From one island to another

After nearly two and half years in Tanzania, I'm moving on. And it's time. Civilisation is calling me. Good food, live music, public transport that works, people who queue, personal space.

I have 13 days to go and then I'm back to the UK for a month at least. And then, well, that's up to the fates and the people interviewing me for a new job. I've cleared out my wardrobe, bought up some "I Hate You" greeting cards because there are certain things you can only get in the developing world and I'm tying up some loose ends at work.

This blog will close. Because this girl might not be on an island anymore.

Mafia, Serengeti, Lake Manyara.

Since I got back, I've been traveling for work.

Places to recommend

Kinasi Lodge on Mafia Island

Mafia is a slow and sleepy archipelago, off the coast of the Rufiji River Delta in central/south Tanzania. The island is home to the Mafia Marine Park, with some of East Africa's best diving. Clear warm waters, stunning biodiversity, the islands' waters are on the migration route for whale sharks. Kinasi is a fabulous place to stay, with cheerful yellow bungalows looking out over the ocean, great food and warm and friendly staff. I spent a lot of time down in the spa for my book project with the Thai therapists, Tawaan and Oh, who were a lot of fun, teaching me traditional Thai dances and torturing me with Thai massage. Coastal Aviation flies to Mafia on a daily basis. See the link on the sidebar for their schedule.


Singita Grumeti Reserves in Serengeti

This place is spectacular. The most expensive lodge in Tanzania but worth the money if you have it to spend. Their clientele includes movies stars and millionaires. Grumeti Reserves is a private game reserve, stretching over 360,000 acres, bordering Serengeti National Park. It's absolutely breathtaking, with three unique and individual properties in the grounds. During migration, Grumeti is the place to be, as a seething unstoppable mass of wildebeest graze and roam the plains, followed by leopards, lions and cheetahs, stalking their prey.

Serengeti means endless plains and standing out in Grumeti, you understand why. Blue sky meets green rambling plains that stretch forever. It makes you feel small in the world. It makes you feel alive.

The main lodge, Sasakwa, is in the style of an old African colonial house, complete with library, games room, billiards room, dining hall, equestrian centre and archery range. The bungalows are stunning, with private plunge pools and claw foot bath tubs looking out over the plains.

You could imagine Ernest Hemmingway hammering out stories on a clunky typewriter at Sabora Tented Camp, evoking 1920s safari style. The tents are luxurious and opulent, with red Morrocan carpets, leather travelling cases, suede chairs and board games and leather bound books offering a gentle diversion. I drank brandy in my bathtub and watched the wildebeest graze and grunt in the plains.

Faru Faru, the third property, is again, completely different, drawing inspiration from 1940s botantical safaris, with glass and steel used as a motif throughout the light and bright bamboo cottages. Set in craggy rock outcrop, you can watch elephants play in the river at breakfast.

It's amazing. Sell your kidneys, your children, yourself. Go.

Coastal Aviation and Regional Air offer scheduled flights to the Sasakwa airstrip.

Gibbs Farm, Lake Manyara/Ngorongoro Conservation Area

Gibbs Farm is a change of pace from the luxurious glamour of Grumeti but completely charming and delightful. Half way between Lake Manyara and Ngorongoro Conservation Area, (the farm actually borders the Conservation Area), Gibbs is set amongst lush rolling green hills, with a view that's been compared to Napa Valley. The farm was originally a coffee farm and is still functional today, with 30 acres devoted to quality organic coffee, 10 acres to organic vegetables and fruit, 5 acres of flowers and herbs and a working dairy and pig farm, all supplying the kitchen who serve delicious home cooked meals. There's a sense of tranquility here, a retreat, a place for recovery and reflection. Gibbs is home to the African Living Spa, a unique idea, where a third generation traditional Masaai healer offers indigenous remedies for ailments and spa treatments, drawing on Masaai culture and practices.

Coastal, Zanair, Regional offer daily flights to Lake Manyara, 40 minutes drive from Gibbs. Watch out for the flamingoes on the lake during landing.

On safari

On Friday, I fly out to the UK. A quick check on BBC Weather tells me I can expect highs of 14 degrees Celsius on arrival in London. That's coming from Zanzibar, where we're hitting 32 degrees Celsius.

I'm not cut out for cold climates. I'm going to freeze. Expect a short hiatus from posting until I get back.

