Comoros Is.

Some people seem to think that the life of a traveller is one of blissful happiness and unfettered by the troubles of life.

Whilst this can be the case for periods of time, it is not always so. The two days it took me to get from Zanzibar to Madagascar via Comoros Is. was to remind me of this, and test my abilities of talking / figuring my way out of a mess only partially of my creation, a small part.

The first bump, so to speak, came in the form on an unconventional landing in Dar es Salaam, the first touch down was hard, REALLY hard, and we bounced back up with a substantial hop. Hard to guess but I would estimate we came up at least 10 metres, and travelled at least a couple of hundred metres before the next touch. At this point we were back under full power and the second touch was another bounce, gentler this time, and we were taking ourselves back to the skies for a go around. In a couple of hundred flights in my life this was a first for me.

The lady next to me was suddenly a bit nervous, so I talked to her to keep her calm. My reasoning was that whatever had gone awry on the first landing attempt, the pilot had made the decision to abort the landing, and with only a second gentle touch was back in control and taking us up. Anyone who can recover from an 'oh shit' moment that quickly probably knows their stuff. If on the other hand we had skittered and wobbled along the runway before lumbering back into the sky, I too may not have been so casual about it.

It turned out, news courtesy of my new friend, that there was a large group traveling together, possibly over a third of the people on that flight, and a good number of them were commercial pilots. There was a bit of banter between a few of these guys, I think discussing who should take the stick for the next turn.

The second landing was quite smooth, and was applauded by all aboard. And the pilot came on to the PA to apologise for the first attempt with a claim that there was an obstruction on the runway. I suspect this is just a standard line for such circumstances, particularly when one of the passenger pilots called out "yeah, did you see that elephant?". 

After a short layover I was on my way to Comoros Is. And upon my arrival was my first real drama of the trip.

Here the issue wasn't to do with not having a flight out of the country, but rather not having accommodation booked for the night. I generally don't book in advance, unless arriving at night time, rather I prefer to have a look for myself and confirm the room quality / negotiate the price. Never had this been an issue at immigration before, but here I couldn't enter the country unless they knew where I was going to stay.

There was a local guy from a hotel holding up a placard a few metres away, waiting to collect a passenger, and so he was drafted into taking care of me as well, I now had an address for the visa application. This then cost me a hefty fee for one day, it would have cost 30€, if I'd had any euro, but an inequivalent fee was $50US.

As I left the airport I was quickly realising that all was not as it seemed with my driver, for he had given away his placard to a compatriot next to him, did not have another passenger, and was taking me to an obviously private vehicle as it was a fairly beat up old hatch back. With my alert levels rising, they spiked my defenses further when after a 20 minute drive with a wanna-be rally driver, we pulled into a hotel that was not the one listed on my entry form.

I was tempted to walk off at this stage and find my own accommodation, however at this stage I did not have any local currency to pay the driver. My initial expectation was, that on arrival at the hotel that I had assumed he worked for, that the airport transfer fee could simply be added to my bill. The second difficulty with going my own way was that I had by this stage come to the realisation that I had almost zero common language with which to negotiate, nor was I in a 'hotel area' there was no sign outside of a possible plan B. My french language ability consists of yes, no, please, thank you, hello, goodbye, and I can count to 10. Useful words, yes, helpful in my current predicament, not even slightly.

So I went to have a look at the room, and for 35€ it was a bit more than my usual travel digs, but was nice and clean, had a large bed, plenty of space and hot water, and it was only for one night.

Now to sort out the driver, I had no local currency, nor the preferred euro, and the US dollars I had were considered with scorn and rejected. The driver, thinking he had me cornered, and that being a solo traveller would be an easy mark, set his price at 50€, half again the price of the room.

" No chance, I'm not paying that I said, I offered $20US, which was derided as a useless currency with a bad exchange rate. He had come down to 30€ which I had still not agreed to, when he claimed he needed to return to the airport. On his return he would collect me, take me to the atm to get local currency with which I could pay him.

