Catch Up

I am, admittedly, an awful blogger. I mean, to be fair, I am doing fabulously swell by my own standards. In comparison to past me, present me is doing an excellent job on keeping friends and family updated. I know that you all agree. 

 But still, as of now, you have been deprived. I have not yet shared the wonder of Zanzibar, which happened over two months ago. Worse, I fell behind and I have yet another adventure filled trip to the Okavango Delta in Botswana which I have selfishly kept to myself. And now, at last, I find myself back in the field where I began my African journey, at the same hotel in Kafue with the same team. Where to start?     

I have decided that in order to catch up, I just need to take you on a whirlwind tour of some adventure travel. I mean, to be honest, it can’t be that exciting to read. “And then I did this, and then I did, and then I did this…” Shut up already. So, get ready, here it comes….compactly. I am creating an episode of field experiences concurrently, so fear not; I won’t fall behind in the course of catching up.

ZANZIBAR = HEAVEN

And by heaven, I mean the kind of heaven where you are greeted by a 1,000 virgins. It is, after all, a predominantly Muslim country. (Can we take a second and admit that they have it right when their heaven consists of earthly pleasures sans guilt rather than divine righteousness?)

But, seriously. For any of you that have backpacked before, or actively read about traveling, you know what I am about to describe. There is that never-ending search for the untouched paradise.  You are never really aware of when it starts, but suddenly, an attraction full of tourists becomes less attractive. Never mind that they are just like you looking for the same things. This is YOUR vista and YOUR trip, and your carefully planned picture of the bustling market just doesn’t look as adventurous when in between the colorful burkas there is a glimpse of some blond with a pixie cut wearing a spaghetti string tank top reading “OHIO STATE – Go Buckeyes.” Or whatever. No offense to any of the above mentioned characteristics of course. I love pixie cuts.  The search for the undiscovered is the main premise of the movie ‘The Beach,’ which I am sure all of you Leo fans, have seen. 

Bottom line, you always dream of the place that has strong culture, welcoming people, and few foreigners. Good food is also a plus. Welcome to Zanzibar. Now, Zanzibar was recommended to me by many people, making it a place that it is not ‘off the map,’ so to speak. But on an island surrounded by beaches, they always choose the same beaches. So if you do what we did, and choose the LAST entry in Lonely Planet, you will find yourself on a deserted beach with soft white sand and turquoise waters watching the locals, covered in head scarfs, walking through their seaweed farms at sunrise.

Traditional boats on our deserted beach. They use poles to maneuver.

Zanzibar is my heaven. When I die, I will go there. Stonetown was absolutely amazing. We stayed at St. Monica’s hostel in a room that was white-washed sand stone. It was an old convent, very quiet and old. Beneath the staircase to our room there were slave chambers as it sat on the old slave market. Zanzibar had long been a main port for the slave trade.  Who knows if they were original, but there were chains. 

The city itself bustled with vitality. There were busy markets and fish auctions. The first night we just went for a stroll and found ourselves sitting at a picnic table in the middle of what I can only describe as a fast food market. Each of the many picnic tables was lit only by a candle. Women were crouching and cooking seafood dishes over open stoves. Mark and I sat and ate rice and beans with warm milk (that were awful for the record), and took stock of our surroundings. We were across from each other. To Mark’s right was a devout Muslim in a galibia and rounded cap, eating some unidentifiable sea creature. To his left was a regular African Joe. To my left were too Masaii women in full tribal dress, down to the beaded cuffs on their ankles, with staffs. Holy Shit. If you ever thought America was the only melting pot, think again. What I would do for a picture of that table. I remember looking at Mark and wondering whether my eyes were as wide as his, in awe at the moment.

We spent the next day wandering around Stonetown. We ended the day with a sundown coffee in a hidden, discrete square with a bunch of men playing dominos. They didn’t stare, didn’t beg, and didn’t make comments and laugh. Nothing. They just served as coffee and went about their business. They also tried and failed to teach me how to play African Mancala. I only ended up learning from a mute on the beach.

We then went to the beach, and a beach it was. Perfect. White. Empty. We were the only guests at our lodge. Period. We had our own bungalow looking out. The moon was up, tide was in, stars out. Perfect. Oh, right, and then Mark proposed. 

We went scuba diving the next day, Mark’s first (and yes, that is the details I am sharing on my blog).  He did swimmingly (heee heee). Besides the fact that he ran out of air chasing after sea turtles. After the second dive, I jumped out of the boat to swim, and in the water, saw a pod of dolphins swimming by just a little ways away. Only in Zanzibar, I swear….

