You know you've been traveling a while when the conversation turns to Darrin no. 1 vs Darrin no. 2 from Bewitched. Of course it's Dick York! The three of us withstood the madness of Mombasa relatively unscathed. The downtown experience was less pleasant than I had expected with it's narrow streets creating a vortex of hot sweat and mostly men. Two of them apparently deemed us stalk-worthy and followed us through town until we ditched them inside the budget supermarket. I think that's the only thing we were safe from in there. Even the Weetabix seemed questionable. We stayed downtown only long enough to buy some overpriced trinkets and get the story on the hospitals in the area. There is one public hospital and three private, but mostly the better doctors gather 4 or 5 doctor buddies and start a clinic.
We woke on the third day in Mombasa excited for our flight to Zanzibar. Because the oh-so-friendly border patrol in Tanzania blessed us with a handwritten scribble of a $100 multiple entry visa on our last trip, we thought we should take advantage and head south again. We flew a small local African airline that brought us right onto the island. The Zanzibar airport is actually similar to a Yooper airport. (in other words, small) Only it's in Tanzania. They barely glanced at our passports and we were off. We took a ripoff of a taxi to Mnakwerkewe, or something like that, and waited for a bus. We quickly became impatient around yet again more sweaty men and hopped in another taxi that took us to heaven. I mean...our hotel.
Karamba is on the southern tip of the island where supposedly dolphins are a thing. Remember that, dolphins. Our room is a bungalow type structure with a grass roof and a brilliant view of the ocean. The romance abounds but SB and I usually throw the flower petals on the floor and laugh. I feel a bit spoiled having come from parts of Kenya where my dessert would buy a hospital visit but the decompression is much needed. The silence was actually startling.
I would say we lasted about sixteen minutes before making lifelong friends with a British newlywed couple down the way that suggested a dip in the ocean with some dolphins. Yes. My only frame of reference is still Flipper and posters of Sea World, but yes. We will swim with dolphins. And 6am? Perfect. Dave, our new favorite Englishmen preemptively announces he's vile in the morning but I conveniently keep my secret tucked far far away. (That would be my motion sickness.)
We climbed through a jungle of sea urchins to get to our boat that looked more like a dinghy abandoned by a 17th century pirate ship. We had been told it's best to leave at 6am before the crowds of other boats join in but we quickly realized that it was only because our boat was was 20 minutes slower than the others. The motion sickness set in almost immediately and I was a proper shade of green. The only comfort was in knowing that Anna, the sweet bride, was feeling just the same, and ended up wretching over her side of the boat. And for what? No dolphins. Our Tanzanian tour guides, James and some other dude in his underwear, attempted to navigate while whistling for what we deemed unicorns, without success. We came to the conclusion they were actually in search of the mating rituals of unicorns and dragons. Three hours of misery passed and we finally found ourselves in front of the hotel and decided we must at least give a snorkel a try.
After unknowingly being stung by jellyfish for 20 minutes, the boat sounded like an acceptable option to carry me home, until I was back on board. My stomach flopped twice and I hurled myself back in the water. I decided to take the jellyfish over the dry heaves. And so the journey ended with one that barfed, several swimmers stung by jellyfish, no dolphins, and two that swam home. A success! Vacation sure is going well.
The other side of the Karamba experience is a feeling of absolute calm. I woke the next morning and grabbed my yoga mat to practice a few sun salutations and some quiet time in the wake of a sunrise and an ocean breeze, all alone. The most stressful part of the day is deciding what to have for our next meal. Again, I am left feeling guilt of incredible magnitude having just walked away from people faced with the worst imaginable medical and financial hardship. That's been a struggle.
Two nights disappeared and it was time for checkout. That's where the dream ended and reality began. They don't take credit cards. We scraped together every penny we had in cash and came out with $2 to spare. Sigh. We were safe. Until I found that they don't take dollar bills from before 2006, and that ruled out a quarter of the money we had. WHAT? I've never heard of such a thing. In the end, we traded some old “dodgy” dollars with our friends the Brits and made it out alive. We headed for a new hotel closer to Stone Town and the airport and tomorrow is a spice tour. Cloves, curry, and anise. Yum.
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