Zanzibar

Zanzibar is a small Muslim island in the Indian Ocean off of the coast of Tanzania. The main city here is Stonetown, which is known for its mesmerizing mix of European, African, American, Indian, and Arabian style and influence. The old center of Stonetown lacks any signs or direction, leaving a visitor to decipher the maze of streets and alleyways. Men in long white robes and embroidered caps can be seen riding bicycles or playing a native beans and board game. Women cool off in the ocean fully clothed and fishermen work hard for a variety of different catch on their handmade wooden dhows (sailboats). The food and vegetable market overwhelms the senses with swarming flies, strong anchovies, and several local spices. Life here is simple and enjoyed.

We spent our first day here wandering around to get a feel for the island's character, but got lost..several times. Ali (makes it easy since 1/2 of the names here are Muhammad or Ali) at the Jambo guesthouse walked us around the town and gave us an easy route to memorize so that we could find our way back. He even walked us through the nightly garden market along the water. Fishermen cook a variety of fresh seafood--squid, baracuda, tuna, octopus, lobster, prawns and more--that are organized on skewers and by type so that tourists and locals can shop for their dinner or even a late-night snack since it doesn't shut down until after midnight.

Mumbai

We selected a hotel in Colaba near the harbor and celebrated our adventure by treating ourselves at McDonald’s. To see if it was even possible, we decided to pay 100 rs to watch a guy attempt to write an extremely long name on a grain of rice (5 words). This immediately made us a target to buy every cheap and odd/random souvenir in the entire city. The next day we made a quick stop at the Gateway of India and Taj Mahal Hotel to check them off on the “1,000 places to see before you die”. For the most part, though, we took it easy.
Our final days in Mumbai were spent running a couple of errands--mailing a parcel and getting some laundry done both of which are quite interesting processes. Laundry is sent off to the dhobi-wallahs where it is washed in the river and beaten clean before it's pressed perfectly and all pieces are returned. While they wash them with millions of other garments, they have a discreet marking system to ensure the loads are separated accordingly at the end. Mailing an international parcel brought us back to the 1800s. Our packages were boxed and wrapped outside of the building. We wrote our addresses in large lettering with black Sharpies knowing the package would endure a lot in the next two months since we were shipping it by sea. We waited patiently for the end of customs' lunch break before starting the 11-step process of approval. Our poor little package of souvenirs was opening, inspected, taped and sewn shut, stamped and signed, and then sealed with tar at every seam. Then, it was weighed and slapped with a barcode as if to remind us that we really are in the 21st century. Over 2 hours later, we left very pleased to know that we would never have to do that again.

With the stale smell of urine, extensive pollution, intense hassling, constant stares, and non-stop honking; India is a sensory overload. The pungent mix of smells and in-your-face commotion makes India a haven for descript adjectives that attempt to capture this country’s unique and vivid character—something that can only be fathomed by a walk down its bustling streets. We admit to seeing some beautiful places and overcoming challenges that made us stronger, more mature travelers. Being relentlessly vigilant and guarded can exhaust warm, genuine personalities. However, we learned that opening doors makes you vulnerable to India’s unfortunate corruption. After all of the chaos that this country put us through, at least we can say that we maintained a sense of humor and lived to tell about it. While we are still glad that we chose to come, we are also anxious for a return to normalcy. Meanwhile, the images of India’s widespread poverty will be a permanent and grateful reminder that we are merely fortunate travelers here temporarily to experience the reality and diversity of the world. Ironically, the deceptive driver in Jaipur told us: life is a journey and not a destination.

