Did I Say 'Never Again?'

June 2007 (Tanzania)

Bismarck Rock in Mwanza



DID I SAY ‘NEVER AGAIN’?
It did not take me long to break my promise to myself that I will never climb a mountain again, or that I will never go on safari again..... One is so easily persuaded to do it just one more time.For those people interested in statistics, I had reached the midpoint of the African Continent between Cape Town and Cairo.

Arusha is just over the border from Kenya and a major town for tourism as well as the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, and one cannot but bump into people related to these two activities. The smart UN 4x4 cars are all over and there are many employed nationals from various countries of the world who are enjoying the opportunity to live in a town with all the modern conveniences and places of interest around them. So why rush the Tribunal? And of course, everyone wants to sell you a climb of Kilimanjaro or Mount Meru or a safari tour or similar excursion which will take all the money you have, off you. Arusha is also the headquarters of the East African Community where the attempt to re-launch the disbanded East African Community of 30 years ago, is being planned. Here the Arusha Declaration was signed when Julius Nyerere was in charge and Tanzania went Socialist 30 years ago. The building which was used for this event is now a rather limited museum. Arusha is also the mineral city of Tanzania because of the nearby Tanzanite mines where this unique gemstone in found. However, it is a bustling and relatively pleasant town to be stuck in, although everyone assures me that Moise, nearer Mount Kilimanjaro, is the better place to be. At the Information Centre I was intrigued by how efficiently people from the local areas had come together to advertise their villages and describe what they could offer to the tourist. All this in the name of 'Cultural and Eco Tourism'. So I managed to contact one of these Guides and John Henry soon had me booked up for a 4-day 3-night visit to his home and village. As I was the only client, it was arranged that I stay in his house. We traveled by daladala. This is the Tanzanian name I had to substitute for 'matatu' (in Zanzibar, it is podapoda). However, Arusha is a one-off town and even the daladalas are not called that there. I was told they are called 'ice'. It did not make sense, but I eventually found someone who could tell me where it came from: Hiace, the maker of the minivans used for people-transport.

And then we traveled by truck. In keeping with the ethic of village involvement (part of my fee went to help the local primary school), JH had engaged a local lad with a truck to drive us about for the first day. The fact that it was falling to pieces and really was not suited to the incredibly bad roads (4x4s would revolt!), did not phase the young man and we spent all day visiting and walking to places of interest in the area. We were only stuck in the mud once!JH's three small sons gave up their room in the typically local square house and I was assigned to sleep on their incredibly hard and bumpy bed. As in all of Africa, the cooking area is outside and JH, thinking that he has to be very careful of the mzungu stomach, had hired a porter/cook for the duration of my stay. Emanuel provided great meals and I ate in lonely style and the following day, when he took me up the little 'mountain' between the two famous peaks to see them from such an incredible viewpoint, he knew just how to pace me so that I did not get over-tired. This was such a contrast to the volcano-climb, that I realise what a real professional porter can do and my 'never again’ resolution died temporarily.

On top of this spiritual hill, one had superb views of both the highest mountains in Tanzania; ….. OK OK, Mount Kilimanjaro is the highest point in Africa if one wants to consider the altitude, as well as being the world's largest free-standing mountain... Mount Meru is simply the 4th highest in Africa and only takes 4 days to climb...but it is a very beautiful and challenging inactive volcanic crater. The thing that I really like about these two mountains is that they are on the equator, yet both have permanent snow/glaciers on them. The latter might not last very long if global warming goes on melting them at the rate it is at present.

But back to my little climb which I never expected to do: John Henry was not well, so only Emanuel took me up. He has climbed Kilimanjaro 10 times and Meru 12 times, so I knew I was in good hands when he set the most undemanding pace and I managed to huff and puff upwards without collapsing at the top. Guess what? There were dozens of local people up there! Granted they did go via a different, largely vehicle-bound route, but I felt a bit deflated after my heroic effort. There were groups of people all over the place. Large plastic shelters and tents were scattered between the bushes and the assembled pilgrims were all singing quietly, in a trance-like state or just sleeping off their three-day fast. The mountain is sacred and people go there for spiritual refreshing. We enjoyed a delicious lunch, but made sure to stay away from hungry eyes.

