because I had no cash. Why would I travel with no cash you might ask? Well, after being in Zimbabwe where it is actually impossible to extract any form of currency out of any ATM, I had spent all of my US dollars and only had about $15 in Rand. I made my way to Johannesburg thinking that I would easily be able to extract funds from ATMs in the JoBurg airport terminal before hopping over to Tanzania. I was in Terminal A (which has great shopping by the way!), and there were two TravelEx ATMs. The first ATM was out of order.
When I finally made it to the second ATM, I inserted my card only to realize that you can only take out a maximum of 850 rand at a time (about $61 USD). The charge for the service is 115 Rand (about $8!). The machine takes forever FYI and I waited as the screen flashed, “Machine cleaning please wait.” After five minutes and people piling up behind me, the machine finally spit out 50 Rand ($4 USD) and a receipt that said, “Amount requested 850, Amount dispensed 50, Amount charged 115, Total charged 165 Rand”. I immediately went to the attached money exchange counter and explained what just happened. The man looked up at me and said, “Oh, yeah, it must be running out of money.” REALLY!?!?!?! Worried, I quickly hatched up a terrible plan. You see, the fee to enter Tanzania as a US citizen is $100 USD. I was under the impression that I needed the $100 USD in cash so in a desperate attempt to get cash, I begged immigration to let me out of Terminal A in Johannesburg. I pushed my way back through the security line and found myself on the bottom floor in limbo world. I stared out at a sea of people trying to stamp into the terminal as I realized that I was going to have to give up any attempt to find an ATM outside of the terminal. Though I had already been stamped out of South Africa, I now no longer had time to re-stamp in as the line in the bowels of the airport to stamp out were too long. My only choice was to turn around and go back upstairs. Oh yes, and I had to wait in the security line which was 300 people deep.
I finally made it to my gate and onto the plane still with $15 in Rand. Upon arrival into Dar es Salaam, I filled out my immigration form and stood in line to be processed. On the plane I learned that I could pay via credit card for entry into Tanzania so all of my running around and sweating profusely was for naught. I am certain that the security cameras and officers watching me criss-cross the entire airport from ATM to ATM backwards through security to a dead-end wall of people stamping out of South Africa must have been amusing to observe. Anyway, there I was about to stamp into Tanzania, except that just as I was being entered into the country, the “system” broke down. Amazing how you can travel around the world and feel exactly like you are in Panamá (“No hay Sistema” is a common phrase I hear at home). The entire immigration system broke down exactly in the moment I was being entered into the country. There I was in front of the friendly immigration officer explaining that I really needed to pay via card because I had no cash. “Why do you have no dollars, you are American?” he laughed. I smiled and panicked all at the same time. “I have been in Zimbabwe for the past three days and you can’t take out any cash, I then was in Johannesburg and none of the ATMs in the terminal worked so here I am in Tanzania and I am so sorry, but I have no cash. Sorry sir,” I said. He smiled and told me to stand aside. The next thing I knew I was in another line. Apparently, there was one computer functioning. Once I gave my fingerprints, I was handed a printed form and my passport, and I was instructed to go pay by credit card at the window on the other side of the immigration booths. Relieved, I went to the payment window and the kind woman behind the glass said, “Where is your confirmation number?”. “Confirmation number?” I replied, in yet another state of panic. “What is a confirmation number? Where can I find it?” I asked. She pointed with her pen back to the immigration booth I had just left. “Go back and tell the man you want a confirmation number to pay,” she explained. Various expletives suddenly flooded my mind.
I went back to the immigration window and waited 20 minutes for the man to process the people who were already at the window when I returned. Finally, I explained to the man that I needed a confirmation number in order to pay. “Oh, uh oh, oh no, oh, uh oh…” This went on for a few moments. Then he looked up and said, “Well, the system is not working correctly, it is new, we have problems, so I cannot give you a confirmation number. You do not have cash?” I explained again my situation and received a nod of understanding, but no solution. “Wait over there,” he said and pointed to the wall. I was beginning to get used to my wall. Fortunately, I was not alone in this and the next few people behind me also needed to pay by credit card. The five of us wallflowers were then ushered over to the visa payment area. I met a man from Romania, a Brit, a Brazilian, and a woman from the US. It had been about 45 minutes since we started on our journey to pay and our luggage could be seen circling on the luggage conveyer belt just beyond the wall of agents.
An agent approached our group and explained that he was trying to get us confirmation numbers. After another 45 minutes, confirmation numbers appeared, and we proceeded to pay for our visas. Almost to the finish line!
