Zanzibar Part II - Kendwa

And now for Kendwa: beachside paradise, coconut wood bungalows on the sand, too many hammocks to inhabit, beds and lounge chairs on the beach overlooking the ocean. The water is as blue as a Scandinavian's eyes, with a sky to match. It is a tropical paradise, and although I always seem to think that I'm going to write and read at the beach, I never seem to accomplish it. Vegging just seems MUCH more appealing. Or reading. Or swimming. Or chatting. It's the rainy season in Zanzibar now, so there were a few sprinkles here and there, but the clouds were often a welcome respite from the blazing sun, the sea cool enough to momentarily annihilate the sweat from your cleavage with just an ankle-grazing plunge, and if neither of those sufficiently cooled you, there were beds and boats-turned-beds under shaded thatched umbrellas. Our days were lazy and decadent; sleep-ins, breakfast, lounging, maybe a walk or a sunset cruise or a midnight swim to a wooden dhow (Tanzanian boat), drinking too early, seafood dinners and curries on African beach time (even slower than African city time), making headway on books (if you're lucky), and the like. At night we would often de-robe on the shadowy beach, impulsive and full of adrenaline, and run naked into the soft water of the Indian Ocean. I think of all that ocean has affected and witnessed, how it connects to another continent near and dear to my heart (Asia), how it allowed for both the passage and exploration of many a traveller eastward (starting with Vasco De Gama back in the day) and a simultaneous influx westward (from India and the Middle East), it's an area and an ocean that has been though a lot. Plus, who can ever tire of clear, turquoise waters and white sand beaches? Whoever claims to be "over" paradise clearly hasn't been to beaches in Mozambique or Zanzibar...

if only it weren't quite so true...

http://stuffexpataidworkerslike.com/

Zanzibar Part I - Stonetown

A traditional Zanzibar door. Apparently the spikes on it came from the Indians who would adorn doors with them to keep elephants at bay.

Travel and the beach make many things whirlwind out of control; keeping up with blogposts is one of them. Oh, poor beach traveler, I know, I know, but as much as I ridicule bloggers, I find myself strangely attached to maintaining my blog up-to-date, pertinent, and hopefully moderately thoughtful (I mean, I could be filling you in on some of our wild-and-crazy nights of dancing and debauchery, but I'll save those for recounting in person).

From May 1st until the 8th I voyaged with five fellow travellers to Zanzibar, off the coast of Tanzania. Arriving in Stonetown by ferry (instead of taking the short flight from Dar Es Salaam) was a brilliant decision - we were able to get a snapshot of the multitude of types of people making the trip to the renowned island, as well as able to take in the spectacular scenery, building caught between dilapidation and renovated modernity. Colonial influence and architecture inspired by Muslim, Indian, British and Zanzibari influences shaped it into a town unlike any other I've seen. Winding alleyways only several shoulder-spans wide open up onto small squares where men in fez-like hats sip hyper-caffeinated coffee (ask Jamie, he has a good story about that one...) and lounge shoeless, feet greyed by age and wearing open-toed shoes for too many years. Simultaneously, women in headscarves make chapati-like crepes or roast corn at the intersections of these alleyways, sometimes pausing to sit, to chat, or to observe these comparatively scantily-clad tourists. People zoom by on motorbikes (Vietnam-style) and regular bikes and I found myself pressed up against stone walls a number of times if not fearing for my life, then at least fearing for my toes. We got lost in the streets wandering and exploring. We hit up Forodani Gardens both nights, right on the water, alight all bright and fraylach (as Viv would say) and dined on cheap fish and seafood skewers from the ocean which we overlooked. Nutella and Elephant Banana crepes finished off the cornucopia.

Forodani Gardens

We ventured to the market, the freshest and brightest and biggest selection I've seen since SE Asia.

Heaven at the market...

Spices and scents assaulted the senses, as did colors of chitenges (the bright pieces of "African" cloth) and kangas (similar to chitenges) and kikoys (thicker, brightly colored multipurpose cloths). The Portuguese, the Arabs, the Indians and the Brits all found magic and some sort of home or refuge on Zanzibar, and with it's nearly perfect weather year-round, crystal blue waters, and ideal climate for sugarcane, fruit and spice growth, it's not hard to see why. Zanzibar is referred to as a spice island because so many different types of spices. We went on a comical spice tour (comical because our guide was a funky individual who mispronounced every other word) where they showed us how many of the spices grow: turmeric and ginger, peppercorns and cumin, cloves, cinnamon, vanilla, cardamom...it was fascinating to see how many of my favourite spices come to be in the form with which I am familiar.

Decked in gear made from palm leaves on the spice tour

Fresh nutmeg

After two days in Stonetown we were ready for some beach-ing...Kendwa details are coming...