I've been keeping myself amused playing words games at Free Rice. I keep topping out at level 42, but if I cheat and use the online dictionary to get past it, I can go up to level 45. Unsurprisingly, my Shakespeare professor friend has a colleague who reached 50.

Spice up your life?

I was skimming through the UK newspapers online yesterday, catching up with the news from the cold island, when I saw a travel article about Zanzibar in the Guardian. Intrigued, I clicked on the link. It's always interesting to see what people think about their experiences here and it's good to see the island getting coverage in the media.

The article is by Amelia Hill. The link is here: Spice up your life .

I have to say, I was unnerved. I write and edit two magazines in Zanzibar, Swahili Coast, the inflight magazine for Coastal Aviation and Twende, the inflight magazine for Zanair. For the July - August edition of Twende, I'd written an article about learning to dive in Zanzibar. While there's certainly no question about plagiarism and there's no copyright on ideas, the opening section of Ms Hill's article seemed disturbingly familiar. Judge for yourself below with the updated version that will be in this month's Swahili Coast.

It's entirely possible she didn't see my article. Twende's distribution is limited to ZanAir flights. There are only so many ways to describe the indescribable and understandably the language used will be similar. But I feel peeved. If anything, I should take it as a well timed kick up the arse to get started with my freelance work. Because if I don't get my ideas out there, someone else will. And I'll just end up feeling annoyed and hard done by.

Learning to dive in Zanzibar

Whether you’re visiting or living in Tanzania, there’s a set of unwritten rules of things to do while you’re here; go on safari, climb Mount Kilimanjaro, visit Zanzibar. When you arrive Zanzibar, there’s Stone Town, spice tours and spectacular beaches.

On my first visit to Zanzibar, I encountered divers who tried to convince me diving was on the list. I found them a strange species, talking in code about buoyancy, visibility, dive computers and equipment, how deep they’d been and the things they’d seen. They were fun, but I wondered if they’d fallen victim to some sort of pyramid scheme, with their attempts to convert non divers to their obsession. Maybe they got a free toaster for every five people they won over.

Later, when I moved to Zanzibar, I met more of this curious breed. They talked about being soundless, weightless, floating through the water as if you were flying. I cracked. I tried a Discover Scuba Diving experience on a trip to the beach. I was sea sick, fought blind panic and was towed around the reef like a human balloon by a patient instructor. I was not convinced. I was underwhelmed. I’d had better days snorkeling and diving seemed like an expensive hobby, involving various forms suffering with little reward.

Time passed. I made friends with even more divers and instructors. I watched them glow with excitement as they described underwater wonders: manta rays gliding through the water with deadly grace, shy sea horses, dolphins and strange shrimp. I decided to try again.

I signed up for a PADI Open Water course with One Ocean, the Zanzibar Dive Centre. One Ocean is a PADI five star centre and the largest dive company in East Africa, with a reputation for safety and good instructors. You can learn to dive at any one of their centres; Blue Bay Resort and Ocean Paradise on the east coast, Matemwe Beach Village, their Stone Town centre and down at Kizimkazi at Unguja Diving Resort. All the centres offer an extensive range of courses, with experienced staff, high quality equipment and a fleet of well-equipped boats.

When choosing a dive centre, always check their accreditation on the PADI website (www.PADI.com). Make sure you meet your instructor before the course and make sure they’re someone you feel comfortable with, before handing over any money. A PADI Open Water course costs in the range of $400 and generally takes 4 or 5 days. It consists of classroom study, pool sessions to learn vital skills, four dives in the sea and a final exam before receiving certification. The course is flexible – there’s the option to do a referral, where you complete the pool dives, required study and examination at home, then complete the open water dives in the sea on location, saving you time. Alternatively, if you can’t commit to five days in a row, it’s possible to spread the course out over weekends until you’ve completed the coursework to gain certification.

Putting my previous experience out of my mind, I worked my way through the course requirements, learning about water pressure, density, how to take care of diving equipment, decompression illness and how to plan dives safely. The pool sessions provided a gentle introduction to the skills I would need underwater, learning to breathe through a regulator, how to equalise as I descended underwater. I overcame my discomfort at having water in my mask until I could remove it completely, put it back on and clear away the water.

