Slowly, Slowly

"Pole, pole," (Spanish pronunciation) it means, "slowly, slowly," and is my favorite theme here in Zanzibar, advice given prudently so as to come across like thundering wisdom. Its amazing how often it fits. The hustle bustle etched into my character is struggling to cope. It actually hurts me to slow down, but I can do it, I need to.

After some ups and downs in the world of haggling for cell phones and motor bikes, some very favorable characters and some not so favorable ones, I have a cell phone and I have returned a really fun dirt bike unscathed (I had never ridden one before) after zipping around for three days and paying more than I should have in spite of my best efforts. Never the less, I got to explore some dirt paths off the main road and enjoyed myself thoroughly. Those who know me well understand my desire to explore unassuming dirt paths to no where in particular. Often times it can lead to somewhere spectacular. To give a laundry list, I found two sacred caves to explore, a coral brick mine, a sea turtle conservatory which might also double as a sea turtle prison, some nice fishing posts, lots of resorts, and a giantly massive Baobab tree.

I have been staying at a beautiful old dump of a resort right on the beach, the Dere Beach Resort, for the past week. My room opens directly to the sea. Nestled in the quiet village of Bwejuu, an amazing ad hock town of coral bricks, cows, and sandy soccer fields, Dere is the first hotel on the East coast of Zanzibar (there are now dozens) even though it is only 20 years old. It has since gone into a bit of disrepair and I found myself the only tourist renting a room. Many locals and migrant laborers following the summer tourist industry like the Masai also rent rooms but for about a tenth the price I do even though I was able to bargain for a decent rate. I was assured after some investigation that the local rooms are not near as nice as mine. I chuckled inside hearing this. The porch to my room was being finished while I stayed with the money I offered for rent. It had everything I needed but wasn't quite, well appointed. My first night I had a surprising discovery of stinky pillows. The beds, there are two of them in case I brought a lover, were just too short for my 6' 1" frame and some sort of sea mold was growing happily on the screen windows. I didnt mind the quirks as it offered more of a cultural experience than I might have found in more legitimate situations. Indeed, I began to be accepted by the local community as a friend and not just a tourist bank account.

Bwejuu, like the other sleepy coastal towns, seems to be in both a state of disrepair and development. The foundations for houses lay finished, waiting for more funds to finish the walls and roof. Some have had to wait too long and are now large planters for weeds or municipal waste disposal sites. The construction techniques fascinate me. White coral blocks the color of the sand are mined inland and cemented together to form beautiful white walls the texture of pumice. Few walls are ever plastered over as cement is a more expensive material. Sometimes sticks are interwoven with the bricks. The roofs are framed with appropriate sized tree trunks, unmilled, and covered with woven coconut palm leaves tied down with coconut husk rope. This type of roof needs to be rethatched every five to ten years. If you are rich you can sport a corugated metal roof that will last considerably longer than the palm leaves but is louder than a riot in the rain and turns your house into an oven when it is sunny out.

The culinary delights here are exquisite. When the sun finally goes down and it is time to break the day's fast the food vendors wheel their carts out with advanced LED desk lamps or rustic tin can oil candles and cook up a storm. My absolute favorite is the tuna skewer caught fresh that day and seasoned just enough to give it some tang, $1. Other masterpieces include freshly squeezed sugar cane juice with lime, 30 cents per cup, and tangawezi or sweet hot ginger tea, 10 cents per cup. There are plenty of bread rolls, banana varieties, coconuts, and dates for me to indulge myself in secret during the day.

My swim with the fishies fantacies havent panned out quite like I expected, but, I have had some success. My main qualm is not being able to swim out to the pretty coral and marine life right off the beach like I had hoped. Instead one must hire a boat to take you to the right place but this requires money and planning and other people. I did it in Mombassa and it was nice so I guess Ill give it a try here. At low tide one can walk pretty far out and swim to some spectacularly mediocre aquatic life or hire a bike and some fins for $7 to ride down the beach to the crazy Italian Mega Resort where there is a nice lagoon not far out and offer the security $5 to not steal the bike and my backpack.

The Italians really swamp this place. So much so the young Masai men who travel here every summer to sell their goods to the happy beach going tourists can now speak fluent Italian to compliment their English and Swahili. The other night I was invited to join them in a traditional dance to impress the rich Italians. Apparently they didnt care that I am not in the slightest a Masai and I accepted eagerly as I secretly fantacized about jumping high like the people I saw on the Discovery channel when I was a kid. I joined them and did a terrible job of matching their bounds and pulled a muscle in my back real bad in the process which I am now recovering from. It is fun hanging out with the Masai, Bwejuu is a small town and we bump into each other often. They all wear their sexy Masai garb with knife, club, beeds and long hair complimented by designer glasses and cell phones I am envious of.

Does anyone want to kick down $400 so I can go on a four day scuba session? I have already been overspending nicely and cant bring myself to dip too deep into my savings. No? Thats ok. Ill find the fish yet.

Today I travel to a new corner of the island where the map shows the reef's end coming right next to the beach (fishies and coral please) and the young backpackers are said to be rowdy. I havent had a drink in a while (remember the Ramadan thing) so this might be nice.