One day a long walk involved going through many farmed areas along the edge of a natural forest. It always seems such a waste of manpower to see the little reed shelters built on the edge of a cultivated area where children and adults (during school lessons) take up positions with noise-inducing implements to frighten away the monkeys, antelope and birds. This is one of the negative sides to the imposition of 'natural forest preservation'. I was told that, if an elephant becomes too aggressively greedy, the Wild-Life people will be summoned and may shoot it with the result that it will prevent this herd of elephants from destroying crops in that area for at least 7 years. Elephants do not forget. It was interesting to see fresh elephant droppings on the paths which we followed down to a gorge in the forest. We eventually reached a place where fresh and very sweet water emerged from the rocks. This is the local ‘it has never run dry’ 'emergency supply' during a drought.

Throughout these days, we talked and discussed all kinds of things. They showed me plants and told me about their food value/medicinal uses and I told them my usual stories:
Why the Passion fruit is called that (the flower represents the various elements in the story of Christ’s Passion)
How to catch a baboon (use a pumpkin with a small hole in it. Once its hand is full of the flesh, it will not let go even if you approach it)
How to stop nettle sting (it does not have to be a dock leaf. Any thick chlorophyll-filled leaf would do)
How to make nettle soup (it does not sting in the mouth!)
Lantana leaves are also good for malarial treatment (it is an exotic weed; an imported plant, so the locals have not learnt the trick of boiling the leaves for an anti-malaria tea)
Most of the mushrooms and fungus we encountered is edible (but I did not demonstrate and could not do any convincing there!)

Life was full of verbal exchanges…

Another sacred visit was to a very powerfully spiritual spring deep in the mountains. We followed elephant tracks through tropical forest much of the time and eventually looked down, from steep edges and thick foliage, upon a large and invitingly cool pond, the depth of which had never been established. I happily suggested cooling off in it, but both men were aghast at the mere suggestion. Not only because neither of them could swim to save me if necessary, but because of its sacred nature. So I was getting the message....

Next stop, further intrigues: The natural herbalist we visited was willing to do a diagnosis of JH's condition, but it was a Sunday and she told us she did not work on Sundays. But we could talk about remedies and JH was told to bring an empty bottle for the medicine the next day.

Then home to JH's modest house, with its banana-leaf-surrounded pit latrine with two holes. The structure is sensible and open to the elements, so no smells. By having two holes made in the pole and mud floor which covers the very large pit, waste can spread naturally and more easily. By now you must realise that JH is imbued with beliefs in spirits and the inexplicable. I have always had respect for people's beliefs and the power of prayer and really do believe that there are spirits whose existence we cannot explain. There is a long-held belief that spirits dwell in places like latrines. The last evening I went there in my usual trousers with pockets full of tissues, whistle, pencil, small Su-doku book and unusually (as I had been to the Bank to withdraw money with which to pay JH and another Tour Agent), my credit card wrapped in a small plastic bag secure next to the book. As I started to stretch my legs, I suddenly saw the plastic bag emerge from my pocket and do a swift side-swoop into the pit hole. No way was that natural or possible! An unknown force pulled it out of my pocket and into the pit. I rest my case. Poor JH was distraught as he knew there were benevolent spirits in the pit and this just confirmed it! The next morning his young son very kindly manufactured an ingenious plastic container on the end of a stick contraption and I, out of total fear that they will just not find it, stayed in my room. But they did! They presented me with a dry and intact credit card. That day the Bank sent a letter to my London address saying that they suspected fraud and that my withdrawal facility is being suspended. It took an awful lot of telephoning by Ingrid and me to convince them that I was just withdrawing money in an erratic way, depending on whether I was partaking of a special trip or not. And the spirits did not make any illegal withdrawals!

Huh! Another Special Trip had just been booked and paid for! Did I say never again to Safari Tours?

I am a South African and was brought up with wild life as part of the scene. My father often went on hunting trips and came home with all kinds of antelope which we then had to deal with; cutting pieces to dry for the South African delicacy (like jerky) called biltong, preparing venison joints, making game sausages, pickling and preserving and then scraping the skins to salt and dry in the sun. On the farms I used to see how pieces of skin were expertly cut into long narrow strips around and around a large cattle-skin and then the ends of these were tied to a vast loose stone and the subsequent 'riempies' (thongs) were hauled over a stout tree branch to stretch them whilst they dried. The stone was turned and turned as the riempies were stretched to the limit. When dry, they were ideal for cattle whips and animal ties of all kinds as well as for use in the making of traditional wooden furniture. My father had a 5-ft rhinoceros skin 'shambok' which I am glad to say was never used, but it was a threat to us kids in case we did not behave. And I make no apologies for these brutal implements which were used throughout the Colonial and other worlds. I know they are still in use just because the TV tells us so: ‘He was sentenced to 10 lashes….”