Not long after he left and I was out the door, finding a pharmacist, I managed with a little difficulty to explain my need and soon had directions and a sketch map. I also had the answer I needed, how much a taxi should have cost me.

I found the banks, got some money, and confirmed with the security guard again how much I should have paid.

As I was walking back to my hotel the driver pulled up next to me. At this stage his view of me being a helpless tourist must have been crumbling. I offered him 5000 comoros francs (about $14), and said I'd been told this was the appropriate fee. He tried to argue, so I reached through his window, tucked the money into his shirt breast pocket, said "that's it, it's all you are getting" and walked off. Much to my surprise, he must have came to the realisation that it was as good as he was going to get, and didn't pursue the matter further. It was less than I'd previously offered, but I had no regard for someone so blatantly trying to rip me off.

As I was walking around I'd started to notice the condition of the cars was directly related to the standard of driving. Over the day and a bit I was there I did not see a single car without a dent or scrape, most had many. Their impatient manner of driving and pushing ahead in the queue would have make a veteran of Bankok traffic impressed. Except that the roads were also rubbish, and the driver manner just brought traffic repeatedly to a standstill. At one point I saw a stalled taxi blocking half the cars on the road, and just as I got alongside the passenger jumped out to push start the car, up a slight hill, so I jumped into the road to lend a shoulder and the taxi was soon rumbling again, and coughing and belching smoke, but now moving uphill under its own power. I didn't need to understand french to understand the passengers comment of appreciation and smile as he hopped back in the taxi before it left without him. The universe may have been playing funny buggers with me, but that's no reason not to help a fellow in need.

On my return to my hotel I was slightly startled to notice it was not fully built. At ground level it was finished, and on the inside up to the third floor where my room was located, was also completed, so I hadn't previously noticed, it was however lacking in a proper roof, and for that matter windows on much of the rest of the third floor. The photo below shows both the unfinished hotel and a typical view of the traffic, cars everywhere and nobody able to move.

I'd found myself a nice local cafe for dinner, and returned the next morning for breakfast. I tried to go for a stroll along the waterfront located only a block away at the bottom of the hill, but it wasn't much of a view, and if Comoros had an area suited to tourists to wander around, this wasn't it. I was walking past houses and businesses and came across a wrecking yard. After my description of the cars on the road, you can imagine the state of the ones that were no longer mobile. I doubt I have ever seen a sorrier collection of immobilised steel and rubber.

After an early lunch I returned to my hotel to find the compatriot of the previous days driver (the one he gave his placard to at the airport) waiting to take me back to the airport. I had, before I'd picked up on how dodgy the situation was, explained when I was flying out again. He was however an hour early, and I refused his services, planning to support a local taxi driver.

About half an hour later, since I was all packed and ready, and not sure entirely how long it would take a taxi to get to the airport with the traffic snarls below, I figured I'd set off. The hotel guy came outside with me to help explain where I was going, since I couldn't speak french, and the taxi guys were bound to have almost zero english. The first taxi flagged down however was full, the only available space being in the back of the station wagon, suitable for the bag perhaps, but there was no way I was squeezing my size into the back seat with the three guys already there.

First I should explain how a Comoron taxi works, the basic fee is 500 francs (~ $1.50), no matter where you are going, but that doesn't give you control over the taxi as it would in most other places, the driver will pick up and drop off people along the way and each would pay a cheap fare. It was a very cheap option, but not necessarily direct, and certainly not quick.

The next taxi that stopped was empty, and after a quick chat, my hotel guy indicated that I could hire the taxi and he would take me directly to the airport for 4000 francs. I had plenty of francs, it was cheaper than what I'd paid the day before, and I didn't trust that the constant stopping and having as many people as possible squeezed in with me would be either a pleasant journey, and maybe not in time for my flight. Along the way the driver wanted to stop to buy smokes, but I told him I would prefer he didn't smoke with me in the car, so we returned to dodging potholes.

