19 June - Zanzibar & Sex & Bartering
The highlight of our first few days at the Conde’ Nast hotel is the outdoor shower cum secluded patio/bench. Toph is great like that. Has this knack for making you think he’s only having a shower, you’re only having a shower, and before you know it, he’s dragged you around pretty much the gamut of possibilities offered by the furniture and hangings and you’re very, very clean. He looked up slightly worried at the apartment above ours (frosted glass overlooking us) but I do wish they had a video camera, I’d buy that DVD right now. We were awesome. And we carried on. The indoor bath tub was pretty good too. Am having one of those in my next move. As was the bed. Shame no mirror in front. But Toph doesn't really look at reflections. Felt like writing in the guest book 'Please tile the area around the shower so that one doesn't scratch one's back on the wall, or better still rubberise it or you know, think of something.'
Toph looks forward to dinner which is always delicious and plentiful and to a decent bottle of wine to add to our bill (low season means we can stay here, at double the rate in high, we would think twice, and we can pick the nicest wine) but I’m a girl and loading up with food to counteract boredom and depression is not a preferred route. But I’ll have the bread, just this once. Oh, ok, I'll finish the basket. The restaurant is full of (actually make that empty of) people like us. Couples. Yes, Zanzibar is not a solo or group holiday much. Thought 15 years ago according to my ancient travel guides you had to be a backpacker to venture here. Current couples are probably making the same considerations on how much it cost to cross the world whilst it’s sunny till ten at night in the Med and the World Cup is on! Oh dear. Thank god the World Cup is on and we don’t miss a game though again, the atmosphere is not right. 2 of us here and 2 of them there, plus the staff at the back to watch a game does not make you want to talk at the screen or whoop it up. It’s the largest screen ever as well. Thank god we’ll be home in time for the final. It’s got to be Brazil or Italy. We’re both four year gap football watchers ie. we only watch world games. At least we don't have to listen to shagger Lineker but get a tremendously enthusiastic SAfrican commentator in the simplest of TV studios. The ads are simple too. Simple slogans, simple images. Of course they're boring.
After a day or two we ask how much the presidential apartments are, and upon finding they cost $2,500 a day (ok larger than our room and with own infinity pool facing the ocean, but essentialy the same) we decide to pretend we own the resort and the island and it’s all just for us. That is approx. twice the yearly salary of young Physics the security guard posted outside. He’s listening to bongo flavour music, nothing more than the usual hip hop with a dash of African guitars and longer in minutes, though his heroes are Sean Paul and, worringly, Celine Dion. Guess when the nights are dark and long, sitting on a chair watchful for intruders, Celine can soothe you to near sleep? Or keep away the evil spirits?
Everyday we have the pier to ourselves though we stick to the same two loungers. Everyday staff come down to offer/bring drinks and food and everyday we look from this height at the passing life below on the public beach, so defined by not being protected by security guards. Our fab hotel has a cliff path that closely resembles ramparts if you wish, though flanked by shrubs and flowers. I can see you need enclosed resorts in places like Jamaica (two different people have told me recently to avoid it or wear a bullet proof vest) but here? Perhaps it’s not to keep them out but to keep us in. In this muslim country there are signs politely asking tourists not to 'mouth kiss' in the streets as it offends their values. As for our bikinis.. we’re positively naked.