After paying for our visas, the entire system had a total crash and each person’s entry had to then be processed on an older computer by only one person with the proper credentials. At this stage there were about 35 people to be processed. Needless to say, another solid 1.5 hours passed, and we were still waiting for our passports to be stamped. Our luggage was still sadly whipping around on the luggage belt and I wondered what I had done in a previous life to be in such purgatory. Three hours and fifteen minutes later, my name was called, and I was re-united with my luggage. Luckily, I had the foresight not to make my connecting domestic flight close in time to my international flight. With two hours to spare, I walked outside of the terminal and over to the domestic terminal and checked in for Zanzibar.
Travel lesson 1: NEVER TRAVEL WITHOUT CASH. LIKE EVER!
Although, in this case, even those who paid with cash still had to wait for their passports because of the errors with “the system”, it is never a good idea to travel with 15 rand. Ever.
Travel Lesson 2: Space out your flights! You never know what can happen.
Upon arriving into Zanzibar, I was thankful that I had pre-arranged taxi pickup at the airport in Zanzibar. My hotel offered this service and though I usually like to find my own way, it is standard practice in Zanzibar for hotels to offer these kinds of transport services. I learned as I exited as a solo female traveler that you will immediately be haggled by taxi drivers. Our flight actually left and landed 10 minutes early so my driver hadn’t yet arrived when I exited the airport (*note-flights will take off if everyone is present so be prepared to leave early). I was bombarded by driver after driver, “Lady, Jambo, my taxi is the best service, come with me.” Each of the ten drivers standing around took their turn asking me to take their taxi. When I explained that I was waiting for my taxi one driver said, “He is not coming, just come with me.” I laughed and said, no thanks, I will wait. My driver arrived in the next ten minutes and loaded my stuff into the car. Thankfully, my driver waited while I extracted cash from a very strange outdoor ATM outside of the airport. Woot! With cash in hand I was back in business.
Travel Lesson 3: There is an ATM just outside of the Zanzibar airport near the parking lot if you need cash.
Stone Town is about a 15-minute drive from the airport. I stayed at Tembo Hotel (Tembo is Swahili for Elephant) located conveniently just steps from the maze of Stone Town and also adjacent to the ocean. It has a beautiful pool and the staff were wonderful. When I arrived, they said that the room I had requested was unfortunately not available. For the first night, I stayed in a double room overlooking the pool and for the last two nights I stayed in a queen room with a view of the pool and the ocean. Overall, I would recommend Tembo if you want the convenience of the location and access to the water.
My first night, I arrived after dark and decided to stay in the hotel for dinner. I had a delicious Pilau dish with chicken. The spices in the dish were unreal and I had my first taste of the famous spice island. I crashed in my room and the next day woke up early, ate breakfast (free!), and ventured out into the fray. As soon as I left the hotel, I made a wrong turn trying to orient myself to the map and my taxi driver from the night before appeared out of nowhere. “You are going the wrong way!” he yelled as I lifted my head and barely dodged an oncoming car. “How are you?” He said as he approached and extended his hand to me, “Jambo”. “Mambo,” I replied with relief. “Hakuna Matata. Don’t worry, you need to go the other way. I will walk with you to the entrance.” “Asante Sana (thank you),” I said. We proceeded to walk in the right direction, and he asked if I wanted a tour. “No thanks,” I said. I thanked him for his kindness and I was off down the streets of Stone Town getting lost in the maze of the network of tiny streets.
While a tour would have been interesting, I was really wanting to experience Stone Town on my own. I passed several tour guides giving history lessons to tourists from all parts of the world, but I am someone who likes to explore and strike out on her own, so I skipped the canned tour scene and found my own path. I noticed that mostly white tourists were getting super haggled by so-called tour guides, but as soon as I said no, I was left alone. I think having darker skin greatly assisted me in not being completely harassed to go on a walking tour. Asante sana, melanin.
As I passed the dizzying array of shops all the while peering in to see what goods they had, I suddenly realized that I was in a tourist trap. Gizhengi Street could be considered the main street of Stone Town with its shops and hotels and restaurants all lining the tiny corridor. As you walk by, men approach and ask if you want to look in their shop. Women too will ask you to stop in and will say, “Looking is free”. I went in to a few shops and quickly realized that there was nothing in the shop that I wanted. After being offered random items, I finally said, “Asante sana,” and walked out. It doesn’t stop there though, sometimes shop keepers will walk with you out of the store and down the street just to make sure you really don’t want the item. “Okay, sistah, but come back latah. We are same skin,” said one shop keeper. I can’t tell you how many times I was offered a good price because of my skin color. Soon I realized that I was being called, “Cappuccino”. For white travelers, you likely won’t have this happen to you, which is a disadvantage for you in terms of haggling for merchandise.
