We arrived at Haven, having gotten off the van giving us a lift and walking a couple of minutes into the warren that is the vast majority of Stone Town. Haven is a sweet, funky place, with an insane staircase, one hot shower (there are 4 toilets altogether. 3 of them have showers in them. I think all of them have that spray-y thing for people who don’t use toilet paper.*), about half lumpy beds, and a few manky mosquito nets. The owner was a good guy who got us some deals (and didn’t get us some others, but nevermind) although he got a little weird about money towards the end, asking us to finalize our plans so we could pay him (not for our rooms, those we paid upfront, but for transport to the airport, for example)in a semi-pressure-y way. But it was good enough that when we got back from Kendwa, we were a little annoyed by the other azungu** encroaching on our turf.
We went off to find lunch and I had the best Chai Masala I’ve ever had. (And lo and behold, I was able to buy the spices that you add to black tea to make your own custom blend of chai. How awesome is that?). We started shopping, and Sarah likes to tease me that I told her that we really shouldn’t buy anything yet. We had plenty of time and lots of places to price out. I was the one who returned to Haven with 6 scarves and earrings and I don’t remember what else. In my defense, I meant that we shouldn’t buy stuff at the tourist-y targeted stores before pricing stuff at the smaller, hole-in-the-wall places. And also (and more accurately) I am defenseless against pretty, soft, pretty, cheap (and did I mention pretty?) fabric.
That night we went to Forodhani Gardens for the Night Market. The Night Market consists (currently, because the normal site is under construction) of a wide alley or narrow road (what most of Stone Town is made of, actually) lined with stalls selling tuna, cod, monkfish, lobster, prawns, beef, shark, octopus, squid, and other fish I can’t remember, all on kebabs or in steaks that are thrown back on the grill when you order them; coconut bread (mostly like naan made with coconut milk) and falafel-y things (which surprisingly, were underspiced); Zanzibari pizzas, including a dessert one made of bananas and chocolate; and cane juice: made by squashing the hell out of sugar cane, having a lime to accompany the cane on the last couple of passes through the wringer, and diluting the resulting syrup-y juice with questionable water. The entire area is a mob of people, but it feels pretty safe–you can’t let your guard down entirely, but neither do you have to keep one hand on your pocket at all times. If you’re going to be cheated, they’ll do it to your face, by selling you minerals for Tsh1000 instead of Tsh500 ($1 instead of 50cents). The food was unbelievable, especially after being in a landlocked country for so long. It did awaken in me a terrible desire for sushi, though.
The next day was the spice tour, arranging our flight back to the mainland, and eating at a spectacular Indian restaurant when we couldn’t find Monsoon (which is probably for the best: Monsoon is a Swahili restaurant, beautifully laid out and decorated with pillows and rugs on the floor inside and standard tables surrounded by green growing things outside and with some of the best food I’ve ever tasted. They take full advantage of being on Spice Island. If we had found Monsoon that night, I may have refused to go to the beach and just moved into Monsoon).
*Toilet paper was nearly impossible to keep stocked throughout Zanzibar. It didn’t appear to even be on the radar of the people there–even though Zanzibar is pretty damn touristy. One time, at Kendwa Beach, we actually asked for the room to be cleaned simply as a lazy way of getting the toilet paper restocked. It didn’t work. It’s a good thing we’ve all been trained to carry tp with us at all times, neh?
**In Swahili, the word is mzungu. That’s actually the same as the singular, impolite Chichewa version of azungu, although the plural/polite version of mzungu is different in Swahili than Chichewa. Given that, when looking for a gift for James to thank him for his help in getting us to Tanzania, we bought him a Mzungu t-shirt, which are ubiquitous in Zanzibar.