p.s. Brady stayed true to herself and safely maintained use of her left hand

Jaisalmer

The Golden City was a breath of fresh (but steamy and still smelly) air compared to Jaipur. Since we had absolutely no energy to search for a hotel, the first that offered within our budget was it. We ended up getting a spacious, air-cool room for the equivalent of less than $3 per person a night. We spent the rest of the day moaning at our intense stomach pains and being really angry.
The next we thought we would seek refuge on camel safari in the middle of the Thar Desert (only 60 miles from Pakistan!). We headed out of town on a paved road through the barren desert countryside dodging goats, cows, and camels along the way. We listened to Rajasthani gyspy music and stopped at an Indian truck stop, which after looking around, we decided it was officially the most random place we had ever been and was deserving of a picture. Our driver said that we would stop here because it was a nice shop, but the giant, hopping rats convinced us otherwise. Upon stopping at a local hut, gypsy kids swarmed the car doors to get a glimpse at all of our western gadgets and skin. We drove to the sand dunes to meet our camels and go on an evening ride before sunset. Katie’s camel was a bit intoxicated, running her into almost every bush nearby. We were warned by many people that the camel-riding experience can be erotic and arousing—it wasn’t, but we definitely joked about it anyways. We watched the sunset, enjoyed our first non-toxic Indian air, and chatted with fellow backpackers over dinner. We slept under a blanket of bright stars, even catching several shooting stars as we talked ourselves to sleep, hoping desperately that the giant black beetles didn’t crawl on us in the middle of the night. We rode camels for another hour in the morning and caught a Jeep back into town.
That afternoon, it was blistering hot; we found our desert oasis in a hotel’s pool, which we basked in for several hours. That night we had dinner at a Tibetan restaurant overlooking the city with the only non-couples traveling in India. For our last day in Jaisalmer, we explored the city’s fort that is full of narrow alleyways similar to Venice and packed with shops and hotels. There is little traffic (what a relief) inside the fort’s walls—only stubborn cows and persistent salesmen block the pathways. The architecture inside has intricately-carved sandstone façades and the market carts around the walls have burlap roofs and large wooden wheels—definitely a snapshot from several thousands years ago.

We had a 5 pm scheduled departure for Ahmedabad on an 11-hour sleeper bus, which would connect us to our train to Mumbai. Crazy Mr. J (our hotel owner) booked our tickets for this journey reassuring us it was a route taken by many. Still skeptical, we asked around and got similar answers. Since it was the most direct way to Bombay, we decided to hop on board. Waiting at the bus station, we were exposed to the worst of Indian touts. A solo Western traveler had at least 10 men swarming her with hotel options before she could even really get off the bus. Brady was screamed at by one them for offering the girl her recommendation. The men persisted for several minutes, shouting, pointing, and pushing to be the center of her attention. At one point, a fight even broke out—the situation was beyond ridiculous. Because there was absolutely no way to know when the bus we were taking had arrived or left (unless you read/spoke Hindi), we missed it by only a minute. We grabbed our bags and stuffed them into a rickshaw that whizzed us down the road to catch up. Luckily, we made it. We promptly received what would end up being never-ending stares from every passenger on the bus who just happened to be an Indian male—it was going to be a long ride. We took our “seats” which in reality was a filthy (rivaling that of a public toilet) double-bed platform above the seats. Thankfully, there was a window to open and a curtain to close. Then, the rattling began. After several hours of experimenting with every possible position to get comfortable (while minimizing contact with the disgusting seat), we decided it was the worst traveling experience we had. Somehow we managed to laugh about it, probably because the shock and actuality of the situation was too hard to believe. Needless to say, you get what you pay for. And while we did take the budget option (instead of a $100+ plane ticket), we are guaranteed to expect more expensive chiropractic bills in the future. It was only appropriate that Brady said the following:

“I don’t feel like I’m doing the world anymore; the world is doing me and it is not consensual.”

