Zanzibar, Eventually

Hello again.

Leaving Dar, we had grand visions of a scenic dau (Swahili for boat) adventure across the wide strip of Indian Ocean separating the mainland from Zanzibar. It turned out to be three hours inside a little room in the middle of a high-speed catamaran. By virtue of being foriegners, we were obligated to pay for the most expensive ticket and stay in the "V.I.P room" along with all the other tourists. Our foggy windows revealed precious little of the scenery (although what we did see was quite remarkable), and the television was permanently fixed on one very loud station. It played nothing but obnoxious and poorly dubbed phillippino soap operas, split by one good hour of BBC news. The rest was among the worst programming I have ever seen. The waves were fairly substantial, and more than one person ended up rather sea sick. It was not exactly a trip to remember.

We arrived in the rain, and hustled across the dock, bracing for impact for when we emerged onto the street and were met by the typical horde of taxi drivers and hawkers. Fortunately (sort of), that never happened. Instead we were stopped at the immigration desk (I'm not sure why there is a separate immigration desk for Zanzibar, but there is). The woman behind the counter (and her do-nothing male coworker) opened our passports and both immediately recognized a serious problem. We were in for a fight.

A few days ago I wrote about the border crossing in from Kenya, where two border patrol officers tried to take Carrington and I for an extra $50 each. Well, apparently there was no foul play after all, aside from them allowing us to enter illegally without really explaining what the situation was. Apparently there really was a recent price increase for American visitors to Tanzania, from $50 to $100 dollars. This time around it took about 10 minutes of Swahili arguing to get to the point where I believed this, and even then it wasn't until I saw a copy of the official government notice until I was sure. Then it took a few minutes to convince them that I wasn't lying when I said that I didn't have $50 US in my pocket to make up the difference on the spot.

The real conflict began when it became clear that she would not let us into Zanzibar without paying, and that she wouldn't let us go back to Dar either. I was pretty miffed. We were essentially traped into paying five night's worth of hotel money in one go, all because the Tanzanian consulate in Mombasa missed a memo and the border patrol farther north had been to lazy to pursue the issue. If at either point we had been told that the total fee would be $100 instead of $50, we would have turned back and changed the plans. But now we were standing at this window in the rain, unable to proceed or turn back without paying $50 each that neither of us had. The imigration officer suggested that if we were stuck for money, we shouldn't be travelling. I told her that there was a difference between not having money at all and not being willing to be the victims of a lousy system or extortion. She suggested that I call my parents and ask them for money if I were really in that much trouble. I told her that my family was none of her business, and Carrington asked if they had a cretit card machine we could use to resolve the situation then and there. When she said they didn't, he made it clear that he wasn't impresed. She said that if we didn't pay she would find us police escort to the airportto be deported, I told her that we'd be happy to pay the $100 ticket to fly home rather than give her the $50. I also mentioned that it would save us from spending money in her town, and that we'd be sure to pass the story along to all our American friends.

She hesitated for a while, and then agreed to write that we were fully paid if we just gave her what little we had. We forked over a combined 40,000 shillings ($35) and were on our way. I'm fairly certain that she just pocketed it, as it would have been impossible for her to explain to her supervisors why she accepted a partial fee.

I'm not sure if I did the right thing in arguing, or in giving her the money. I'm also not sure who "won." But it was a tremendously exhausting process, and far and away the most stressful thing that has happened to me yet this trip. It was also the hardest test of my Swahili, and I think in that regard I passed. Even so, it was miserable.

A taxi driver who had witnessed the whole thing gave us a very good price and a lot of sympathy (I was fairly worked up at this point), took us to the bank where we re-filled our pockets, and then brought us a hotel in "stone town," by his reckoning the best bargain deal in town. I don't know if his claim is true, but the price (roughly $25 per night for a double) is on par with or better than what I had been told to expect, and the rooms are very nice. They have running water (still not heated, but I've learned not to care), private bathrooms, a fan, bug nets, AIR CONDITIONING (oh my God, I love it), and a television that actually picks up several good channels (including BBC, Al Jazeera, and CNN. The two former channels are both impressing my on this trip as being significantly mroe news-oriented and unbiased than any American station I have ever seen. I'd watch Al Jazeera over NBC any day - it isn't nearly as biased as we've been told.) It also has a free breakfast included, which essenially knocks two or three bucks off the price.

After settling in and letting the stress fade, we set off for a walk around Stone Town. It's like a really old Block Island, in a lot of ways. Very cool, very safe, and very fun. More about all of that later. For now, we are very happy here, and that it might even have been worth the extra money to get in.

Take care and be in touch,

Christopher

PS
Today marks 51 days since leaving home and 51 to go. Wow.