Always a sensitive topic...Kristof sheds light yet again

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/12/opinion/12kristof.html?_r=1&hp

Passover in Zam

The office, magically transformed!

An epic, memorable Passover, truly something special, and the first that belonged to me (and Lena, too). I think part of what made it so remarkable was that, for the most part, we were sharing it with people who had little-to-no information about the holiday, or who had never been to a seder before, or who only knew portions and fragments of the general idea. That people were so curious to share and partake in our traditions meant a lot to me. There was excitement and joy, an eagerness devoid of resentment or "proper" kosher-ness or formality - it was makeshift, the result of love and dedication; of shlepping matzo gently enough to make it here in one piece, and matzo ball soup mix all the way from home; of seeking out horseradish paste somewhere, anywhere; of chopping 6 cups of charoseth by hand; of finding a dessert that didn't have flour, nor nuts (allergies), nor matzo meal (we only had two precious boxes of matzo and we needed it for straight-up consumption!), nor cornstarch or whatever funky things that are hard to come by here. It was the result of a group of people here who are curious and open to new experiences.

Our makeshift seder plate

It meant so much to me that not only were they willing to listen, but they wanted to participate, they were inquisitive of practices and traditions, they were eager to join. To hear Jamie pronounce it "matz-oh," to have Alla, Marissa and others be at their first seder, and to hear the chorus of voices speaking in phonetic Hebrew was uplifting. We transformed our office (with its unforgiving fluorescent light) into a more romantic setting thanks to Alice's chitenges used as a table runner and a lampshade, and yellow candles in multiple beer bottles strewn around the room.

Enraptured by the Haggadah.

Lena put together a wonderfully appropriate Haggadah - just Jewish enough, but not naively insular - linked to the bigger picture and the real world, too - and the meal went off without a hitch. Matzo, charoseth, maror, parsley and eggs and salt water, matzo ball soup, green beans, potato kugel, two salads, chicken baked with lemon juice, wine, herbs, tons of garlic and onions, mustard, mango chutney and hot sauce. Dessert consisted of flourless chocolate cake embellished with fresh mint from the garden (thankyouverymuch dad, now I have to have some sort of garden wherever I live) and coconut macaroons, and we were left with the ideal amount of leftovers to sustain us for a few extra days.

It was an incredible Passover, and regardless of celebrating it halfway around the world, I was still with my family; I was with my ZamFam :)

The ZamFam, in all its glory (please note the framed picture of Obama above the door...Allie Thomas, you would be proud)

Afikomen success!!

Dessert. Yummmmm...

Temperature drops

I can't believe how quickly the temperature is dropping. From one week to the next, suddenly the nights become cold and I have to close my window and cosy up beneath my newly purchased chitenge blanket. This week, the days have a hint of a nip. It's still hot enough to wear shorts and a tank, and the sun continues to fry me (not hard to do) to the point where I have to slather on SPF 60 sunscreen, but the breeze is cool, standing in the shade your sweat actually dries, and as soon as the sun begins to set I go sprinting for a sweatshirt.

Life goes on as normal here – we're still in the midst of coach trainings and retrainings, and right now I'm psyched to head to Zanzibar with my friends Alla, Steve, Aisha, Jamie and Jamie's friend from home. We fly out in two weeks and right now we're doing planning and research. Daydreams of pristine beaches and the apparently incredible mix of African, Indian and Middle Eastern cultures excites and titillates me (yes, I just used the word “titillate”).

This cooler weather is make me nostalgic for fall: thick sweaters, boots scarves, apple picking in the sun, back-to-school shopping and supplies, cherishing the last warm days, the breathtaking leaves of Vermont, the perpetual smell of smoke and fire, first cravings for warm hearty soup, looking forward to Sundays when you wake up too late, spend too much time in your pyjamas, go out for brunch with your girls, and then flip through the NY Times magazine. This upcoming autumn will be cherished like no other.

Sunday Sunset

Lazy Sundays filled with late sleep-ins, overloads of useless computer time, and too much housework and room-cleaning are both a blessing and a curse; they let you catch up on everything you've been postponing for far too long, but there's also the temptation to be a complete good-for-nothing and sit around all day. On one such Sunday we decided to make moves and grooves; Mike, Alice, Jamie and I hopped in the Prado and ventured out exploring. We drove alllllll the way down our road (which extends for many, many kilometres) until it turned, forked into many others, and joined one of the main roads that heads to the airport. We continued straight, and almost instantaneously after the airport we found ourselves in the bush – farms and crops and stretching landscapes, thatched roof huts and small vendors on the side of the road, I couldn't believe that we were a mere 30 minutes from the city. We managed to catch a spectacular sunset on the way back, which only added to the magical essence of a lazy Sunday evening.