The bus flew for hours down a bumpy, dirt road causing it to sway and us to question our sanity. Nonetheless, we made it. We wondered why everyone was awake at 4:30 am when we arrived. Minutes later that was answered by the thousands of people carrying decorated Ganesh sculptures on their way to drown him in the river. This is a common Hindi festival to celebrate the deity Ganesh. We peeled ourselves out of the bus and creaked slowly to the train station to wait on no sleep for three hours before boarding a 9-hour train to Bombay. It sounds miserable and it was. We smelled terrible and probably looked even worse, but we can say we made it. We were skeptical about our train seats since they were dissimilar to previous ones. Rightfully so, when we boarded the train we were put in the second to lowest train class, sandwiched on benches between hundreds of Indians in an un-air-conditioned car (we’ll let you imagine the lovely smells that permeated this area). Unable to imagine ourselves in this situation any longer, we fought for thirty minutes to upgrade our ticket. This involved getting out of the train during a stop and running (luggage in-tow) down seven cabins and hopping on as soon as it started moving. We proceeded to walk up and down several cars in search for a conductor that could give us any sign of hope. No vacancy in AC—go figure. However, there was room in a fan-only cell that we still had to share with other locals. They called this first-class, but we failed to see any remote reason why this was the case. After 23 hours of travel, no sleep, and more than a day without a full meal; we arrived in Mumbai.

Jaipur

Since the train from Agra to Jaipur is notoriously unreliable regarding timetables, we hopped on a “deluxe” AC bus for a 5+ hour ride to Rajasthan. We arrived at night at got lucky with a last-minute room at the Hotel Pearl Palace, which is usually always booked thanks to its extremely high approval rating from Hostelworld and Lonely Planet. Rightfully so, it’s full of art and fun design; plus, its rooftop restaurant boasts delicious food, eclectic furniture, and great views of the city. Jaipur, also known as the Pink City, is the capital of Rajasthan and the country's first planned city. We decided to use the driver recommended to us by Sonu since he only charged 30 rs per hour on a rickshaw. He took us first to the Hawa Mahal, which is the Palace of the Winds; however, it didn’t provide enough of a breeze to relieve the heat. We’ve found ourselves going through more liters of water than when we climbed Kilimanjaro. The next stop was an elaborate tomb outside of the old city walls. It was symmetrical, similar to the Taj Mahal, but instead had detailed marble carvings and no inlay work. It drives Katie crazy when she has to take a picture in order to avoid crooked images—perfectionism in extreme heat gets annoying. Beggar kids followed us around the entire time, constantly asking us to take a picture of them so they could demand rupees—we weren’t falling for that one again. Brady’s cynicism reached a fever pitch when she said, “You’re not a professional model.” Then she began lecturing the children about ways to earn money through actual work. It was funny. We’ve noticed that tourists here wear Alibaba pants, similar to ones worn by Aladdin. Their baggy balloon shape looks a little ridiculous, but they’re quite breezy and comfortable so we sought out to find a pair that afternoon.
Our driver, Krishna, had an art studio with a great view of one of the main city streets that would host the annual festival that evening. We staked out the premier spot on the rooftop overlooking the vibrantly colored crowds below. The lowest caste kicked off the parade carrying huge decorated totem poles that required a bevy of spotters to make sure they didn’t fall. Men dressed as Arabian horses followed then a procession of almost unidentifiable elephants strolled by. They were covered in jewelry, bright paint, ribbons, decorated cloth drapes, and a turban-topped driver. One elephant even had bright pink-painted toenails. Camels came shortly after intermixed with several brass instrument bands and Arabian dancers, some on giant stilts. The end of the parade was a group of men cloaked in red carrying a Hindu god in a carriage, which people threw coins at for whatever reason. While we waited for the massive crowds to clear the street, we browsed through some traditional Indian artwork. Here we were introduced to the elephant-headed, mouse-riding Hindu god Ganesh, who protects people from obstacles in life. We also learned why the swastika is painted all over India. The Hindu symbol (inverted in Germany) means good luck. To celebrate Independence Day, we went out to a nice dinner with Krishna and his friend, Vicki. They were both eager to show us genuine Indian hospitality after hearing about our hassles in Agra. We didn’t mind giving people here a second chance. We ended up having the best Indian food to date and got to taste a variety of local curries in a traditional Rajasthani thali dish.
The next morning we went to visit Amber Fort—a large maze-like fortress perched on a steep hill overlooking Jaipur. We got lost several times trying to find our way around, because yet again, we were too cheap to hire a guide. Krishna then took us up the road to an exclusive, tourist-free elephant farm where we got to play with a 2-week old baby elephant. At first he was shy and hid underneath his mother, but gradually he came out to explore with his trunk. We laughed as he got a sandal stuck on his nose and knocked over all empty chairs to show-off his destructive abilities. After feeding them several banana bunches, we got to ride one down the road and back. By this point, we were feeling weak and exhausted so we asked Krishna to take us back to the hotel so that we could rest. By that evening, we still weren’t feeling any better, but reluctantly went to see the sunset at Monkey Temple. The next day we had intentions to head west towards Jaiselmer, but were feeling much worse. Luckily, the train didn’t leave until midnight; therefore, we had all day to hope it passed us by. We even paid for an extra night so that we didn’t have to move until we absolutely had to. From that point, we might as well have just strapped a toilet to ourselves for the next three days. After enduring an extensive guilt trip, we made a narrow escape on the train only to find out when we arrived in Jaiselmer that they are notorious members of the Indian mafia who spend their time scamming tourists with their benevolence. Turns out that they had poisoned our nice dinner as an attempt to have us stay longer in Jaipur and potentially accept their generous offerings. To make a long story short, their kindness was an elaborate and expensive attempt to gain our trust, which would then be used against us to take part in an illegal gem scam. This, apparently, would strip us of everything we owned. Little did they know, this wasn’t much. The red flags started popping up when they offered us a role in a Bollywood movie, a complimentary car ride to Jaiselmer, and their company to Bombay via plane a few days later. We had been warned of several different tourist scams, but never one this convoluted and manipulative. Fortunately, we escaped with nothing but a crash Indian diet and a hard lesson learned: do not trust anyone here.
The train ride was a grueling 13 hours, but we managed to sleep most of the time.