Down on the beach there are: locals riding their bicycles, the odd fisherman on foot with a small spear ready to catch octopus and the women who go to the seaweed lines at low tide to harvest the grass. We later read that the seaweed is a recent business. The locals don’t eat it, it gets harvested and sold to the Chinese! Wonder who had that enterprising idea and how you come to ‘buy’ that particular square bit of the reef where you string your lines. But if this island is densely populated, they mostly live along the main road intersecting it north to south. Here, there’s only a few vendors. In high season their numbers will soar to cater to the thousands of tourists, right now…we are their only option as potential purchasers of the usual knick knacks we don’t want, the wood carvings, the bead necklaces. But they’re not that pushy. The day Toph decides to buy some of said necklaces he gets totally done for and hands over nearly a month’s rent as paid by our pool boy. I berate him for his lack of negotiating skills (as said before I don’t haggle much, this is people’s livelihood and I don’t begrudge them, but having them walk off for the day as they made enough money for the week is…….gallling). Conversely, our fisherman guide, Fimo, just accepts what he’s given for his two ours steering us away from sea urchins and probably pay the price, as we are less generous with him. Toph agrees from now on that I’ll do the negotiating. I’ll prove my worth a few days later by buying nearly 30 scarves and pushing the price down as I start with ‘how much for two? How much for ten? Ok I’ll have 20. Actually here’s 30 bucks and I’ll take 30. The vendor still takes my money ie. he’s still made a profit. So…Scarves were the only thing to buy for any friends back home. I did search for evidence they were not imported from China (maybe some trade swap for the seaweed?) and couldn’t find it, but suspect I’ll see them also in Portobello when I return. I can't tell if they are cotton or acrylic either. Am losing my touch, but they're soft enough.
By day 4 the staff were probably thinking we were undercover hotel owners spies as we asked so many questions. One of our waitresses was quite chatty, Witness. Don't you just love unmade up names? Why chose Beyonce' when you can be Socrates? Well, without giving too much away, I’m an ex journalist and Toph has been known to direct/produce documentaries so it’s second nature to ask questions, look for some kind of story. But there was no story except that all the staff is not local but from the mainland. Zanzibarians are not even used as manual labour for these hotels, everyone is shipped in and out or those who stay create mini shanty towns outside your walls. Presumably the locals are note educated enough or skilled enough to put a brick on top of another brick. As for everything else, even our toilets are imported from Germany. So we're totally not benefitting the community one bit. Thank god they don't decide to stone us to death. The better class of workers, like the smiling but oh so lonely, staff or the Thai spa in the hotel, live in a nice building on the grounds. They have hardly any reason to go anywhere else. They can’t go back home for at least a year. Guess it must be like being on a cruise ship or so… but less fun. Then again, I seem to no longer belong to a culture that appreciates that you do things as a sacrifice for your family's better welfare and that a year here probably buys college fees back home etc. I have enough time and clothes and accessories to go change for dinner. Who'd have thought?
Toph looks forward to dinner which is always delicious and plentiful and to a decent bottle of wine to add to our bill (low season means we can stay here, at double the rate in high, we would think twice, and we can pick the nicest wine) but I’m a girl and loading up with food to counteract boredom and depression is not a preferred route. But I’ll have the bread, just this once. Oh, ok, I'll finish the basket. The restaurant is full of (actually make that empty of) people like us. Couples. Yes, Zanzibar is not a solo or group holiday much. Thought 15 years ago according to my ancient travel guides you had to be a backpacker to venture here. Current couples are probably making the same considerations on how much it cost to cross the world whilst it’s sunny till ten at night in the Med and the World Cup is on! Oh dear. Thank god the World Cup is on and we don’t miss a game though again, the atmosphere is not right. 2 of us here and 2 of them there, plus the staff at the back to watch a game does not make you want to talk at the screen or whoop it up. It’s the largest screen ever as well. Thank god we’ll be home in time for the final. It’s got to be Brazil or Italy. We’re both four year gap football watchers ie. we only watch world games. At least we don't have to listen to shagger Lineker but get a tremendously enthusiastic SAfrican commentator in the simplest of TV studios. The ads are simple too. Simple slogans, simple images. Of course they're boring.
After a day or two we ask how much the presidential apartments are, and upon finding they cost $2,500 a day (ok larger than our room and with own infinity pool facing the ocean, but essentialy the same) we decide to pretend we own the resort and the island and it’s all just for us. That is approx. twice the yearly salary of young Physics the security guard posted outside. He’s listening to bongo flavour music, nothing more than the usual hip hop with a dash of African guitars and longer in minutes, though his heroes are Sean Paul and, worringly, Celine Dion. Guess when the nights are dark and long, sitting on a chair watchful for intruders, Celine can soothe you to near sleep? Or keep away the evil spirits?