As we grew up, we went hunting for rabbits and meerkat (both pests on a farm) at night. This was/is a favourite occupation for young people before TV rooted them to settees. One would excitedly jump into a ‘bakkie’ (open van) and adjust the searchlight, prepare the guns and be ready for a bumpy chase over the veldt! Eventually bigger animals and day safaris came into our sights. Where my parents had retired by the South Coast of Natal, the property was large with many trees and the 'garden boy' would often come to my Dad and tell him; 'Baas, my breakfast is in the tree", and Dad would go out and shoot a monkey which was eating our mangoes or avocadoes or corn. Francis also went shooting 'vermin' and had a chance to be 'bloodied' during one of our visits to SA when he shot a large eland. Seeing snakes and a very great variety of birds was just part of daily life. There are many Animal Reserves all over the country and we often went for a day or two to see whatever animals it was famous for.

But the best was when one just came upon them unexpectedly. Once in the late 1950s two fellow university students and I hitched all day up the north coast of Natal to a place where recent industry and horrible mining of titanium out of the ancient sand dunes has changed nature forever. We slept on the railway station platform and next day met and old man. He was probably only about 40 years old, but to us three 18yr olds, that was ancient! He asked if we wanted to see some crocodiles.... We walked across to the dunes and climbed an enormous one. From the top, we looked down on an estuary where great numbers of crocodiles were sunbathing by its edges. I have been to many crocodile farms and Parks, but never ever seen such monsters! Just there for anyone to bump into. Our kind mentor then let us watch him as he speared sharks in the shallow waters of the sea. A young boy held a large fishing rod on the beach. The old man then took the end of the line, attached a spear to this and waded into the water. As a shark swam past his legs, he would spear it, the line would be detached and he would then return to the beach, take over the rod and play in the shark. Our incomparable 'Hemmingway experience' was concluded when he offered to take us back to Durban - in his little airplane!

Can one beat these kinds of experiences? Not easily... So I have been resolutely uninterested in going 'on Safari', which is what most visitors to East Africa, do. On the other hand, it was the start of the annual wildebeest migration in Serengeti. This phenomenon has been designated as one of the seven natural wonders of the world. When 1,600,000 wildebeest and countless thousands of other animals decide to travel north into the Kenyan Maasai Mara Reserve for a few months and then to return to the plains of Serengeti, you cannot imagine the sheer scale of such an operation. It has to be seen. I was hooked!

Four of us had signed up for a 5-day 4-night safari. Two Austrian men (one of whom I had met in Uganda) and a delightful Japanese girl. We set off with our driver-guide and cook/tent-erector in a 4x4. The roads to the park and main roads generally in Tanzania are immaculately tarred and it is an incredible pleasure to ride on good roads after 15 months of … You get the picture….

The first two nights were spent at a campsite next to Lake Manyara (which I knew nothing about) and within the first two-hour game drive, I saw more numbers and more varieties of animals than I had ever seen in my life!! How the arrogant fall! There were no tree-climbing lions in view, but I suppose we were not important enough for them to try and amuse us.

Ngorogoro Crater was much more welcoming with endless herds of the usual and a lazing lion so close that I thought I was watching an MGM film credit starting. However, I think I have fallen in love with hippos; just such incredible hulks of blubber which make me feel slim for a change! And the Crater is one of those wonders of nature which leaves one in awe. It is the largest Caldera (extinct volcanic crater) in the world. The 'horizon' all around is endlessly flat, yet in the far distance are the edges of the crater, giving it a 'second horizon'. The Maasai had once shared this rich pastureland with the animals and their cattle. The latter have been removed and a Maasai tourist-village been built outside the crater where one has to pay to observe 'true tribal life'. Notwithstanding my skepticism, I have to give the Maasai their due. They are very good salespeople and you see these beautifully tall and slim men all over Tanzania and Kenya draped in their plaid (tartan) red blankets, covered in all kinds of bead adornments and trying to get your last shilling from you. The tartans are recent; a Scottish company produced the blankets in Manchester and they were sold to the Maasai less than 50 years ago. But a good salesman knows the value of a gimmick. What amused me about them is that they have had the daring to 'invade' Zanzibar. In this Muslim city, thousands of kilometers away and with no historical contact, the Maasai are seen all over the place and the many tourist shops are full of Maasai bead-work, paintings and blankets. What is also amusing is the fact that some stocky/fat local men are wearing a blanket and pretending to be a Maasai. Anything for a living!