Travel Lesson 4: In Zanzibar, the majority of prices in shops are not the actual prices.
In fact, the majority of prices are double what you should pay and it is expected (in most stores other than the fancier shops) that you will ask for a better price. My cappuccino solo status enabled me to talk with people on a level that was not so transactional. I was usually asked why I was traveling alone followed by the inevitable, “ah you are South African?”. I have no idea why I was seen as South African as my accent surely is not anything close to being South African, yaaaaahhhhhh (only South Africans will understand this reference).
Prior to leaving the hotel, I knew I wanted to see the former slave market and church and the fish market. I made my way to the slavery museum after getting lost in the Stone Town maze and somehow popped out where I was supposed to be. I walked toward the church and a man approached me (in Zanzibar there is always some man who will approach you out of nowhere). “Jambo,” he said. He launched into an explanation of how the tour worked and gave me the option to pay for a guide or to go solo. He also explained that no information is given at the slave monument or about the church inside of the museum (not sure I would call it a museum, it is more of an exhibit). I was shuttled under a makeshift security post (a tent and a lady with a security wand), where my bag was checked. Then, my new friend ushered me over to the window where I was to pay. *Side note- when traveling in Zanzibar be prepared to always have someone with you trying to do everything for you. You can refuse these services at any time, but most people don’t know they can and wind up paying for something they never needed. I paid and the man who had kindly escorted me suddenly said in a booming voice, “Welcome my sistah, I am your tour guide,” in my mind I was giggling a little as I found it amusing that all of a sudden he went from hustler to tour guide.
We went over to the slave monument, a hole dug in the ground with four statues of slaves connected by chains and one slave overseeing them to represent an African slave trader. It is fascinating in Zanzibar that the history is always told via the viewpoint that Africans played a major role in the slave trade through the capture of enemies and the selling of them to traders. In the US, we never hear this side of the story. Zanzibar is a mix of Arab, Indian, and African (and many more) and as I overheard a passing tour guide explain, “No one’s hands are clean.” Indeed, the history of slavery and the slave trade in Zanzibar is overwhelming to process. Over 4.5 million souls were sold out of Zanzibar. The church adjacent to the monument is the actual location of where slaves were sold. Only two slave holding chambers remain out of the ten that existed. Walking underneath to see them was a sobering experience and after only a few minutes I had to leave. Less than human is what I kept thinking. Slaves and people of African descent have had to try to escape the idea of being less than human for centuries. It is something we still must struggle with and it is a legacy of slavery that affects so many people to this day.
The exhibit provided a lot of historical information, but I found the narrative to be quite euro-centric which was a bit frustrating. Can we please stop saying in the narratives of slavery that “some masters treated their slaves quite well and some were brutal?” On what planet is it nice to own another human? We are to believe that because people weren’t necessarily brutalized by their masters that they were treated “quite well”? If these masters were so nice, why did they purchase people and actively participate in a system of brutality?
After the slave museum, I was ready to uplift my soul with something positive, so I wandered over to the Dhagani marketplace. I rounded the corner and saw a wall of about 45 men near the entrance. I stopped in my tracks. What in the actual hell. Like literally not a woman in sight. I wondered if I accidentally happened upon a meeting of dudes who hang out at the market. I decided to keep walking and passed by to glares and stares. I kept my head down and peered out of the corners of my eye to make sure I was on the right path. It seems when I travel that most people are accustomed to white tourists whereas black foreigners are an unusual sight. My clothing and lack of headwear was a dead giveaway that I was not from the area. The stares were more friendly than sexual so I kept moving. Then, ahead I saw two tourists with a guide. I quickened my pace and followed the guide into the market.
Travel Lesson 5: Don’t wander around like a half-naked idiot in Zanzibar.
Wear appropriate clothing. Cover your shoulders and wear pants below your knees. I wore lightweight pants that I could roll up to just under my knees and sandals and I was perfectly fine. Some tourists I saw were wearing seriously inappropriate clothing, shorts for example. Don’t be culturally insensitive and as a solo female traveler, bringing attention to yourself in this way (though yes I agree you should be able to wear what you want, just not in Zanzibar!) is not recommended.