At one point on the way to the airport there was a long straight section of road, and all the cars were weaving left and right to avoid potholes. It looked just like race cars trying to get heat into their tyres on a warm up lap.

Comoros Is. is volcanic, and there was evidence of relatively recent (within say 10-15 years) lava flow. 

Wikipedia confirms this for me ... Karthala is currently one of the most active volcanoes in the world, with a minor eruption in May 2006, and prior eruptions as recently as April 2005 and 1991. In the 2005 eruption, which lasted from 17 to 19 April, 40,000 citizens were evacuated, and the crater lake in the volcano's caldera was destroyed.

There was a mining operation on a stretch of lava flow, I wasn't aware of lava being mineral rich so I asked what they were mining, however neither my french nor his english were capable of the translation, so I never got the answer. I think they just used it as a source of rock for road works, and possibly building. Wikipedia couldn't help me here, but did inform me that Comoros is the world's largest producer of Ylang-Ylang (approx 30% of this island nation's annual export).

I arrived at the airport, expecting to be very early, to find that my 17:05 direct flight with Air Madagascar to Antananarivo was no longer direct, but with an extra stop along the way and was departing at 15:15, almost 2 hours early.

Lucky then, that I prefer to get to airports earlier than necessary, as it was already 14:40, and that they were as I was soon to discover an airline reliable only for being slow and unreliable, they were still checking in passengers.

It was only after I received a printout of my itinerary and boarding passes at the check in desk that I understood this situation, and with only of the name of the airport listed, I had no idea where the stopover was.

Whilst waiting for my flight I spotted this ingenious home made rough terrain capable wheelchair, and found it amusing enough for a photo.

It was therefore somewhat disconcerting when I got off the plane to not actually know which country I was in. As I was flying from one island to another, the options were limited, and a flag over the roof of the airport confirmed that I had indeed arrived somewhere ....

....  in Madagascar

Stonetown

The major city on Zanzibar Is. is officially called Zanzibar Town, but the original 'old part of town' is known as Stonetown.

It is an interesting blend of cultures, with the major influences being African, Arabian, Indian particularly related to trading in spices and slaves, and to a lesser extent colonial aspiring Europeans.

Stonetown is a relatively small area, probably not much more than a square kilometer, but it is incredibly diverse. Some places are falling apart, and in fact some have been abandoned, but only the really bad ones. Many places have been maintained and restored, but for much of the area the people are too poor to try and repair, refurbish or even paint the buildings.

The narrow streets twist and turn constantly and there are very few straight lines. This is generally a sign of being built to withstand attack and invasion, as you can't get a charge going in the tight narrow streets, and counter attacks can be launched at every twist and side street. The doors also are mostly furnished with studs or spikes. It is said this is to prevent elephants from pushing them in, if there were ever elephants there, however the spikes would be an equal deterrent from people trying to shoulder the door open.

(photo credits - All photos in this post were taken by Annette Steward)

Looking at the size and ornate design of some of the spikes, it could be said that the owners may have been the sort of men who in more modern times resort to buying convertible sports cars in their 40's.

In addition to the brasswork, the doors and surrounding frames are very intricately carved, and some of the patterns tell a story of the resident family. I won't try and explain what the carvings mean as I will definitely get it wrong, the only detail I remember for certain is that beds carved with flowers are for girls, and for boys the decoration is a peacock.

I was informed that the area contained 3 christian churches, one of which is a large Anglican church built on the site of the former slave market in the years immediately after the trade was abolished. There are also 2 hindu temples, and 52 mosques, so not hard to guess the majority choice. Nor is it hard to miss the 4:30am call to prayer, as many of the mosques have loud speakers in the top of the minaret towers, through which really bad singing is broadcast at maximum amplitude and distortion, and focussed outwards. I'm sure it sounds much more pleasant inside the mosque, and only the infidels who aren't partaking in the prayer service get the maximum torture effect. Otherwise they must have a very strong masochist streak. Fortunately I am accustomed to such early calls to duty. And the simple fact I didn't have to get up and do 12 hours work was enough to be satisfied and roll over to go back to sleep.