Incidentally, something you no doubt know but which I only recently realised, is that the existence of Tanzania's fabulous, incredibly large, wild life parks is due to the humble tsetse fly. Because it attacks cattle and humans get sleeping sickness from it, the local pastoralist inhabitants could not live there. Thus these vast areas were essentially left to natural wildlife. Another fact that was new to me: With so many thousands of horse-like Zebra all over the place, why have they never been domesticated to take loads or riders? Their backbone is not strong enough. Clever work-evaders!

From our campsite on the rim of the crater where we were welcomed by an elephant and two buffaloes (they might have thought otherwise), we set off for Serengeti. It is justifiably rated as one of the seven natural wonders of the world: endless plains of animal-filled vistas...but does one really want to watch a leopard doing its posing on a nearby dead tree trunk in the company of 21 other vehicles? I really did count 22 of us ‘noisy animals’ parked higgledy-piggledy on that occasion. Apart from such delights, the main reason for being in this vast area was the wildebeest.

You know you are approaching them when flies enter your vehicle and start being a real nuisance. This is all part of the symbiotic dependency of different species. The wildebeest and their hangers-on like zebra migrate thousands of kilometers to the north and west every year when the short grass which is good for young wildebeest (thousands born every day during a two-week birthing spree), is depleted and the rains have moved northwards. This gives the grass a chance to be renewed by the small beetles, flies and various rodents which break down the dung and fertilise the grass. The largest migration in the world then enters Kenya's Maasai Mara Park at the same time as the expensively-hiked safari troops depart from Nairobi with cameras at the ready. After a suitable show of muscle, the wildebeest go south again to restart their performance for the following year's tourists. Magic!

I was really in awe, despite my initial thoughts of 'so what?’. To be in the midst of it and to see the horizon suddenly become a black mass of movement: walking, skipping, prancing, grunting, gathering....just remember the scene in The Lion King and you can begin to get an idea of what I am talking about... We stopped on a ford across the main river where we could see enormous crocodiles lying replete in the sun...only to be waiting and ready for the next year's feast... And that night in our campsite, the air was filled with flies and the grunting of migrating wildebeest.

Having said that, my most memorable impression in these parks, when there were no tourists in other vehicles around and our engine was switched off, was the pure silence. Heaven!

One thing I will never say 'never again' to is a ride on a train. We left Serengeti to exit on the western side so that a local matatu could take us to Mwanza on Lake Victoria from where a train goes to Dar es Salaam. Or so the theory goes... My companions caught the thrice-weekly boat on Lake Victoria that evening, to cross towards Uganda, and I stayed on in Mwanza for a few days until the train schedule allowed for an exit. Arriving early one morning with my ticket, I was told that there is a delay and it will only leave the next day. Having already lost out on half the journey beyond Dodola because of 'work on the line', it did not seem to make much difference to delay for yet another 24 hours. I returned to the hotel and had breakfast.

Mwanza is not a bad town to be stranded in and I enjoyed the incredible rock formations amongst which roads and buildings have been erected. There are enormous granite boulders all over which are often imaginatively incorporated into gardens or buildings and they also form scenic islands in the lake. I am delighted to note that German Imperialism is not obliterated in this country where the League of Nations Mandate passed the colony known as German East Africa over to Britain after WW1. A nearby rock island is still called Bismarck Rock. If one was to pay an interior decorator or landscape architect, one could not improve on these visual delights.

The scheduled 24-hour train ride was only 27 hours long but I was sorry to be late in Tabora where I had hoped to jump onto a bicycle taxi to go and see the house where Livingstone had lived and which is now a museum. We were waiting to connect with the train from Kigoma on Lake Tanganyika on the western loop of the railway line. Instead, I walked in the dark through parts of town, had a G&T in the plush colonial (ex-railway) Orion Tabora Hotel which is redolent of the past and where young men in suits woo well-turned-out ladies. Then I followed the tree-lined avenue back to the train station and enjoyed banter and freshly cooked food with the numerous food sellers squatting by their charcoal fires and recycled coffee tin lamps.