What an amazing market! The sights, the smells and my free tour. Yes, I followed the tour guide all the way around the market, keeping my distance to overhear what the man was saying. I even did the whole thing where you casually pretend to be looking at something important, in my case a man hacking away at a cow’s leg, seemingly totally uninterested in the people around you only you actually are fully aware of everything doing your best to block out all the noise to focus in on what my new tour guide was explaining. I got a few important facts from my unofficial tour and continued through the market. I jumped over a stream of fish guts and blood and headed to see the dead fish and octopus lining the hall. I slowly made my way out and over to the spices. There were spices everywhere along with oils of this and that, bananas, baskets, vegetables and chickens. My senses were immediately overwhelmed. I saw my faux tour guide again and made my way toward him to try to catch the tail end of what he was saying. Surrounded by baskets, which apparently, I have a deep love and affection for, I started taking photos and once again found myself lost in the fray. After my basket photography, I decided to get lunch.
I wandered around for a good two hours prior to lunch zipping in and out of stores to work up an appetite. I finally decided to eat at a place called, Farangizi. It was cool and inviting and a good place to re-charge before heading out again. I shopped around for a few hours more with no agenda and had the best afternoon. Around 4pm, I headed back to my hotel for a fruit smoothie before taking a shower to get ready for dinner. I quickly looked up on Trip Advisor what the best restaurant in Zanzibar was and made my way there. The restaurant was called Tabguura and once again I got lost trying to find it. I left my hotel and wound up down the street at another hotel only to ask for directions from the men at the door. Apparently, I was not alone in trying to find the restaurant because two women from Japan were also lost and needed directions. I turned and let them know that I was looking for the same restaurant. Just like that we were insta-friends. Me and my new crew headed to the restaurant and made our way to the rooftop where we made it just in time for the sunset.
Someone recently told me that I could make friends with a fly if I had to. I never thought of myself as someone who easily makes friends with random strangers, but I guess it’s true. My new friends, Mihako and Minako, turned out to be two incredible women. One looked to be around 50, but nearly knocked me out of my seat when she revealed that she was 71. As a physical education instructor for primary school children, I could tell that on any given day she likely had more energy than I did at 42. The other woman was a special education teacher in a secondary school, and I appreciated her penchant for beer and her calm demeanor. We laughed about students, about traveling as women and bonded over being haggled all day. I used the two words in Japanese that I knew and the phys ed teacher mainly smiled and nodded as she waited for translation from Mihako. In general, it was one of the best meals I’ve had, but mostly because of the company I was with. As the last beers and glasses of wine were swigged down, we exchanged information and it was time to say goodbye. We took some photos, gave hugs, invited each other to our respective countries (in my case Panama) and parted ways. I went back to my hotel to prepare for my next day’s adventure; a bicycle spice tour.
Any time the word bicycle appears as part of a tour I get excited. I love bike riding and I love to do it all over the world. I truly believe that it is the best way to get to know where you are. It allows you to see into buildings and homes and communities in a way that you can’t in a car or on foot. Cars are too quick and strolling on foot makes you look creepy. A bicycle however, gives you the vantage point of being on foot, but doesn’t make you feel as if you are stalking.
At 8am my guide arrived to my hotel without a bicycle. This likely should have been my first red flag. “Jambo!” he said enthusiastically, and we proceeded to walk out of the hotel and into the Stone Town maze. “Where are we heading exactly?” I asked. He turned to me and explained, “Oh, well the bicycles are actually on the other side of Stone Town so we are walking there now.” As the sun started to beat down on us and with my guide walking at an almost run pace, I wondered if I truly had enough energy for whatever was in store. Prior to leaving that morning, I decided to wear shorts (almost to the knee) because I knew it would be hot. I absolutely considered this cultural no-no as a woman, but I could not imagine riding in my only other option which were black diving leggings that were likely more inappropriate to wear than my almost to the knee faux Bermuda shorts. Walking through Stone Town in shorts, I immediately regretted my decision. Perhaps if I were an oblivious European traveler, I wouldn’t have cared, but I absolutely knew that the men and women staring at my barren legs were wondering what in the world this “cappuccino” was doing meandering the streets in shorts. I smiled and nodded, told myself it was definitely better than dive leggings and kept it moving.
