ZANZIBAR - Why Did God Create the Sinus Cavity?

Obviously as an act of revenge for my covering up my cough when I entered the country, my head was aching as I boarded my plane for Zanzibar. Having travelled when all kinds of sick in the past, I didn't think anything of it. We flew south east, on a surprisingly overcast Kenyan morning. The only sight - and what a sight - was as we entered Tanzania and Mt. Kilimanjaro poked up through the clouds. I happily snapped away at that, and the Tanzanian coastline as the water became bluer and more beautiful. And then comes the descent. Anyone who's ever been on a descending plane with a blocked sinus will be able to tell you something of the plane. Here's my version. Imagine your head feels like it's going to explode. You're there, right? Okay; now imagine a tropical paradise island is below you which you are desperate to photograph from the air because you are an enormous geek. But everything about operating your camera makes this pain feel many times worse. And, yet, with beautiful coastline being joined by stunning town, you just can't stop snapping...


Mt. Kilimanjaro; the landmark in the cloud between Kenya and Zanzibar.


The stunning west coast of Zanzibar, as seen through my stunning sinus splitting headache.

By the time I'm through Tanzanian immigration (who issued a Visa upon which every piece of my identity was recorded incorrectly) and baggage claim (four burly guys throwing luggage from a truck onto a table and folks clamoring to grab it) I realize that, although the sinus pain has eased, my ears which haven't popped are not going to do so for quite some time. This makes communication with my new cab driver (on Zanzibar, they are called Stephen) somewhat difficult. In fact, it makes all conversation somewhat difficult. And considering that English is the third language of Haji, the manager at the Mangrove Lodge, check in promises to be rather difficult.

Thankfully, though, this is East Africa and not the US or Canada. Can't hear because your ears are hopefully blocked? No problem; just head over to your bungalow on the beach, relax and come deal with the hotel register when you're not so deaf anymore.


One of the bungalows of the Mangrove Lodge. No editing necessary on a photo of a place like this...

I tend not to get into long explanations or recommendations of accommodation when travelling. Because, really, there's nothing more boring than someone telling you about how wonderful this place-you-aren't-at really is. But I'll break my rule for the Mangrove Lodge. Ten beautiful bungalows nestled among palm trees and mangroves; just a stone's throw away from Zanzibar's western shore close to the village of Chuini. (Quieter than other parts of the island, but no less beautiful) Great service, good meals and for a ridiculously small price. It's owned by Italians, and Italians are mostly the ones who stay there (Haji informed me that they did have Canadians from Vancouver just a few weeks before; but I tend to hear that a lot in East Africa so can't vouch for his veracity) but considering this was meant to be the wind down / decompress part of the vacation, that's not necessarily a bad thing.

I spend the rest of the afternoon and the next day on the beach ploughing through pretty much every book I brought with me (note to self: yes, children's books are almost always the most satisfying of reads, but they're always going to be short. Remember that!) and chatting with the locals who pass by. "Pass by" is a nominal term since, given that everyone speaks perfect Italian it's clear that this is premiere tourist interaction territory. But there's none of the Brazilian beach style hard selling going on here.


Sunset on the beach outside of the Mangrove Lodge.

I get chatting to Mustafa, a teenager who lives just down the beach. He tells me how he's looking forward to leaving Zanzibar to go almost anywhere else. That's, obviously, a strange thing to hear when you've just stepped off a plane into paradise. But when you look at it logically: a small island with one major town and a whole lot of tourists to flash their wealth and tell you about the wonders of the rest of the world, I can see where the urge comes from. It's probably less enchanting than it looks fishing all day or hauling rocks up and down the beach via reluctant looking cows.


Cattle with rocks being driven down the beach. Daily life on Zanzibar's shores.

I wander down the beach to the next resort; passing the fallen ruins of a Sultan's palace on the way. This resort is called Hakuna Matata. It's owned by Germans; and costs twice as much as the Mangrove Lodge despite (from my cursory glances) looking roughly the same. Perhaps slightly less beautiful. There are locals here as well, doing the same beach bound occupations which look staged but which really aren't. Except here, they speak German as their second language, instead of Italian.