Agra

A local guide in Agra convinced us to hire him for the day and he’d show us the sites. Since our Lonely Planet was taken on the train, we decided this wouldn’t be a terrible investment. First stop was the Taj Mahal at sunrise. Sunrise; however, was nonexistent because of the smog so instead it was just the Taj Mahal really early, which was still nice because there were no crowds. 35,000 people per day (mostly Indians) visit this world wonder, but over one million came for this past weekend to celebrate Shah Jejan’s birthday and enjoy free entry. To be a tomb, the monument is quite impressive. Every aspect of its design is meticulously symmetrical except for one flaw. Shah Jejan was imprisoned after building the Taj for his wife’s cenotaph because of its outrageous price. He died before building his tomb and is therefore placed beside his wife (who is in the center) which offsets the balance of his strategic masterpiece. There is rumor that Shah Jejan cut off the arms and stabbed the eyes of the 22,000 people who built the Taj Mahal so that it could not be reproduced or outdone; however, we learned this was false and that the laborers were actually paid quite well. The marble monument took 20 years to complete—all for love (gag). Here we were also introduced to the odd trend of men wanting to take their pictures with us. One would shyly approach us and request just one photo, but then 15 of them would line up and begin the rotation as we stood there and smiled like Mickey Mouse. We were in at least 50 pictures by the end of the day.
The rest of Agra was a shopping nightmare. He took us to a carpet-making cottage industry where we got to see the process from design to wool spinning to the tying of knots, cleaning, and trimming. 288 knots per square inch is the desired amount for a quality, handmade carpet. The operation is subsidized by the government and gives jobs to local villagers outside of Agra. Then the made entertained us with Chai and soda in the carpet-viewing room where we wondered how to escape without buying one. No worries though, Katie took one for the team and broke down to buy a wall-hanging rug. The high-pressure selling techniques and guilt trips are not for the soft-hearted. Now it was Brady’s turn. We were then taken to a marble inlay shop where we watched another demonstration and thrown into another sales pitch—this time for a $2,000 table. The technique; however, was the same used to build the Taj Mahal, which was interesting to see on a smaller scale. Brady managed to tiptoe out by reluctantly purchasing a small marble carving of a Hindu deity. For some reason everyone here thinks we have tons of money to spend. Perhaps this is why the begging children tap and touch us for urgent attention. There are no road rules here so a couple times we even drove down the wrong way honking our horn at oncoming traffic. Additionally, at any given moment there is one or more of the following causing some sort of traffic jam and reason to honk: auto-rickshaws, buses, children, tractors, donkeys, cars, motorcycles, bikes, carts, cows, camels...you name it. After paying almost $50 in entry fees, we joked that we had been “rupeed” (a play on words with the date rape drug). Other stops included Agra Fort and Itimadud-Daula, which is known as the “baby Taj”. It was a long and intense first day so we made it an early night. Our cue to leave Agra was the following day when our driver and gem-scamming travel agent propositioned us to stay longer (2 separate times) for inappropriate reasons. The advice for women to wear a fake wedding in India is a good one, but unfortunately won’t stop most men from trying or at least giving a dirty look.