My 2nd-class (no first class any more anyway) carriage was a bit crowded for such a long journey. We were only five in a six-berth compartment, but three ladies were enormous as only Africa ladies can be, one young girl was lithe and happily spent all her time sleeping on a top bunk bed. Amongst the large heap of bags, parcels and suitcases which could not go under the seats, played an active toddler and girl of 5. There was also a three-week-old baby who seemed to take up more space than any of us. So I huddled in a corner or hung out of the window in the passage until it was time to climb onto the other top bunk to sleep. I was proud of myself, being twice the age of any of the others, but at least I could get away from the chaos below.

During the next morning I became aware of all the small stops along the line which have rows upon rows of vast corrugated iron sheds. Some of them could be seen to have thousands of sacks of grain, whilst others, totally empty and ghost-like, were waiting for the supplies given by the affluent West to save a few more lives when drought hits the area. Not that the latter has happened or is expected. But it is good business for the locals to be building these sheds and, when the food is released, to make money from its selling. One forgets that local prices are depressed as a result and even more people become hungry. I must admit to ignorance. I always associated the USAID slogans all over the place with kind donations to Poor Africa (Ok I am cynical but there are also poor people in London or New York or wherever-a-photographer-can-get-a-good-shot), but I only recently learnt that it stood for United States Agency for International Development.

After the train ride, it was good to get off in Dodola, but very soon I wished that the train had not been forced to end there. What a soulless place! Broad streets with no character. The Tanzanian Govt. had decided in their wisdom to place their capital city in the middle of the country. Dodola was chosen, but as also happened in Brasilia, one cannot easily give a brand new 'designer-built’ place a soul. So although it is nominally the capital, most things are done from Dar. Even the hotel I finally tracked down (most were full for a Conference) was not up to the usual standard in my price range. There were three beds in the room, but the shared ablution facilities were not worth using. The Asian hairdresser did a good cutting job though and I was not handled by giggling girls trying to feel my hair, as usual. The early-morning bus had to put up with a smelly Hilda, but in hot and crowded conditions, I doubt that anyone was aware.

We arrived in Dar es Salaam late that day.

Dar is the type of town which one thinks has been there for ages, although it is not so long ago (1860s) that it was created as a port in favour over Bagamoyo, the old port town to its north. And having the rail-head start here made all the difference.

Most of the living takes place far from the centre of town and one needs one of the many daladalas to get there. I saw the vast market area from a daladala as I rode out to check on the train which I eventually hoped to take to Malawi. This station is far from the centre of town and has no connection with the service I had taken from the north. I was surprised not to feel boxed-in by traffic. So far every African city I have stayed in is generally grid-locked or at least full of bumper-to-bumper vehicles. Here the ‘rush hour’ was orderly and busses moved swiftly from their designated stopping points. On a late Saturday afternoon, near the cathedral by the sea, there was an almighty noise. I had been watching a newly married couple emerge through its doors and go though all the usual activity associated with this ceremony. But others couples in other parts of town had also been married. Cars with bride and groom following a noisy brass band were followed in their turn by hooting cars of supporters (it sounded like the end of a football match!). And every couple married that afternoon had similar noisy supporters. It seems that it is compulsory to go along that stretch of road after your wedding.

The call to prayer from Mosques and the many Hindi temples were all seemingly subdued in Dar and I never thought “oh dear, there starts the noise”. Similarly in Zanzibar, the call is short and soft…one can go back to sleep with no problem.

I have never known a city with such foul water in its taps! Drinking it must be deadly because it looks so dirty, although there is no evidence of typhoid-ridden sufferers anywhere to be seen. But perhaps it is full of good organic matter and not all the chemicals we have in our Western taps. I did not offer to try it. If you ask for a Coca Cola anywhere in Tanzania, they look blankly at you and you have to repeat and point. But if you ask for a ‘soda’, they instantly bring a coke.

Walking as usual in the town centre, I was aware of the fact that the buildings are all relatively new or modern and the streets are wide and tree-lined. Most Embassies crowd around the main Parliamentary/Governmental/High Court buildings and State House. In the grounds of State House there are a few 'wild animals' and after having seen them so freely roaming in their natural environment, this seemed so pointless. A great hulk of a building completely dominates these low-level buildings. One would expect these six floors to be full of ministerial offices, but sadly, it is only a car parking garage to cope with all the must-have cars of officials.


