Aliya and Heida in Africa: "Matitizo"

You never quite know what to expect when you travel to a new country for the first time. Zanzibar, an archipelago off the Tanzanian mainland (not just a bar in NYC, contrary to popular belief) and our final destination* on Aliya and Heida’s whirlwind tour to Africa, was no exception.
Given the last blog entry, I’ll spare you pages of airport-related tales, other than to say that: our 5:10am departure time meant a 2:30am pick-up (ouch); we watched a throng of rowdy Congolese women get in a fight with employees in the Nairobi airport (raucous); we flew by Mount Kilimanjaro (so cool); and Icelanders pay only $50 for their visas, compared to Americans’ $100 (great for Heida, not for Aliya and Jen). The Let’s Go Travel representative met us as promised outside the airport…and proceeded to corral us into a van with an unfamiliar driver, shout a hurried, “45 minutes, you will reach in 45 minutes!”, give a quick pat-pat on the door, and send us on our frazzled way.

An hour and 15 minutes into our drive, when the air conditioning was off, the hot air barely circulating, and our non-English speaking driver turned off the main road and onto an unmarked dirt path, we got a little nervous. Our attempts at clarification were met only with, “Yes, Langi Langi”, and visions of newspaper headlines danced in our heads.

But, abduction wasn’t in the cards for us that day. The driver soon delivered us as promised to Langi Langi, our resort in the town of Nungwi on the northwest coast. We inquired about an ATM so we could load up on Tanzanian shillings, and assume our role as proper tourists. A trip for future Zanzibar-goers: Get. money. before. you leave. Zanzibar Town.

Shilling-less, we checked into our room, which overlooked the water, smelled like roses and lit up like the morning sun. Not. But we did have a sidewalk view, an unidentifiable off-putting odor, and approximately equal amounts of working and non-working light bulbs.

We decided to get food, hoping that nourishment was going to turn our luck around, and headed out to the restaurant.

And that’s when we fell a little bit in love.

Quietly rippling before us was a vast expanse of the most brilliant blue water I’m pretty sure I’ve ever seen outside of a postcard or magazine ad, with wooden boats puttering, gliding, or anchored in every direction. The steps off the deck of the restaurant plunked you waist-deep into white-sand-bottomed, perfectly-temperatured Indian Ocean…which I took the liberty of dipping into before the food even arrived. It only got better when a plate of octopus curry was set before me. We savored many a spiced sea creature (or margarita pizza) on that deck, and watched the sunset every night**, always trying to capture the beauty of the moment and never quite succeeding.

Our other favorite Langi Langi Beach Bungalow hang-out was the pool, complete with a starfish bottom, water spewers, and a funky transition to a disco pool with flashing red, blue, and green under water lights at night.
At night, we patronized the local joints, doing our part to sample Kilimanjaro and Safari (TZ’s local brews), swinging on hammocks, digging our feet into the candle-containing sand pits, and entertaining the tour guide offers of the local beach boys we were warned about…until Aliya reminded us they were the local beach boys we were warned about.

We forwent the beach boy-headed tour of Stone Town, but we did make it down there via private hire that Friday – running first toward the ATM like an oasis in a dessert when we stopped at the Barclays Bank. We walked through the narrow alleys, took in the Arab-influenced architecture, appreciated the brass-studded, ornately carved wooden doors, bought spices and soaps and brightly colored wraps, talked a bit of politics with all of the enthusiastic Obama-loving pundits, and drank milk out of a young coconut (at the Serena, one of the most upscale hotel chains in Africa, which was an accident).

It was another tough day on our last morning, when the three of us got massages.

Of course, there were plenty of other hiccups along the way…confusion over what was included in our almost all-inclusive package, unwelcome geckos hanging out in the shower, power outages during dinner, and the longest, sweatiest wait at the airport of our lives. In the Swahili words of Tupac, our fondly nicknamed waiter, “Matitizo”. Trouble anytime.
*Final destination does not mean final “Aliya and Heida in Africa: The Chapter Blog” entry. Stay tuned for “Aliya and Heida in Africa: Adventures in Snorkeling.”

**This trip brought my “romantic sunsets with female friends” tally officially up to: way too many. A new addition this time: a romantic solo sunset swim.

More pics of brilliant blue water here.