We arrived to the bicycle rental shop and I breathed both a sigh of relief and took in a few more breaths to lower my heartrate after an almost mini jog across Stone Town. Unfortunately, however, the shop was closed. “Oh no, shop is closed,” my guide said with frustration. “Stay here, I will return,” he said and flittered away. I sat on a concrete slab at the end of the street and waited not knowing what to expect. Minutes later, the guide returned and said that the shop keeper was stuck in traffic. After another 15 minutes, we were nearing almost 9am and there was still no sign of the shop keeper. Luckily, a student from the upstairs tourism school opened the school doors which had access to two bicycles. I tested them both and went with the one with better brakes and seat. “And our helmets?” I asked. I knew it was such a US comment to make, but considering I had no idea where we would be cycling I thought it was a good plan. My guide looked at me and said, “Stay here, I will return.” He flittered away once again and 15 minutes later, the shop keeper arrived. I was invited into the shop where I found a helmet and sat waiting for the guide. He returned and sighed in annoyance when he saw me with my helmet as he was carrying two helmets in his hand; one for him and one for me. “It’s okay,” I offered, and he put down the two helmets and helped me onto the street. “We are going to be riding in a crazy place. There will be people, goats, dala dala (local buses), motorcycles and cars. Are you ready?” he asked. “Don’t worry, I’ve ridden my bike all over New York. I can handle it,” I chirped with a smile. In the first five minutes, I knew this was not going to be an ordinary bike ride. For one, we were riding bikes in the maze of Stone Town which was filled with major hazards. Second, I was wearing shorts and being stared at. Third, the dust…I was not expecting the dust. Fourth, as much as NY can be crazy, people generally tend to obey basic traffic laws. In Zanzibar it is a general free for all sooo, good luck #rulesdonotapplyhere.
We quickly broke free from the maze of Stone Town and on to one of the main roads that leads away from town. I took in my surroundings. What in the actual hell was I doing on a bike in morning traffic!? My guide seemed very sure that all would go well so I jumped on his happy train and kept peddling. At this stage, I was sure I heard the guide say that the total trip would be 20 km. No sweat! Easy peasy. I had envisioned riding through lush rainforest as I saw in the brochure. Thirty minutes later, we were still in urban sprawl dodging motorcycles and people walking haphazardly across the streets.
“No, no, we go 20 km to the farm and 20 km back,” my guide quipped after asking him at a stop light how far our destination was. As the reality of the situation sank in, I became very determined to prove to my guide that I could do the full trip. At the first gigantic hill, I tightened my chin strap, did my usual chant, “Go Go Gadget legs!”, and barreled up the hill. At the very top, I was relieved to see a long sloping hill and fully relished in the release of tension in my thighs and calves. As we zoomed down the hill, I felt like the food reviewer in Ratatouille at the end when he replays all of his childhood memories after one bite of delicious stew. I smiled like a small child going down that hill and I remembered the sensation of being a carefree child on my bicycle in Massachusetts. However, all of this quickly came to an end when I discovered that for the remainder of the trip we would be ascending a long winding, sloping hill for what would seem like an eternity. Luckily, on the backside of that hill, there was another opportunity to feel the wind whip across my face down a hill that led to the turn off for the spice farm.
After riding down a side road and up a small hill to the top of the spice farm, my guide and I left our bikes at the entrance and I was led to an area where I met a young man who would eventually make me a fan, earrings, bracelet, crown, ring and cup out of hibiscus flowers and palm leaves. He joined our tour and the three of us set off together. I was amazed by the smells of fresh fruits and spices and realized that all of the huffing and puffing we did was well worth it. At the end of the tour on the farm, I was treated to a fruit tasting; oranges, bananas, starfruit and starfruit’s cousin (delicious!), and soursop to name a few. I don’t know if I was 100% dehydrated or if the fruit was actually amazing, but I’m going with actually amazing.
After the tour, which consisted of walking the grounds and stopping to look at various trees and guessing which tree belonged to which spice (very fun!), we hopped back on our bikes and headed to another spice farm for lunch. The guide told me, “Okay, we will go to lunch. Two options to get to lunch are to go along the highway or to go through the forest. The forest way is 35 minutes, the highway is 25 minutes.” What’s an extra 10 minutes? I thought. Once again, we found ourselves ascending a long sloping hill and luckily there were at least some cows around for me to focus my attention on. With the sun still beating down on us and by the time we got to the top, I was glad to stop for a few moments to watch a few monkeys jumping from tree to tree. There, watching them, I felt a gentle breeze while standing under the canopy of the trees and I became very grateful for the opportunity to commune with nature and to be cycling in Zanzibar. However, once I realized that I had been tricked into thinking the ride was 35 minutes instead of the hour that it actually took, I was absolutely no longer interested in nature and wanted instead to be eating a delicious meal. To say I was hungry is an understatement.