  And really, so much of Zanzibar can only be described in pictures and video. With that, I give you YouTube.

 
  Zanzibar - Stonetown

   
MY HOME IS IN THE DELTA
 

 The Okavango Delta. What can I say? The prominent characteristic of this journey is that is happened with four ladies, and when traveling with ladies, anything can happen. Never underestimate the power of people wanting to help ladies out. We either remind them of their daughters or their sisters….or something else. Four mzungu girls are often surrounded with a kind of magic. 

Venturing into Botswana with the ladies

 I embarked on this journey the first week of May. My roommate Casey and her two friends from New York were my companions. We bused and hitched down to Maun to an infamous bar/camp called The Bridge. Of course, part of our ‘bus’ was a guy who offered to take us for about a third of the real price down three hours to the halfway point in his car. Oh, The Bridge. Lonely Planet describes The Bridge like this:

              

Hanging at The Bridge, defending Obama

‘The Bridge,’ as it’s known, has a great bar-at-the-end-of-the-world kind of vibe. Bush pilots and backpackers chat each other up, dogs play with kids and regular cast of drunks keeps the bar propped up.

I am not always a fan of Lonely Planet, but I don’t think I could ever have thought up a more accurate description. The first night, I was immediately transported back to Burlington on the notes of The Grateful Dead, The Band, Zeppelin, and Hendrix. I can tell you, my oh-so-hip NYC companions learned some things about me. The place was great. It was the kind of place that people get stuck, and we certainly found some stuck ones. I swear, one them went on tour with The Dead. We stayed in tents on the delta waters, and drank REAL French press coffee.

 We then embarked on a two night three day trip into the delta, traveling by speed boat and mokoro. We camped in tents in Moremi National Park, went swimming in waters deemed ‘safe from crocs and hippos,’ and went on some relaxing game walks. All in all, we had a pretty relaxing three days. We of course had no idea that we had actually just survived the Danger Tour of the Okavango Delta.

Swimming in 'safe' waters

Game walk number 1 (not the one with the lions lurking)

Mokoro boats, a generally good way to get around the Delta

I mean, I think we began to have suspicions on the game walk. My time in Chobe was spent confined to a vehicle. In Moremi, we got out of the boat and followed an unarmed barefoot Botswanian into the bush. His only words were ‘Be silent. Walk single file, and whatever you do, don’t run unless I tell you to.’ Comforting. We walked through grass up to our heads and didn’t see anything. We did, however, cross leopard prints, lion prints, and elephant prints. I commented to the guide that we couldn’t see anything because the grass was so high. His response was ‘They are there. They can see you.’ Again, comforting. You know that scene of lions stalking through the grass that we all have ingrained in us? I was there; I just couldn’t see the lions. We only found the true absurdity of this when my roommate Casey went on another safari in South Luangwa, and was told by her guide that was absolutely crazy to go unarmed with 7 people and no one to bring up the rear. I sure as hell avoided the back. 

The ladies with out trusted guide, C-Company. Yes, that's his name.

 While her guide was concerned about the game walk, he was absolutely horrified by something else. We went swimming, in a place our guide deemed ‘safe.’  However the Okavango is the biggest delta on the African continent, and teeming with hippos and crocs.  Apparently, there is NO safe place to swim. Even through where we went was open and shallow; it was surrounded by reeds, which are where the crocs live. Hippos wouldn’t bother us, but crocs can swim faster than a human can run (especially in water) and are just plain vicious. He told Casey a story about his friend who had been to the Okavango that gave me chills. She had been told it was safe to swim and didn’t believe him. She said that he could go in first to show her. So he did. And got attacked and killed by a croc immediately. I am telling you, danger tour.

Tori and Katy failing at getting us a lift

 After a night drinking combined starlight boating with the stuck backpackers and bush pilots at The Bridge, we headed back to Lusaka. Or tried, at least. We got half way there before being stranded at a town in the middle of nowhere, Botswana. Hours of hitching got us nowhere, and there were no hotel rooms available in the tiny town. We prepared to hunker down outside the 24 hour filling station (as at this point all the attendants knew us), when I essentially pleaded with some guy driving a truck for the Ministry of Transport. After a phone call to his boss that told him that he couldn’t take us, he told us to hop into the back anyway. If stopped, we were ‘lost in the bush and stranded on the side of the road.’ Yes, lost in the miles and miles of bush with the elephants, and survived looking good. Very plausible, but whatever. We spent the last portion of our journey on an epic ride in the back of the truck, passing herds of elephants on the road as we went. Oh, Africa, how fitting.

Almost home, and happy to be heading there at all