India

We arrived in Mumbai (Bombay) at 2 am on August 11th. Mr. Deepak of Highway Residency Hotel kindly greeted us with a sign that read, Mr. Laura Brady. When we got to the hotel, there were some complications with our booking since we needed a room for the night of the 10th, but technically arrived on the 11th. Since the hotel was full, they had set up a makeshift room in their office for a discounted price, which was fine with us. However, mid-way through the night Katie looked up to see a hand coming through the window and grasping the curtain. Startled, she woke Laura from her slumber only to have had him disappear. We shut the window that we didn’t know was open and finally made it to sleep.
The next morning, we hopped in an auto-rickshaw and made our way to the train station to decipher the ticket-purchasing process. Across the street we eyed a McDonald’s, but getting there was something like crossing the last lap of the Indy 500 with several hundred cars on the track. Dodging auto-rickshaws, taxis, cars, buses, and cows; we made it only to find that the Hindu culture doesn’t eat beef so there were no burgers. Nonetheless, we enjoyed French fries and soft serve, which was quite a lovely treat. With the recent, heavy flooding in India, we were concerned about the monsoon season, but so far we have not encountered any problems. At 5:30 we got a taxi to drive us across town to the train station. Here, we got our first feel for the extent of India’s poverty—it’s almost indescribable. The porter at the train station directed us to the correct platform and waiting area, which we could have technically found ourselves. Regardless, they don’t take no for an answer and stand there looking at you until you give them money. First time—no big deal, but wait until helper #36 wants money for lack of services rendered and you’ll surprisingly be short several hundred rupees at the end of the day. We boarded a train for Agra at 7:40 knowing that we wouldn’t get off until almost 24 hours later. Once it arrived, we were startled to find hundreds of Indians making a mad dash towards the car. Katie thought they were running to take our seat and Laura thought we were being left—turns out, that was just open seating and we had a 6x3 ft. bunk in AC2 class with our name on it (not literally). Everyone says riding a train in India is an experience; ours was a 2-year old, non-stop screaming child and constant, perverted stares from bored men.

Safari

Day 1
Feeling refreshed and clean, we boarded a caravan of Land Cruisers from Bushbuck Safaris and headed towards Tarangire National Park. Upon entering we saw a herd of zebra running into a pond with wildebeest. Our off-road vehicles were outfitted with the classic safari pop-top, which allowed us to stand on our seats and hang out the roof of the car for a great view and cool breeze. After driving further, we saw giraffes, impala, warthogs, and got stuck behind an elephant on the road. We watched vultures swarm over Africa's native acacia tree. The park was also full of Boabab trees, some of which were over 1,000 years old. It was hard to believe we were driving through the African plains since yesterday we were still on the mountain, but it was great to watch the animals in their natural habitat. Lunch involved a close and very entertaining encounter with baboons. Several of them hung around the picnic site, which we thought was neat until they stole our food. Laura tried a kicking motion to scare them away, but at this point they went from sneaking up to charging. Within seconds they had snagged a sandwhich, cake, an apple, fruit juice, and a Twix bar. 30 minutes later they ambushed Rick and Valerie with the large male baboon grabbing two boxes and running away. Valerie also tried the kicking motion, but again, he ran off with one in his mouth and the other tucked underneath his arm. Humans 0; Baboons 2. We surrendered and left. After an afternoon game drive, we learned more about the flora and fauna of the area. Then we checked into the Sopa Lodge, which is situated in the middle of the park with no fence allowing animals to roam freely on its grounds (also why you have personal escorts to your door after dark).