We finally arrived at the second farm from the forest trail and ditched our bikes to walk down to an absolutely stunning pavilion with a spread of food enough to feed ten people. I was awestruck by both the food and the scenery. The flavors of nutmeg and cardamom and cinnamon permeated the air and the rice was the most delicious I had ever tasted. For the food alone, it was well worth the bike ride. It is also worth noting that I drank copious amounts of delicious coconut water which is a magical hydrating elixir and should be provided everywhere at all times.
After lunch, the guide informed me that we would have a 20 km ride home and that it would take 45 minutes. Clearly, my legs and his legs are not of the same quality as one hour and a half later, we arrived back to Stone Town (he told me he can do it between 30 and 45 min). Of course the best part of the trip was re-entering the small streets of Stone Town. I immediately felt the pulse of the town as we whizzed by stores and cafés and I welcomed the disorientation of the place.
My legs felt like jelly immediately upon leaving the saddle. Once we arrived to return the bikes, the guide informed me that we had to walk to a different area for me to pay for the journey. I mustered up the energy and followed my guide. He trotted through the streets as if we had done absolutely nothing that day and I lagged behind getting slower and slower with every corner we turned. After fifteen minutes or so, we arrived at the office where a nice woman greeted me and offered me water. I gladly accepted and took a seat. Upon rehydration, I sprang back to life and made my way back to my hotel. To give you an idea how exhausted I was, I wound up going directly to the restaurant, ordered food and made my way to my room where I proceeded to pass out after a nice, hot shower.
Travel Lesson 6: Nothing will go as planned so go with the flow at all times unless of course it puts your life at risk.
It is worth it to wait an extra 45 minutes for a helmet when biking in Zanzibar. You just never know what can happen and it is better to be safe than sorry.
The next day, I did a little more shopping. In Zanzibar, be sure to bring a spare bag as the fabrics, particularly the home textiles are gorgeous. I also fell in love with the bags and of course wished that I hadn’t already been carrying with me various baskets and other amazing finds from Mozambique and South Africa. In Mozambique, I purchased a lot of fabric and have since had many skirts made. Moral of the story, if you go to Mozambique, South Africa or Tanzania, be sure to bring an extra bag and return with one-of-a-kind textiles.
In the afternoon, I decided to take a boat over to Prison Island to relax on the beach a little and to do some snorkeling. From the Tembo Hotel, located on the water (one of few, more affordable hotels directly on the water), I was easily able to secure a boat. I thought I was the only person on the boat, but at the last minute before leaving the shore, a 17-year-old hopped on as well. He asked me a lot of questions on the boat which was kind of strange, but I thought he might just be curious. We arrived to the island and I was not prepared for the number of turtles. Upon entering the turtle sanctuary, you can purchase veggies to feed the turtles, but I declined. There was something very odd about going to see the turtles and watching people take one million selfies with these poor beings who likely were wondering why they were there in the first place. Originally brought to the island as a gift for a Sultan, the turtles have multiplied and now they are a tourist attraction. While it was cool to see such amazing creatures, I was not a fan of the way in which they were all piled into such a small area and the large numbers of tourists harassing them to take photos was distressing. Afterward, we walked to the old prison and finally ended up back on the beach. I asked the boat driver to take me snorkeling and we motored a few minutes from the shore to the reef.
The reef was actually in fairly good condition considering the proximity of the reef to so many tourists and boats. I noted some bleaching, but I did not see much disease. Additionally, there was a high diversity of reef species which was surprising as well. In the end, I was happy to have made the 30-minute trip to the island and I was especially happy to have a few moments all to myself in the water with the reef without another snorkeler in sight.
After my three-day, three-night stay in Stone Town, I made my way to the south eastern region of the island and settled in Paje for two nights. At the suggestion of a friend, I stayed at a place called, “Paje by Night”. The accommodation was nice, but I do not think that it was worth the price (do NOT do your laundry there, it is a total rip off!). They have a beach cabana that is about a 7 minute walk down the beach from the hotel which was nice to visit especially when trying to escape the men on the beach who claim to be Maasai from the mainland, but many of whom are not, who sell trinkets and shells. Like many places in Zanzibar and other tropical tourist destinations, Paje seems to have and economy run by foreigners, mostly European. I walked along the beach and chatted with many of the local trinket sellers and got to know some of them. They were eager to let me know that they were happy to see a traveler with darker skin. Many of them would approach and say, “Mambo, Cappuccino!” which made me giggle. Paje beach is absolutely one of the most gorgeous beaches I have ever seen. The water is crystal clear and has a color so mesmerizing that you just want to float all day in it. I did exactly that and luckily the water is so shallow that you can crawl your way out for more than 500 meters before there is any depth beyond 3 feet. Sadly, however, this beach is filled with annoying kite surfers. I was almost hit by a kite surfer learning to kite surf and luckily I was able to stand up quickly and run through the shallow water to safety. Paje is very windy and it is a mecca for kite surfers. I recommend walking down the beach a bit further to avoid the kite surfing craziness and also for your safety. By far, Paje was the best beach I visited in Zanzibar. As a black tourist, it was strange to try to interact with so many Europeans who were not very friendly. Maybe it was just the time of year and people were just really into themselves, but any conversation I tried to make just fizzled so I gave up and spent most of my time in the water or at the coffee shop.
