Doorway to Zanzibar Written and Photographed by Ashley Bedard
Zanzibar. The name alone sounds fanciful as it rolls off my tongue.
Many of my fellow Torontonians may know Zanzibar only to be a
strip club on Yonge Street, but I assure you it is also a group
of tropical islands off the coast of Tanzania. Before planning
my trip to East Africa, I admit that the Yonge Street club may
have been the first thing to come to mind upon hearing the name.
But, I’m fairly certain that the dancers there cannot offer
the same degree of exoticism as this Indian Ocean archipelago.
Approaching the main island in the tiny Antonov propeller plane,
I was excited to see if Zanzibar would live up to the pronouncement
of my travel-mate boyfriend when he said “This will be the
most exotic place you’ve ever been to.”
Our first two nights were booked at the Pongwe Beach Hotel, on
the east side of the island. We chose it over the more populous
beaches on the north coast, drawn by the promise of a secluded
“paradise”. They weren’t kidding. There are
no other hotels near Pongwe Beach, only a tiny village a short
distance away. The hotel consists of a collection of small beach
houses, and we were lucky enough to be accommodated on the end
of the property with our own deck, private stairs to the beach
and an amazing view of the ocean. In our room was a traditional
wooden Zanzibar bed, with a canopy of mosquito netting draped
over the ornately carved and tiled headboard and posts. Who knew
mosquito netting could be so romantic?
It is almost impossible to describe how stunningly beautiful
and special this place is. I spent hours in and around the infinity
pool, captivated by the view of the brilliant green Indian Ocean
beyond the curve of white beach. The word that most often came
to my mind was “away”. Never have I felt so far away
from regular life, with not a care in the world beyond avoiding
sea urchins while exploring at low tide.
Arriving in Stone Town after the peace of the opposite coast
was quite a contrast. The old section of Zanzibar City has been
designated a World Heritage Site by UNESCO for its cultural harmonization,
architecture and history of slavery. Stone Town is a lived-in,
smelly and somewhat dilapidated museum of a city. It’s fabulous.
The town is a maze of narrow streets; so narrow that cars generally
cannot fit, leaving pedestrians and the occasional scooter to
navigate them. I never did see a street sign. Lining the alley-like
streets were many unnamed shops, the keepers lounging outside
and doing their best to lure us in to haggle for their wooden
masks, jewelry and objects of art. It is customary, and expected,
to haggle in most of the shops, otherwise you will likely spend
$25 for something you could have gotten for $7. Watching my well-traveled
boyfriend work his magic with the shop men taught me to buy things
in multiples for the best deal. Attempting to haggle myself taught
me that women aren’t taken very seriously as hagglers.
Also lining the streets of Stone Town is the real art of the
island; the famous Zanzibar Doors. On some of the most basic,
run-down buildings were huge doors of astounding intricacy. The
heavy, double wooden doors are ornately carved and studded with
brass knobs, many designs showing the Arab and Indian influences
over the city. So much importance was placed on these doors that
they were usually erected first, with the buildings then being
built around them. I am a pretty tall girl, but beside them I
felt a wee bit dwarfed.
In the further reaches of the old town, near the Anglican cathedral
built over a former slave market, is the original home of Zanzibar’s
main contribution to the musical arts; Farrokh Bulsara, who you
will know as Freddie Mercury. I was amused that in my travel guide
to East Africa, Tanzania was described as being the birthplace
of Freddie Mercury and humankind, in that order. Being a huge
fan, I’m embarrassed to admit that I forgot to go to his
house. I blame this on the extreme heat and the overwhelming need
to find cold beer. And so, my dream of singing a Bohemian Rhapsody
tribute outside his house was replaced with drinks on the patio
of Mercury’s, the modern bar named in his honour, overlooking
the harbour and small, rickety boats with names like “Titanic”
and “The Luvly Jubbly”.
There are numerous historic sites to see in Stone Town, but what
I remember most are the things that were happening while we were
there. It was the people in the streets, the smells - both good
and bad, and the sounds of calls to prayer to the mosques that
brought the city to life for me. Was this the most exotic place
I’d ever been? Absolutely.
On my bedroom wall are three black and white photographs of Zanzibar
doors, purchased in a tiny shop in Stone Town. In Toronto, on
cold and dreary nights, those doors taunt me. I imagine walking
through them, like through the wardrobe leading to Narnia, and
emerging on the other side in hot, smelly, wonderful Zanzibar—away.
I don’t think walking through the doors of the Yonge Street
version of Zanzibar would have quite the same result.
Ashley Bedard
is a recent victim of the infectious travel bug, having been
whisked to the other side of the world by a very mysterious
man. Her background is in classical voice performance and
opera and she is now employed as a communications professional
in Toronto, writing and policing the language of others. She
hopes to have many more adventures in far off lands in the
future.