Everyday we have the pier to ourselves though we stick to the same two loungers. Everyday staff come down to offer/bring drinks and food and everyday we look from this height at the passing life below on the public beach, so defined by not being protected by security guards. Our fab hotel has a cliff path that closely resembles ramparts if you wish, though flanked by shrubs and flowers. I can see you need enclosed resorts in places like Jamaica (two different people have told me recently to avoid it or wear a bullet proof vest) but here? Perhaps it’s not to keep them out but to keep us in. In this muslim country there are signs politely asking tourists not to 'mouth kiss' in the streets as it offends their values. As for our bikinis.. we’re positively naked.
Down on the beach there are: locals riding their bicycles, the odd fisherman on foot with a small spear ready to catch octopus and the women who go to the seaweed lines at low tide to harvest the grass. We later read that the seaweed is a recent business. The locals don’t eat it, it gets harvested and sold to the Chinese! Wonder who had that enterprising idea and how you come to ‘buy’ that particular square bit of the reef where you string your lines. But if this island is densely populated, they mostly live along the main road intersecting it north to south. Here, there’s only a few vendors. In high season their numbers will soar to cater to the thousands of tourists, right now…we are their only option as potential purchasers of the usual knick knacks we don’t want, the wood carvings, the bead necklaces. But they’re not that pushy. The day Toph decides to buy some of said necklaces he gets totally done for and hands over nearly a month’s rent as paid by our pool boy. I berate him for his lack of negotiating skills (as said before I don’t haggle much, this is people’s livelihood and I don’t begrudge them, but having them walk off for the day as they made enough money for the week is…….gallling). Conversely, our fisherman guide, Fimo, just accepts what he’s given for his two ours steering us away from sea urchins and probably pay the price, as we are less generous with him. Toph agrees from now on that I’ll do the negotiating. I’ll prove my worth a few days later by buying nearly 30 scarves and pushing the price down as I start with ‘how much for two? How much for ten? Ok I’ll have 20. Actually here’s 30 bucks and I’ll take 30. The vendor still takes my money ie. he’s still made a profit. So…Scarves were the only thing to buy for any friends back home. I did search for evidence they were not imported from China (maybe some trade swap for the seaweed?) and couldn’t find it, but suspect I’ll see them also in Portobello when I return. I can't tell if they are cotton or acrylic either. Am losing my touch, but they're soft enough.
By day 4 the staff were probably thinking we were undercover hotel owners spies as we asked so many questions. One of our waitresses was quite chatty, Witness. Don't you just love unmade up names? Why chose Beyonce' when you can be Socrates? Well, without giving too much away, I’m an ex journalist and Toph has been known to direct/produce documentaries so it’s second nature to ask questions, look for some kind of story. But there was no story except that all the staff is not local but from the mainland. Zanzibarians are not even used as manual labour for these hotels, everyone is shipped in and out or those who stay create mini shanty towns outside your walls. Presumably the locals are note educated enough or skilled enough to put a brick on top of another brick. As for everything else, even our toilets are imported from Germany. So we're totally not benefitting the community one bit. Thank god they don't decide to stone us to death. The better class of workers, like the smiling but oh so lonely, staff or the Thai spa in the hotel, live in a nice building on the grounds. They have hardly any reason to go anywhere else. They can’t go back home for at least a year. Guess it must be like being on a cruise ship or so… but less fun. Then again, I seem to no longer belong to a culture that appreciates that you do things as a sacrifice for your family's better welfare and that a year here probably buys college fees back home etc. I have enough time and clothes and accessories to go change for dinner. Who'd have thought?
posted by Lisa Taylor @ 6:40 AM
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