Travel Lesson Number 7: If you are having trouble making friends with other tourists who couldn’t be bothered or are too focused on their phones, forget them and talk to the waiters.
I met a really nice waiter who ended up asking me out on a date and who suddenly became very attentive to all of my needs. He told me where to get the coldest water, where the best bathing area was and how much I should pay for everything. When I looked around at all the other tourists, I realized that he likely went for hours without a single person asking him about himself or about his country. Additionally, as a black traveler, I was eager to learn more about his experiences working in the tourism industry which is dominated by white Europeans. When in doubt, ask a waiter! They know everything!
From Paje, I wandered all the way north to Kendwa Rocks. This is a resort right on the water and one that I never would have chosen if I had known prior to going that it was a huge resort. The room was nice and overall, I had a nice stay, but it was filled with European families who really had no desire to interact with anyone other than themselves. I decided to go on a diving trip and booked a two-tank dive for the following day. While at the dive shop, I glanced next door at the tattoo shop and I thought it might be a good idea to finally get a tattoo, but I gave it a few days before finally taking the plunge and getting a tattoo. First, the diving.
Well, I completely had zero high hopes of any sort of positive experience diving in Zanzibar primarily due to the large numbers of people out in the water and on the reefs. My expectation was that it would be overcrowded and that the reef would be totally destroyed. Much to my surprise, the reef was not in too terrible condition. There was some damage to coral, but the overall structure of the reef was intact and there was high diversity of fish species. However, the numbers of people diving and snorkeling over the reef made me extremely uncomfortable and I felt ashamed that I had participated in such over tourism. Additionally, little instruction was given prior to descent which meant that my Italian dive buddy and I had to come up with a plan of our own. We did our safety check and went over hand signals in Spanish since it was our common language. As we descended, I quickly realized that this was going to be what I refer to as a “cattle” dive. We were ushered quite quickly from one area of the reef to another and passed at least 20 other divers. Our guide went over to where an octopus lived and started to poke around which absolutely infuriated me. Needless to say, while the dive was interesting and the reef was in descent condition (large diversity of fish species and minimal evidence of coral bleaching or disease), I felt like a really terrible tourist. There were entirely too many people over the reef and the site was not well regulated in the sense that they allowed hordes of people on the reef at one time. For anyone who loves the ocean, its reefs and the organisms that live in coral reef ecosystems, this dive would have driven you mad. I recommend trying to go with a dive outfitter that is willing to take you to a different area in a more responsible manner, however, I am not certain that the option exists.
Now, back to the issue of the tattoo. For 15 years I had wanted a tattoo and for some reason in Kendwa, I finally managed to get one. Maybe it was the dreamy landscape or the challenge by the tattoo artist for me to wear my design as a faux tattoo for a day before committing. Awhile ago, a friend of mine posted a beautiful quote on social media to commemorate a friend who had passed. It read, “May the stars fall from the sky and illuminate the ocean for you my friend.” It is one of the most beautiful quotes I have read in my opinion and I wanted to somehow capture it as a tattoo. I feel the quote speaks to those of us who have been lost a few times in our lives and what better way to right oneself than to look to the big, vast, beautiful ocean. I tried a few times to see if I liked the entire quote on my body, but came to the conclusion that I had to narrow it down to just one word. I chose, “illuminate”. I wrote it in cursive letters on a post-it note and took a picture of it about 2.5 years ago. Illuminate seemed to embody the spirit of the quote and as an educator it also spoke to my desire to bring to light important issues facing our environment. It was also about 2.5 years ago that I sent my idea to my closet group of high school friends in our WhatsApp chat and received the following messages back, “illuminati?”, “not a fan of wrist tattoos”. Leave it to your oldest besties to tell you the truth. The “illuminati” quote got at me the most and so I left my tattoo for about 2.5 years until I got to Kendwa to re-visit it.