Day 2
The next morning we drove to Lake Manyara. On the way out of the park we got 'yelled' at by an elephant for tailgating (not your typical road rage!). In the lake's national park we saw herds of buffalo and a pool of hippos. While they weigh approximately 3 tons, they can run up to 40 kph and poop 15 kg per day. Katie saw a 4 ft. black spit cobra jump into the air and dive into a nearby bush as we drove by. The vegetation in this are was much more lush and dense. We had lunch at the luxurious Serena Lodge and drove 2 hours to the Ngorongoro Crater. We stopped briefly at a Masai boma to learn about their tribe. We watched warriors do a traditional jumping dance (Rick thinks Coach K should recruit here) and the women do a separate dance. They were all cloaked in blue and red chukas (cloth wraps) and elaborate beaded necklaces and bracelets. They have a unique ear-piercing practice where the ear lobe can stretch up to two inches long. We received a tour inside their dung huts and learned their meals consist primarily of meat, blood, and milk. We decided to leave their home after Brady almost spilt the gourd of milk thinking it was a maraca. Even though they have stuck to many of their tribal traditions, many have adapted the modern use of a cell phone. We thought it was interesting to be exposed to their way of life. We made our final stop of the day at the Sopa Lodge nestled on the edge of the crater's rim, which was high in elevation and made for a chilly night.

Day 3
Within minutes of driving along the bottom of the crater, a male lion was headed straight for our car. It was a big adrenaline rush to see him stroll only inches by us! We were lucky to catch them in action since they are known to sleep 22 hours per day. After exitedely updating the cybercast, we found even more around the corner. In the crater's saltwater lake, we saw resident flamingoes (in late August the migration brings in millions), more hippoes, cape buffalo, thomson's gazelle and two very distant rhinos. Along with 13 other vehicles, we followed 2 cheetah on the prey. Unfortunately, because of the audience they avoided an attack on the zebra across the road who were vigilantly watching their every move. Lucky for us, our driver thought he had to be in front and has an eagle eye for spotting hard-to-find animals. We then drove the 2 hours out of the crater and to the Serengeti--the bumpiest and dustiest ride of our life. We got a flat tire right beside two jackals devouring the carcass of a thomson's gazelle that appeared to be hit by a car. Two hyenas tried moving in on the feast, but were too scared by our presence. Minutes later a cheetah walked right in front of our car. The Serengeti is spotted with hills of boulders that serve as animal dens and look exactly like a scene from the Lion King.
That night we enjoyed our last dinner as a group and John presented us with Kilimanjaro certificates signed by our guides and the national park warden--proof for all of you at home who don't think we made it.

Day 4
We had a short game drive in the morning before catching a puddle-jumper from the Serengeti to Arusha. We drove very slowly, gazing at every tree, but didn't have any luck spotting a leopard. We did see a pride of lions resting under a tree with their cubs and several more giraffe and elephants. The airstrip had a car that would drive before incoming and outgoing flights in order to remove the animals from the dirt runway. While most people had to organize their luggage before catching late flights, we had the opportunity to do some local market shopping with our friend Kitambi. That night we took two of our Tanzanian guides, Michael and Eric, out to dinner in order to see them one last time. It was a great end to our trip. (many thanks, Rick!)