Finally, I was ready to head out to sea. Butterflies jittered in my stomach and I made myself breathe through the anxiety. We kitted up, contorted ourselves into wet suits, strapped on weight belts, put on our BCDs and fins, before going through the buddy check. It was time. Mask on, regulator in my mouth, I shuffled to the edge of the boat for the disorientating flip backwards into the water. Bobbing around like corks, we signalled down, letting the air out of our BCDs, sinking into the depths.

The compressed air from the tank dried out my mouth making me cough, as I watched the sandy bottom come into view. A check to see if everyone was okay and then we were off. Drifting soundlessly through this alien landscape, the muted colours of the corals deepening as the sunlight shimmered through the water. Spiky green tubes of coral, the dusky periwinkle blue of the sponges, brain coral, lettuce coral, iridescent silvery pearls called sailors eyes gleaming like lost treasure in the reef. Clown fish danced in and out of pale pink anemones. My panic melted away as I looked around this underwater world in wonder. Stone fish scuttled along the bottom camouflaged by the sand, whiskered cat fish gaped at me from a shelf of coral, schools of shimmering silver fish moved as one through the water. A Moorish idol swam by regally, lobsters waved their tentacles at me, regarding me with beady eyes and a blue spotted sting ray, looking like it had been attacked by a delinquent with spray paint, disappeared through the coral.

And then it was over. I was hooked, converted, a new acolyte to the cult. I certified and I’ve been working on getting my toaster, convincing my friends to do courses. I babble about buoyancy, get excited over fish and completed my Open Water Advanced course. I spend weekends diving. I’ve seen a sea horse planted in the sand next to a lion fish, followed fat groupers through a wreck and hovered above turtles grazing on coral. Pemba and Mafia are next on my list. It’s a whole new world.

Kizimkazi

Stressed and harried, I was in the office on a Saturday, tying up some loose ends, when my phone rang. I glared at it, wondering who could possibly be calling me now.

It was my doctor friend from Dar.

"Hey, I'm down in Kizimkazi with the Mount Kenya crew. You should come down."

Life in Zanzibar tends to be full of impromptu lunches, dinners and trips. It comes from living less than 30 seconds away from anyone in Stone Town. I wrapped up my work, called Peter to see if he was up for a weekend trip. Three hours later, we were driving down in a borrowed car, pleased to be out of town, which would be full with the South African and English contingents, engaged in epic battle of national pride. The rugby.

Kizimkazi lies in the south west of Zanzibar and is known primarily as a starting point for dolphin safaris. Pods of humpback and bottlenose dolphins live in the Menai Bay Conservation Area and boats laden with camera wielding tourists set out each morning, with the hope of snorkeling with the dolphins. It's an hour's drive from Stone Town, with morning shared taxis and dala dalas (local buses) running regularly.

We were staying at Karamba Resort, formerly known as Kizidi Bungalows. The property has been taken over by a Catalan lady who has revitalised the place. The rooms are bright and cheery, all ensuite with hot water, fan and mosquito nets. There's a special offer from November for East African Residents - a double sea view room for $60, bed and breakfast. The restaurant is fabulous, serving tapas and the usual fish and seafood and they have wonderful rioja.



I went for a swim before sunset and we ate dinner on the terrace and sat up talking by the bonfire. We could hear the noise from the second Eid coming from the village.


In the morning, we headed out on a dhow for a barbecue lunch at the sandbank and snorkeling. I listened in to the idle chatter of the boys sailing, as they assured me that green turtle meat is very tasty. I just shrugged, didn't translate for the non Swahili speakers and concentrated on not being seasick. Dolphins, sleek and grey, glided through the water, before disappearing beneath the waves.








The tide was high at the sandbank, making our snorkeling a washout. We only saw seaweed, stirred up debris and a few lonely fish instead of the usual reef. We paid 15,000Tsh per head for the boat ride, 3000 for the marine park pass, 4000 for snorkel gear and another 15,000 for lunch. Barring the park fees, this could be lower but it's not bad for a day out.



Photos copyright - Peter Bennett 2007

Eid ul Fitr

There were two Eids. Time to celebrate after Ramadhan, to relax, indulge. The first at the sight of the new moon, when the island breathed an audible sigh of relief. Chatter and laughter swirled through the streets, with cigarette smoke and the smell of coffee, brewed on street corners. Babies stared at me with panda eyes, daubed with kohl, girls sashayed through the streets, shimmering in sparkling dresses. Our taxi driver issued a gruff warning - Never get married during Eid, everyone looks beautiful then. You might kiss a princess but end up with a frog.