The tattoo artist told me she would use the smallest of the smallest needles to draw a very thin line and she could change the “illuminate” to “ilumina” which in Spanish means, “shine”. I fell in love with it instantly and fell asleep with my faux tattoo only to wake up and walk very briskly to the tattoo parlor to have one more consult. The artist stared at me in the eyes and said, “yes, there it is! The glint in your eye tells me that you want this and you are ready.” Later that evening, I could barely eat in anticipation of my tattoo. Clearly, I am no longer 21 and yet there I was super giddy getting a tattoo and not even intoxicated. Was this a bad idea? The fear crept in and I stayed focused by saying, “you are a grown up, you can do what you want” as the sound of my mother’s voice suddenly entered my brain. After dinner I walked over to the tattoo shop, took a deep breath, opened the door and was greeted with a smile. I settled into the chair and watched all of the prepping. I extended my arm and relaxed. I knew it was right and I felt so happy. 10 minutes later, my tattoo was done. Some of you might think this is the most ridiculous lead up to a 10-minute ending, but you have to remember that I waited 15 years for this moment so I am going to write about it in all of its glorious detail. After the tattoo was done, I was beaming. I wanted to show the entire world, and so of course I did by posting it on social media. Okay, so that’s the end of that story. I love my tattoo to this day and I have actually stopped wearing a watch so that I can see it every day. The best part is that it reminds me of the freedom of travel, the joy of learning more about my strength and of course it reminds me to shine even in the most precarious of situations. Not all tattoos need to have meaning, but for me, I really wanted something that resonated with my whole being. Perhaps that’s why it took 15 years. Not sure what my next tattoo will be, but I hope it doesn’t take another 15 years.
Travel Lesson Number 8: Live your life. Get the tattoo.
After a few nights in Kendwa, I headed back to the east coast of the island to the Matemwe region. This area is sparsely populated with fewer travelers and smaller hotels dotted along the shoreline. The water is crystal clear and you can walk or ride a bike along the beach for miles. I found a quaint hotel that operates more like a bed and breakfast called, Zanziblue. There is a pool and the location is just steps from the water. I loved my room which had sliding glass doors to the front of the property and a patio with a lounge chair and breakfast eating area. A whirlpool was also located in the patio area, but I never used it. Staying at Zanziblue was a great way to say goodbye to my almost 3.5 month journey in Africa. I read, I swam, I ate delicious food and I was able to get in a few relaxing moments before my long trip home. I highly recommend Zanziblue for couples and families as the set up of the kitchen area was more for people traveling together in groups than solo travelers. However, I was made to feel at home. Again, I didn’t really meet the other travelers at the hotel, mostly European and into their own worlds and families, however I did meet a lovely couple from Spain and we had dinner together one evening at the hotel. Overall, during my trip in Zanzibar, I did not meet too many other solo travelers. I met one young woman on my last night back in Stone Town and we had a long chat about our experiences traveling alone. She was from India and was startled by the high numbers of European travelers. She also mentioned that she did not feel that they could be bothered with interacting with her which was also surprising to her. I wish I had met her earlier so that we could have explored more of the area together, but alas as happens when traveling, you meet people and then you have to part. It was nice to know there was a kindred spirit at least.
Travel Lesson Number 9: There are cool people everywhere, you just have to be open to talking.
Sure there are times when you don’t really want to have to explain for the 10th time why you are traveling and what you are doing, but sometimes it’s nice to have dinner with strangers when traveling alone. I find that people are generally nice and those who are as open hearted as you are will somehow wind up on your path.
From Zanzibar, I flew to Dar es Salaam and then managed to fly the same day to Johannesburg. Once in Joburg, I spent the night at the airport Protea Hotel (a Marriott chain- I had points people!). In the morning, I got on my flight from Joburg to Madrid and then took my transatlantic flight from Madrid to JFK. I had the displeasure of flying Iberia from Madrid to JFK. They charge to check bags even if it is international, FYI (of course if you are first class perhaps they don’t, but for those of us more aware of our carbon footprints who fly coach, lol, we must pay).
In general, I highly recommend exploring Zanzibar. It is an historically important place and is full of life. I don’t recommend going during the high summer months as it is polluted with people, and in my experience, not all of them openly friendly. I think if I were to have planned the trip for another time of year, I would have gone in May or in September to have avoided the large numbers of tourists visiting from Europe. My interactions with the people of Zanzibar were wonderful, I only wish my interactions with other tourists had been the same. Nevertheless, I had a great time and as a lone black, female traveler, I had no major problems. Hakunah matata!
