Crossing a border into a new country can sometimes be a little profound. In the case of Tanzania there was a definite correlation between increasingly beautiful scenery and increasingly putrid bathrooms. A simple line on a map marked the end of the western dunny and the beginning of the eye watering squatter. In the highlands this was a problem. When you're rugged up to avoid the cold, how on earth are you supposed to stop your tidy outfit coming into contact with smelly wet floor goop?? It's difficult enough to master the pants off and squat maneuver with a handful of loo paper in your left and a cloth over your mouth with your right, let alone having to worry about what's touching the surfaces.
Despite the bathroom culture shock, our welcome to Tanzania couldn't have been more lovely. With the lake behind us we climbed steadily upwards, surrounded by stunning views, tea bushes and banana plantations. We quickly learnt that Tanzanians are a friendly bunch, but that English - at least in the hills, isn't widely spoken. Our first stop was a gorgeous little community centre, where the phrase-book came out and Swahili pronunciation lessons began.
From the hills it was a slow road to the capital. Scenic, but slow. Our average speed sat somewhere around 47k's for the 1000k journey to Dar Es Salaam. It took 4 days. At one section the Tanzam Highway bisects Mikumi National Park. Signage made it clear that 'Free game viewing' from the highway was 'strictly prohibited' as you transit through the park. We did our best not to look out the window 'illegally', but still saw giraffe, buffalo, zebra, wildebeest and a few extras. On an international highway! We really are in Africa now!
We pitched our tent at a little oasis on the southern side of Dar es Salaam. A convenient spot though the journey across the harbour by car ferry was unique. Guy stayed with Landy while girl was hustled into a giant cage. As the afternoon wore on more than a few people scrambled into this giant waiting cage bringing baggage, babies, chickens, bicycles and everything in between with them, until it became a sweating heaving mess. Standing room only, bodies jammed hard against one another and odours so thick you could chew 'em. Then the boat arrived.
People had started moving and resting things on their heads in anticipation long before the gates opened, but when the cage was unlocked it was mayhem. The sound of hundreds of feet sliding in unison might have been soothing. When you're so jammed in its impossible to walk, so everyone does some kind of shuffle. It works until you get to the bottleneck. No one wants to miss out on cramming onto the boat, though I'm not sure it turns anyone away. At the gate, people at the edges must force themselves into the flow, whilst people behind try to push their way through. It's not an experience for the claustrophobe. It was tighter again on the boat; less space plus cars. At least they had 6 flotation devices in case something went wrong. Landy ambled slowly on at the back, guy at the wheel, crowd folding onto itself to make space.
White sand beaches and some growing infrastructure mean 'Dar' has potential, though most visitors use it only as a jumping off point to Zanzibar. Highlights for us were catching up with old friends and living a brief expat existence before we too jumped off to Zanzibar.
What a spot! If Malawi didn't quite meet expectations, Zanzibar definitely exceeded them. Stone Town is a mishmash of incredible influences, reflected in the food, faces and architecture. Forts, madrassas, huge doors, narrow streets, balconies and courtyards to get lost in. Indian, African, Middle Eastern, European and everything in between to indulge in. Being a tourist hub, there was plenty of shopping to be done and countless calls of "My friend", "Just looking you are welcome", "Taxi" and "Jambo". A few streets back and the touts disappeared, leaving us in peace to gawp at the buildings, the streets and people getting about their business.
The maze of narrow streets twists and winds around big buildings at odd angles. From the outside nothing more than whitewashed walls and intriguing doors. Inside they're all ornate rooms, staircases and rooftops. There's nothing quite like watching the sunset from a roof with a cocktail, as calls to prayer echo around a city and smells of garlic and spices waft up from below. At ground level it's easy to lose yourself in moments too, though one way or another we always found ourselves at the sea.
One tiny street deposited us into the middle of a bustling fish market. Locals donning gumboots trudging into the muddy fray at waters edge to barter. Everything from minute wrigglers to a giant shark sprawled out each end of a wheelbarrow on offer. As new boats pulled in they were mobbed. Competition is fierce for the freshest goods. Then, with bags or buckets full, the shoppers disappeared behind us into empty laneways again.
Around more bends was the local food market; anything but empty. Crowds of people flock here daily for the essentials. Fruit stalls with bunches of bananas hanging from the roof and rainbows of tropical delights piled up were hard to miss. The big arched halls for meat even less so. Tiny staring goat heads strewn across concrete counters in one section, the innards of cows similarly displayed next door. It was hard to distinguish what was what among piles of flesh, but we weren't out to buy anything anyway. Watching was excitement enough.
Not too far away the towering Anglican Cathedral sits upon a former slave market. Zanzibar in its day had a lot of wealth, a lot of power and many ways of advertising both. Ivory and slaves were the biggest bounty. We climbed beneath the church to sit in old slave holding cells. It wasn't hard to understand how and why so many slaves died before they were even sold. A museum now outlines the history and brutal existence of slavery across the world, the complications of abolishment and how Zanzibar transitioned away from being the biggest slave trading empire without collapsing. The answer? Spices.
Zanzibar is home to some huge spice farms which earned it's 'spice island' nickname. We'd conjured images of neat garden beds in rows, but the plantations in reality look just like a forest. Huge forest trees producing jackfruit and durian, smaller ones the home of cloves and cinnamon. Vines for vanilla and pepper hanging from their larger counterparts. Lemongrass, ginger and other ground dwellers rounding out the different layers. When we got through the forest the island took on new life for us.
The sand and sun of Zanzibar's beaches are eye-achingly bright. The water and sky running shades of blue from electric to azure. Our four days became 12; a blink of the eye in paradise.
Up Next: The biggest bits of Tanzania