The football fields were transformed, stalls selling Chinese plastic toys jostled together, as parents bought gifts for their children. Salma's daughter, silent and shy, got pastel coloured lego blocks after we vetoed a toy gun. She can be an architect or an engineer instead of a soldier.



Cheeky kids asked for their sikuku, money to celebrate their holiday. We need it for soda, for chipsi. Crowds gathered, watching as boys tried to win prizes, throwing wooden hoops at targets of juices, sweets and the elusive 10,000 Tsh note. Taarab blared from speakers, as singers wailed out songs of love and longing. Young men and women headed down to Bwawani Disco, to dance to bongo flava and American hip hop.

The second Eid was for the devout. The hardcore, for lack of a better term, who fasted for another 6 days, starting on the second day of the first Eid. In the office, our usually colourful accountant came in, subdued and quiet, swathed in black, her face free of make up. Waiting. Fasting.

They broke fast again on Saturday, gathering in the south of the island for celebration. We could hear the music down in Kizimkazi, two kilometres away from the village, the beat still pounding through the ground as the power went off and we sat in the glow of the bonfire and the moon reflecting off the ocean.

Photos copyright Peter Bennett 2007

Living the high life

I have been remiss and slacking on the posting. Work is crazy busy and I'm getting ready for a trip to the cold island in two weeks.

Around two weeks ago, I got a message from a friend.

Working up at Gemma. Feel like coming up for the weekend?

I thought about this for half a second, then cursed the Zanzibar phone network as my mobile phone seized up and refused to let me send an affirmative reply.

La Gemma Dell'Est, to give the full name, is a five star Italian resort in Nungwi, according to its address. Really, it lies at the top of Kendwa beach, around an hour from Stone Town. Resorts aren't really my cup of tea, but Gemma is a sartorial extravaganza, with manicured gardens and golf carts shuttling guests through the grounds. As with most resorts in Zanzibar, guests are issued an identifying arm band and are left to graze the buffet, baste and bronze themselves at the beach and take part in aqua aerobics or other organised optional "fun" activities by the entertainment team. As much as I dislike resorts and package hotels, La Gemma has always amused me - partly because of the flamboyant Italian management and partly because of the security guards and dogs roaming the beachfront asking for ID as anyone walks past. It's a beach. Nobody owns it.

We rode up from Stone Town, thankfully avoiding the bumpy Kendwa road, since I was turning green from an evil red wine hangover. Checked in at Reception and were chauffeured down to the Presidential Suite in a golf buggy.

I had planned to say hi, wander down the beach to stay at Sunset Bungalows and come back to have dinner with the crew. Then I saw the rooms.




Dipped my feet in the Presidential Suite's salt water swimming pool. Heard about the butler service. The private chef. And was persuaded to stay. For lunch, at least. Then maybe for the night.

The Presidential Suite has five rooms, a private pool, butler service and chef. There's 7 international tv channels, which have little on to watch and theoretically, internet access, which wasn't working when we were there. The weekend was filled with This Is Africa moments. The girls I came up with were all architecture students so we ripped apart the interior design, smoked shisha and drank tea in the mellow Moroccan inspired pavilion as the questions from the pub quiz blared through from the jetty bar.

We floated in the pool and had our clothes bleached from excess amounts of chlorine. Laughed at the Fawlty Towers style service as we hunted down the butlers to order breakfast, complained about the two sets of rotten meat on the barbecue and waited an extra half hour for our meals. The hotel shop and spa wouldn't let us pay directly for anything, so we had to charge everything to the room.

Five star in Africa is relative and we'd all been here long enough to treat the situation with patience, a shrug and a sigh but I'm sure some guests would have exploded in a frothing rage. There was, however, bacon, and excellent chili by the head chef, who proudly reported he'd served it to Paris Hilton. We were more concerned about how we were going to kidnap him and force him to cook for us in town. The company was fine, the sun was shining, I bought sunglasses with UV protection and took the complimentary shampoo and conditioner. My friend had his business meetings sitting in the jacuzzi and certain people consumed their body weight in alcohol. Not bad for getting out of town for the weekend.