The Anglican church built on site of former slave market. Memorial to slavery in foreground.

As a group we were in Stonetown for 3 nights before the wedding, and as we were 22 by this stage we were split between a couple of locations. It was generally best to explore in small groups, although I often chose to go roaming solo, even if just to explore while others were inside the shops. I had forgotten how much of an advantage it is in such places to be built like a yeti, as I tend not to get harassed too much by the stall owners. Also the fact that I never bought anything, and was therefore never carrying merchandise targeting me as a customer. On the second evening Kelly and Agnieszka had gone off to make a booking for the hen's night dinner, but returned a while later to request my presence. As they tried to navigate their way through the twists and turns of the streets they were frequently being crowded and / or followed by people with offers of help, but most likely not directly to the place they actually wanted to go. A pet yeti can be a handy thing to have.

The three days in Stonetown went by in a blur as there was much to do, in fact we had a pre-planned itinerary to keep the masses entertained. The first day we split up into two groups, scuba divers and those of the non-aquatic persuasion who still took to the water in small wooden dhows to go to a tortoise sanctuary on an island formerly used as a prison.

The day finished in typical African style with sundowners to accompany the ... er ... sun going down. It really is an event worth raising a glass, or can, or bottle to. A more important event to raise a glass for, we were also toasting the 5 yr (wedding) anniversary of Pat and Sheonagh (they've been together something like 13 years - please correct me if I am wrong ladies).

The second day was a morning stroll, or for some a 3 hour tour, stories of which is where I got my details about the carvings etc. The afternoon was again segregated, but this time the discrimination was by gender. The ladies went to a day spa for massages, henna painting etc, and then finished the evening at the most extravagant restaurant in town. A 5 course meal, each course was 3 dishes to sample from, so it was essentially a 15 dish banquet, and from all reports of excellent quality. I had a night in Stonetown again at the end of my stay in Zanzibar and was looking forward to enjoying the Emerson Spice experience for myself, however they were closed monday nights, so I never had the opportunity.

Meanwhile the guys had again returned to the ocean, we loaded up the esky with what at the time seemed to be plentiful stocks, and set off for a sand bar. When we got there it was crowded with italians so we went snorkelling first, and when we returned an hour later the ocean had all but claimed the spit of sand. However not yielding so easily the sandbar never quite disappeared below the high tide and we soon had our own private island, and it was growing larger by the minute. By the time we were returning to shore we discovered that the esky was empty ... or ... maybe that was why we were returning. After cleaning our selves up to look, but not necessarily behave, respectable, we were off for curry.

The following day was the wedding day (which I will cover in another post), and a number of people had already set off to the location to prepare. Meanwhile I was spending the morning with the groom, not with wedding stuff in mind, but locating the offices of that delightful group of people from Precision Air. I was again doing the pet yeti trick to make sure we weren't troubled as we negotiated some of the less affluent areas of town. Once we had arrived, we quickly confirmed that yes they had indeed cancelled everybody's flights, and it took almost an hour of negotiating to get them reinstated.

Finally we were back to our respective accommodations to pack and muster the rest of the troops. But not so fast, Rupert had taken the time to double check all the flight details, and in the re-instatement, everyone was now on the same flight. Unfortunately to return to Australia in time for another wedding that weekend, Agnieszka and Matt were leaving the day before everyone else, and so back to Precision Air we went. Maybe having something to occupy the mind is a good thing on the day of your wedding, but having to negotiate flights for 8 people when it is entirely unnecessary that this should be required, is probably not the best of choices.

