zanzibar: where the palms forget to wave and your socks stick to your feet

i woke up to a sky that looked like it was holding its breath. 25°c, 82% humidity-it’s that kind of day where the air doesn’t just feel hot, it exists in your pores. no rain, just that clingy stuff that makes you question life choices. i walked through the old part of town, the one with the cracked cobblestones and the smell of incense mixed with something sweet, like a baker’s leftover cinnamon roll that decided to rot. a local swears by this cantaloupe stand, but i heard that someone threw a lime at the vendor last week. anyway, i bought two and ended up with a sticky mess on my hands and a sunburn on my forehead.

there’s this place called the ihf. it’s not a hotel. it’s not a hostel. it’s just a guy with a tent and a hut that smells like old wine and regrets. i paid 15 dollars for the night and slept on a mat that probably belongs to a sad goat. the view? a palm tree swaying in silence. hey, authenticity, right? i checked tripadvisor for ‘best zanzibar beaches’ and the top result was this forgotten cove called Wikipedikia. yelp says it’s overrated, but i heard that from a drunken guy at a bar who also swore the moon was made of cheese. who knows?

the neighbors? well, zanzibar’s people are loud in a nice way. yesterday, i heard someone playing a djembe drum behind a coral farm. next door to that was a woman teaching her cat to do the macarena. if you get bored, the mainland is a 45-minute boat ride-no, really, just a boat. or you could take the ‘short drive’ which is just a rickety bus that smells like old fish. i checked the local board on kijiji and saw a posting for a ‘free dorm bed for the next two weeks.’ i’m 100% not going to that. probably.

someone told me the best way to eat sh wedge is to ask a vendor for a ‘portion for one,’ then frantically stuff it into a mango before anyone notices. i tried that and ended up with a mango that tasted like betrayal. another drunk told me not to trust the kumbira tours because the guide once stole a camera. i said, ‘okay, but can i at least get a photo of my sweaty face?’ turns out, he’s a professional photographer who sells prints for 50 dollars. i paid 50 dollars. i hate that.

i threw on a band tee and a bike helmet and rode out to the beach. the water was clear, but the waves? they threatened me. like, ‘run, you’re not welcomed here.’ i took a photo of myself crying because the seagulls stole my chips. unsplash had some nice shots of zanzibar sunsets, so i grabbed two: one of a lone motorcycle against the horizon and another of a woman in a sarong yelling at a seagull. the software for the iphone kept crashing mid-upload, but i don’t care. this was chaos, and chaos is my middle name.

the weather report said the sea level was 1012 hpa. i don’t know what that means. my guess is it’s proof that zanzibar is secretly a pressure cooker. the grnd level was 989 and the feels like was 25.91. i just checked, and it’s 25°c with 82% humidity today. no rain, just that awkward humidity that makes your skin crawl. i pretend it’s a vampire’s lair. works every time.

here’s a map if you’re lost:

. if not, just follow the smell of salt and burning wood. those are zanzibar’s public transport vibes. i found two unsplash photos that look like they were taken by a tourist who forgot to smile: one of a market stall with a sign that reads ‘freshly squeezed lemon juice’ and another of a palm tree that looks like it’s judging me. both

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i heard that zanzibar is for people who like to question everything. the coffee here is strong, but i’m a coffee snob in a land of athletes. i tried a drink called ‘spiced tea’ and it tasted like a sock left in a sauna. i asked a vendor if they had any sugar, and she handed me a packet that expired in 2012. i also heard that the police here don’t believe in ‘no parking’ signs. they just wave you off like, ‘eh, it’s zanzibar.’

overall, this place is a mess of contradictions. it’s beautiful, it’s cheap, it’s also a little terrifying. if you’re here, embrace the heat, pretend the mosquitoes are your neighbors, and don’t forget to check the reviews on lonely planet. they said zanzibar is ‘a spiritual awakening’ but also ‘a place where you might get lost and found by a goat.’ take that for what it’s worth. i’m leaving tomorrow with a full stomach, a lighter wallet, and a memory of a cat wearing sunglasses. who knows, maybe it’ll all make sense later.