Day 189 Dar to Zanzibar

See ya, Dar! We’re heading to Zanzibar! We were both looking forward to a vacation from our vacation on the island. A few days on a beach. A respite. A break is exactly what we needed after what felt like a whirlwind of Tanzania. We caught the ferry early in the afternoon and arrived on Zanzibar, to the expected (by now) taxi-driver gauntlet two and a half hours later. While it is an island, Stonetown especially is not new to the tourist circuit and immediately we had “tourist officials” offering their services. Despite being in a seedy part of Stonetown, Andrew read good reviews about one guesthouse and wanted to check it out. It wasn’t far from the port. We walked. Tourist Official #1 tagged along, introducing himself and informing us we weren’t in a good part of town. I humored him, looking at his laminated identification card on his lanyard and thanked him, while Andrew asked a shopkeeper for directions instead. He waited and walked with us (uninvited) to the guesthouse. That… turned out to be a joke. A way overpriced joke. We left and started walking across Stonetown (not so far really, maybe a mile? maybe less?) to check on the other recommended guesthouse.

En route, Tourist Official #2 offered his services. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes and wondered how many men were in on this scam, laminating their own ids and approaching tourists. Instead I shouted ahead to Andrew (as always, I’m trailing behind) “Andrew! Would you believe this kind sir has a guesthouse he would like to take us to? Isn’t that SO NICE of him? And he can help with everything we need on the island!” The “Official” picked up on the fact that we would not be in need of his services and meandered away.

But then, Tourist Official #1 magically reappeared. And this made me super uncomfortable. Either it was a complete coincidence or he was going to walk with us and then collect a commission by telling the owner of the guesthouse that he had brought us there. I couldn’t be too sure and my mouth was a little bit quicker than my mind (which often leads to trouble).

“What are you doing here, you crazy stalker?” I asked in a joking manner, but hoping to convey my I-don’t-want-you-following-me message. He didn’t pick up on my joking tone. He stopped short and his face turned creepy defensive.

“What did you say?” He asked.

“I said you were a crazy stalker.” I replied, now annoyed that he was the one questioning me. He told me he was on his way home or something like that, that could have been believable, only I wasn’t buying it and did not trust him. I like to think that I’ve gotten pretty good at reading other people on this trip. I’m not perfect. But, if I get a weird feeling about someone, chances are they are up to no good. And that’s exactly how I felt about this guy.

“I’ve been to America.” He said totally randomly, as he continued, yet again, to walk with us down the street to the guesthouse at the end.

“Then you would know that what you are doing is wrong!” I said, feeling myself getting worked up over him continuing to follow us.

We ended up taking a room at the guesthouse. Creepy McCreeperson hung out outside of the gueshouse for an hour and even went inside to talk to the frontdesk clerk. Maybe he was just on his way home and happened to be friends with the guys working at the guesthouse, but when we returned to Stonetown the following week, the price (at the same place) was cheaper, so I can’t be entirely sure if he really did get a commission or the guesthouse screwed us over. Regardless, it wasn’t the most welcoming first day on Zanzibar.

Day 91: the many scams of India

When crossing the border from Nepal, don’t let anyone grab your bag off of the bus and offer to carry it across the border. If you get into a shared jeep, be prepared to be squished in with as many people as possible (it’s doubtful you’ll get a seat to yourself, despite paying for one). If you take the train, don’t accept cookies from strangers. They might be laced with drugs that will knock you out until you wake up without your bags. If you need a ride from the train station, find a pre-paid rickshaw stand. Don’t get into a rickshaw unless the price is agreed to before you climb in.

In Varanasi, don’t be surprised when a Sadhu grabs your forehead to put some tikka powder on it for luck and then presents his offering tray before you have a chance to say “no.” In Agra, don’t let anyone take you anywhere, you’ll only be paying their commission to bring you there. In Delhi, if someone flings poop on your feet, it’s only so you can pay them to clean it off. If someone offers to take you to the tourist agency to get a free map of India, politely decline, for there are only two government tourist agencies in town and the rest are scams with a storefront. If you want to buy something in a market, under no circumstances agree to their first price. My new “Bay Ban” sunglasses: No. way. would I pay 600 Rs ($10.82) for them, but I will pay 150 Rs ($2.70) and care less about how obviously fake they are. Oh, and watch out for the young men who “just want to practice their English with you…”  These are a few of the many scams of India.

We’ve been doing pretty well, that’s not to say we have a clean record free from the scams of India… We paid double for our first rickshaw driver in Varanasi- a whopping $0.75 more than we anticipated for an eighty year old man to bike us (and all of our bags) to our guesthouse. We figured he earned it. I might have paid a little more for some shipping than I would have at the post office in Varanasi, but I was sick, and overwhelmed with gratitude that I didn’t have to deal with a separate visit to the post office. We bought Vodaphone sim cards in Varanasi that lasted aproximately two days. In a Vodaphone store in Delhi, we were told they were used sim cards, something that is not uncommon for small phone stands to sell to tourists. This scam, we learned all on our own.

India is… a lot. Walking down the street is like walking through a gauntlet. A gauntlet that consists of, but is not limited to: eager-comission-seaking-beavers, men demanding you come into their shop “Looking is for free!” they call after you, women with one arm wrapped around a baby, and the other grabbing onto you to ask for money, barefoot children waiting for your spare change, rickshaw drivers asking if you need a ride, men spitting betal juice on the street, or urinating against a wall if there’s no public open street stalls around. There’s garbage. everywhere. Cows meander through the streets and leave pies that I’m only used to dodging when walking out in the fields at home. Dogs are calm by day, but form packs by night. It’s intense. Delhi is intense. Some travel books advised to start in Delhi and give yourself a few days to adjust to India- but after starting in Varanasi and traveling to Delhi, I could not disagree more. Delhi, in my own opinion, is “all. of. India.” without the charm of what’s under the surface of the sub-continent. We heard it was nothing special, but it’s one of those places you have to experience so then you can tell others the same.