We were finally off to the village of Bububu, or more accurately the Imani Beach Hotel for what was a long anticipated event ......

... The Wedding of Rupert and Kelly

This day was a long time coming. It had been announced a year in advance that it would be held in Zanzibar, and that alone was cause for anticipation of the big day. But there was more too it then that. In late 2010, after the completion of 18 months traveling through the Americas (yes plural, south, central and north), while Rupert was in the UK he collected the ring, which had belonged to his grandmother. In February 2011 whilst he was visiting me Rupert confided to me that he had the ring, my only advice was to get on with it. I never queried Rupert after that, as I knew that he would only be a man of action when people stopped asked him when he was going to do it, so I just waited for the news, and waited, and waited. If my memory serves correctly, it was sometime around mid August, I received a three word text message "She said yes!" (approx 10 months he'd held on to the ring).

It was a month or three later that the announcement came that the wedding would be in Africa. As the families involved were gathering from Australia and England, as were many of the friends, others still from around the globe, Africa was to be the somewhat central meeting point, and would combine to be a two week wedding adventure. I had not at that time decided I would depart my days of employment, but my response was instantaneous, I would be there.

I won't go into a blow by blow description of the ceremony, but to set the standard, the dress code had only one condition, everybody was to be barefoot. That is not to say it was an affair fit for hippies or gypsys. I beleive it is probably the most respectable I have ever seen Rupert (though he could have had a shave), and Kelly looked more stunning than words can manage to describe, so instead, here is a picture ...

Official duties for the day were as follows:

Bride: Kelly Brennan & Groom: Rupert Kaye

No photo by request

Bridesmaid: Agnieszka Szremska

Best Man: Nigel Denton

(The one on the right) 

- photo Matthew O'Reilly

Sorry Nige, didn't get a photo of you on the day.
Folks, a more respectable picture of this fine upstanding gent, he is on the far left of the group picture at the bottom of this post.

Photographer: Narelle Fisher

Hair stylist: Annette Steward (with some assistance from three cans of hair spray)

Giving away of the bride: Lorraine and Steven Brennan

The day was fantastic, the conditions perfect, and the company of guests was a fantastic crowd. The Imani Beach Hotel also did a sterling job particularly as this was the first wedding they'd ever hosted, and the first time they'd served a single group so big. 

Zanzibar

With the wedding done there was only a couple more days before the crowd would disperse back to their various countries. There were however a few more planned activities, starting the day after the wedding with most people returning to Stonetown to finish their shopping in the markets.

Narelle in particular had found a local artist whose work was quite different from what was on display nearly anywhere else. I say nearly because others had started to try and copy the style, but with nothing like the same degree of finesse, or originality, they were merely poor copies of paintings this guy had already done.

I turned out to be quite useful in the cushion cover shop, who needs a step ladder with me around?

The following day, our last day together, we set out to do a spice tour. 

I was rather surprised about some of the spices, some came from trees, others grasses, bulbs and tubers, but not always from what you'd expect.

Nutmeg - photo Annette Steward

Nutmeg for example was of a size and shape to an apricot, but it wasn't the flesh of the fruit that was used, but the hard seed in the middle, that and the weird red stuff that seemed to wrap the seed like a christmas decoration.

The tour was followed by a fantastic lunch made of produce grown on the farm, and it was quite a feast. There are still productive commercial spice farms on Zanzibar that export their produce, but where we went was a small collection of demonstration farms where they grow a few of everything, for the purpose of hosting tours, and enough to support the local villages.

Rupert and Kelly looked like they were going to have an instant family at one point, when a local child seemed to pick them out for a bit of play time.

That afternoon was then spent exploring the Jozani forest, one of only a few areas on Zanzibar with native vegetation in a large area. It was not however a truly natural forest, but rather a former (timber) plantation area allowed to regrow unmolested. There was a noticeable difference to a true (undisturbed) forest, as there was a much reduced diversity in both plants and animals, of particular mote there were almost no birds at all. No doubt the trees favoured for their timber are not so prolific in the seeds and fruits necessary to attract and feed a large number or broad range of critters. Hopefully over time it will continue to return to a truly native forest, and more animals will return, if they are still surviving to do so.