I am fascinated to see how important the car is to the psyche of the Tanzanians. In the National Museum in Dar there are five cars relating to prominent people/offices on display. In the ‘House of Wonders Museum’ in Zanzibar is a nondescript Austin Princess. The notice says; ‘This car was used by the British resident before the Zanzibar Revolution, 1964’. No-one could throw light on what was meant by ‘The British resident’ although I subsequently read references to the British Government representative. In the Palace Museum, also in Stone Town, is an ordinary light blue Zephyr. It was the ‘Official presidential car used by the first President of the Revolutionary Council 1964-1972’. And on the adjacent wall hangs a framed Kanga (the colourful cotton wraps Swahili women wind around their bodies) with a picture of the car in the middle of it. As with all kangas, an elaborate system of printed sayings accompanies whatever pattern is depicted. This one translates as; Thank You For The Car Of The President.

This National Museum in the above area is very good. The memorial to those innocent visitors to the American Embassy, who died during the bombing of 14 October 1999, is simple and moving. And I learnt a fact that fascinates me: The Dugong, that human-like mammal from the Indian Ocean, is the only mammal in the world apart from humans, to enfold its young between its front flippers, for breast-feeding. The museum is primarily known for its ‘Cradle of Mankind’ exhibits. Dr. Louis Leakey and his wife Mary were responsible for uncovering many sites used by prehistoric man which confirmed the earliest existence of mankind in this part of the world. Their son Richard continued the work and he retired to a lovely house outside Lamu where the fishermen would call out “Dr. Richard!” and he would wave in reply. In the museum one can also view plaster casts of the earliest footprints of upright man found in the Laetoli Gorge near Ngorogoro dated 3.6 million years ago. ‘Lucy’ in Ethiopia lived about 3.2 million years ago. Food for thought.

Dar's fish market is also worth a visit. It is a very lively area close to the rather soulless formal streets just described. I have never seen so many different varieties of fish! Coming from the tropical waters of the Indian Ocean, the colours and shapes are very bright and varied.

What delighted me very much in the streets of Dar was to see so many newspaper sellers. And they have so many different versions! There are the usual stalls, but, what is common in Africa, is to see young boys walk about trying to sell you a paper from a tall cardboard-backed arrangement held in the one hand. If they think you might be interested in a particular issue, it is deftly extracted from the pile and thrust under your nose. I was intrigued though to see so many in Tanzania. One seller I spoke to in Dar told me that there are 10 Kiswahili dailies, 4 English dailies and 5 weekly English newspapers. And one really does see people reading! Not a common sight in most places in Africa.

The streets of Dar suddenly reminded me of the most disliked-by-me tree. I am back in the tropics where, what I dubbed as the ‘car-wash-tree’ in West Africa, can be found in proliferation. A more meaningless tree does not exist, I have decided. It is a very tall pole which has large leaves drooping off its trunk. No birds nest in it and it does not provide shade, fruit or flowers. It is just there. Like one of those brightly-coloured rotating plastic brushes between which one has a car washed. At last I have now found out that it actually comes from Ashok in India! Can they take it back please? Polyalthia longifolia. Says it all.

When one mentions Zanzibar and images of spices and pristine white beaches are evoked, it sounds fabulous and why should one not go? I very nearly did not because of my arrogant attitude. I have been to Lamu twice, which many people told me was 'much better' but of a similar Muslim architecture/way of life, so 'never again' seemed reasonable. However, the magic of Zanzibar unconsciously drew me.
First of all I had been delayed in meeting up with Judi in Malawi, so we had decided to meet in Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar is just a few hours across the water and I might as well wait there for her. Then it was the realisation that there would be a Film Festival in Stone Town, the main city on the island. Never having been to one, it seemed like a good excuse to book into a hotel for 10 days and just indulge.

Dar does not invite a long stay and I caught the slow ferry (3 hours) to Zanzibar Island. The fast ferry dashes over the waters in 11/2 hours, but one needs to slow down and adjust one's pace and the slower trip appealed.

Once on the island (and I never saw any of it except the Stone Town for 12 days), I was sucked into its magic.

I never returned to complete my visit to the rest of Tanzania. Never again? You bet!! I shall be back!!