The main forest resident of noteand the one most people go to see, is the endemic to Zanzibar, Red Colobus Monkey. They were quiet (for a monkey at least) and graceful, for the most part, as the clambered through the trees. One little fellow in particular caught my attention as he left mum behind and went scampering from tree to tree off into the distance.

That night we had our last supper, it had been a great two weeks together. A normal wedding (if such a thing exists) provides an afternoon or at best a day for everyone to catch up in what is often a bit of a frenzy for the bride and groom, (depending on the size of wedding party I guess). For this event however everyone had plenty of time to catch up with old aquaintances and make new friends. Despite this, it still seemed far too short. Possibly because my previous travels with Rupert had lasted from 6 weeks to 4 and a half months. With most people leaving the morning of farewells was a little sad.

The wedding band

Of those remaining, Kerry and Chris were heading to the south east coast, an area I didn't manage to get to. Alja and Bas were heading to the northern tip of the island, and I was setting off with Pat and Sheonagh to Matemwe on the north east coast. 

Just as we got up to leave however Sheonagh took a slight tumble on the stairs and twisted her ankle. A painful experience for anyone, but of even more concern for Sheonagh, as out of everyone she had the most planned in the coming weeks. First stop was to a diving location to complete her open water certificate, and then back to the mainland to climb Mt Meru (Kilimanjaro's slightly smaller companion)

Ice, ointments and strapping tape later, and we hobbled our way up the hill to the main road. It was an interesting and very crowded 1.5 hr ride in the local daladala to get to Matemwe. In an attempt to prevent her ankle being knocked or bumped, and prevent swelling by keeping it elevated, Sheonagh sat opposite me and had her foot up on my knees. 

For anyone who has every travelled by cheap local transport anywhere in the developing world, the standard is the same anywhere, there is always room for at least one more. The africans, who naturally have a fairly sizeable derriere, seemed to think that if they could see 10cm of seat available, then 40+cm of their arse would definitely fit. At maximum count in an area approximately 2m wide and a little over 3 m long, we got to 19 people seated, 2 crouching in the middle, 5 hanging off the back and at least 2 up in the cab of the truck with the driver.

While Sheo was checking out her diving course I went to explore the accommodation options, and decided that the large open deck and bar area at Keys Bungalows made it better for accommodation, the recommendation of food at Mohammads Bungalows was a good one and in this tiny little beach hut restaurant they make the world's best fish curry. It was awesome, and if I ever find a better one, I'm going to have to marry the chef.

I spent about 4 days in Matemwe, including a day of snorkelling on the nearby Mnemba Atoll. Which while officially having an area of the atoll protected, actually isn't protected at all, and the status is merely for the procurement of access fees to divers and snorkellers, who have to pay whether they go to the protected area or not. The fishermen are not restricted or prevented from fishing in the protected areas. It was an interesting place, but I was happy to just spend some time snorkelling. As I can free dive to more than 10 metres, including holding my breath for well over a minute, I was able to get down close to the level the divers were at and for a fraction of the price saw at least 80% of what they saw.

The fish market was immediately next door to our bungalows, and they would come to the fence and try to sell us stuff. It was sad to see some of what they caught, and this was proof of the lack of protection at the atoll. One day a guy was selling spotted sting rays, they were the size of a saucer for putting a tea cup on, they should be able to grow to 50 - 80 cm across, not 8.

Leaving Matemwe, I got a lift to Kendwa with an israeli couple who had stayed at Keys for a couple of days. It was about 1.5km from the road turn off to the beach village, so by the time I got there I didn't spend to much time checking out accommodation options. Which I would soon regret, choosing the place with the worst power and water supply in the area. Zanzibar can't generate enough power to supply everyone all the time, so everyone on the island loses their power for an hour once or twice a day, the time changes depending on the region as the blackouts are shifted around the country. Without power, the place I stayed at had no water pressure, and my 'shower' to wash off the salt and sweat from a day at the beach was a trickle from a tap 30cm from the floor. The first night I could forgive this as no one had power (for 5 hours), but the second night this happened, every single building on the beach had power except the one I was staying in.

I knew Alja and Bas were in the area, and went for a walk as soon as I arrived to see if I could find them. After walking the length of the beach I decided to go find somewhere for lunch, and as I was approaching the place I wanted to eat at, I heard my name called from the very building I was approaching. Alja and Bas had chosen the restaurant for the same reason as I had, there was a beach volleyball competition going on right next to it, and more entertaining than watching fat italians sunbaking.

Yet the entertainment value of the volleyball was not enough to draw our attention away from a group of boys doing random gymnastics exercises in front of us. 

At a guess they ranged from about 12 - 18 years old, it was obviously a group who were training with a coach, and gradually progressed to more and more difficult tricks. The first picture was after they'd progressed to a more difficult set up, and the coach went first to make sure it was stable enough for the boys.

They started with flips on the bare sand, to hand stands on a coffee table.Then a chair on the coffee table, then a second chair at an angle on top of the first one.

Finally balancing on the legs of a stool on an upside down chair, stacked on an upright chair on the coffee table, these kids were doing hand stands and the splits etc., it was very impressive. Unfortunately I didn't have a good camera, so the following photos taken from my phone was the best I could do. The guy in the last picture just turned up, did this one amazing single hand stand and then left.

My final couple of days on Zanzibar involved some more time wandering around Stonetown and a couple of days at Uroa on the central east coast. I was there to catch up with Annika, the friend I met whilst sitting around Dar airport at the start of my trip, along with a friend from the course visit to Arusha. Ironically whilst Annika was a doctor from Adelaide, she didn't know Kelly, but her friend Tracey a nurse at Ballina Hospital had heard of Dr Kelly Brennan from her visits to the local nursing home. A small world indeed. I returned to Stonetown with them both to again play my part as the pet scary giant, and I also needed to be back in town for an early flight the following day.

Finding the accommodation I'd seen online turned out to be a mission, even in the right area, the locals didn't know of the place. When I finally got there, with 3 equally lost locals leading me now, the sign with the lodges name, was visible only after going inside, passing through 3 doors and climbing a flight of stairs. No wonder nobody knows about it. Yet after arriving, I found they were full, it seems some people knew they were there. They then led me to another place owned by the same person, where they send their overflow I guess. The last place may have been full, but I was the only overflow. Before leaving I did a lap of the block to get my bearings and make sure I could find my way back unassisted.

A bit later, showing Annika and Tracey on a map where I was staying, I noticed that I was surrounded, closely by no fewer than 6 mosques. Sleeping in and missing my flight was not going to be a concern. I had gotten excited about the chance to enjoy the culinary experience that was Emerson Spice (where Kelly had her hens night dinner) only to find out that they were closed on mondays. We enjoyed sundowners watching the sun set over the beach, and I was almost hit by a fast moving soccer ball. The beach game below us had launched a stray ball which bounced of the post barely 20cm from my head, startling the hell out of me, but without shaking the table or spilling our drinks at all. And we did manage to find a suitable dinner option at a rooftop restaurant. After which I escorted the ladies to the pre-arranged transport, and then walked through many a darkened street across most of Stonetown back to my accommodation. My sense of direction and ability to navigate a maze in the dark did not fail me and I managed to find my bed in no time at all.

Having a drink to the setting of the sun,

An early start in the morning to walk down to the markets and find a passing cab. On the way I came across a guy just wiping his cab windows in the street next to where I stayed, and he was more than happy for a fare turning up just as he was starting his day.