Lauren: During our first glorious dip in the fountain of youth (the beach in Zanzibar), we were floating along in the water and noticed a gorgeous, muscle-bound man talking to our friend Kerri. “Whoa, look at HIM!” I said, “he’s like Michaelangelo’s David!” And in he walks to the water with Kerri, and then over he swims to Marjona. We all start talking, exchange names and other formalities, and then we learn that he’s a famous Tanzanian DJ (Marjona’s weakness) from Dar es Salaam. We exchange glances that say, “This was meant to be.”

That night was my first full moon party of the whole trip. Somehow I managed to miss each and every one so far, despite mass migrations of backpackers to party locations in essentially every country I’ve been to during the full moon. But I finally made it to one and was not disappointed with our new friend Makada in the DJ booth. As soon as we came and sat down, we heard “and tonight, we have DJ MJ in the house all the way from NYC!” over the speakers and Beth, Kerri, Dave, and I all cheered as we watched the mating dance begin.

Although we had visions of staying up until dawn, we didn’t quite make it. However, we did enjoy some Tusker Beer and whiskey while we danced, watched fire dancing, sat by a big bonfire, and lounged in hammocks until at least, oh, 1am or so. Marjona picked up another “friend” (she is very popular here), but managed to shake him off and spend a few moments chatting with Makada at the DJ booth before the night ended.

The next morning, to our surprised delight, we ran into Makada again. He hung out with us for a while, and then he and Marjona went and laid on hammocks for the afternoon, chatting and laughing (we could hear Marjona’s token laugh from our post on the beach). The rest of us lounged on the chairs under the large thatched umbrellas, reading and taking the occasional dip in the fountain of youth.

Dave also had a very productive day in that he befriended “Mr. Me”, the-man-who-can-get-anything in Kendwa beach. You want a ride? He can arrange it. You want to go on a tour? No problem. You want some beers and Konyagi (cheap local gin)? He’s your man. The hotels would charge exorbitant prices for things like water, beers, cokes, bananas, etc, but you’d go to Mr. Me, and you’d get the same items for local prices. Every morning, he’d come to the beach, see how we were doing, and ask if we needed anything. And each day, he’d get a short list.

That night, Dave had arranged for some Konyagi, Cokes and a few beers to be delivered to the campfire around 8pm. After a burger dinner at our hotel, we wandered down to the bonfire, and found our chilled cocktails waiting. We all sat, drinking our beers, and chatting with a few locals (Marjona with Makada), and watching the logs burn in the flames.

Around 2am, we all headed back to our hotel where the Superbowl was being broadcast.  (Beth: But there were no Superbowl commercials… only the same three advertisements for ESPN International being played over and over and over.) Mukado didn’t even make it to kick off, but Marjona, Beth and I stayed up through the night, eating the free sandwiches the bar provided, and watching the Bears get slaughtered (despite a very exciting first touchdown after kickoff). By 6am we were depressed and exhausted and we headed off for bed as the sun began to rise.

Beth: The next day, Makada extended his stay in Zanzibar for another day.  It was a routine that would continue for the next four days: We’d wander down for breakfast in the morning, lay on the beach all day, and take turns doing laundry in our bathroom.  After watching the sunset (oftentimes while floating in the water) we’d all take showers, head back to the beach for dinner and spend the evening relaxing with beers and Konyagi by the beach bonfire.  The next morning, Makada would announce that he was going to stay for one more day.

During our days in the water, Lauren and I mastered an improvised diving routine.  Lauren would squat down in the water, and I’d put my feet on her shoulders.  On the count of three (three bounces from Lauren underwater), Lauren would stand up quickly and I’d jump off her shoulders and dive into the water.  By the last day, I was able to get my feet roughly three feet above the water and the rest of the crew (Dave, Kerri, Makada, and Sam) were all trying to replicate the feat. Sam brought his high tech camera in the water and got some great shots of everyone jumping off each other’s shoulders and flying through the air. The pictures above are of a botched attempt (I usually flew forward), but we thought they captured the essence of the routine well anyway.

Lauren: I almost cried our last day, and had to be dragged reluctantly away from the beach to the van Mr. Me had organized for us back to Stonetown. Already I had begun the process of wooing and planting seeds of thought for a return trip to Zanzibar, once Beth had been able to get her financial aid together for law school (a grueling process to be continued back in Dar) and our upcoming safari adventures. Convincing myself that this wouldn’t be the last time I would see that perfect beach and the fountain of youth was the only way I could force myself to leave.

We all crowded in the van and drove the 1.5 hours back to Stonetown. Upon our arrival, we stored our bags at a hotel near the ferry, and went to a restaurant in the Old Fort where we drank Tusker and wrote postcards while the sun set. Marjona, Dave, and Kerri all went to the night market to eat street seafood from the local food stalls, but wimpy Beth and I remained, too afraid that our foreigner stomachs couldn’t handle the street food, and split a burger at the fort while writing postcards home. Our burgers were great, but Marjona came back raving about the barracuda.

At nine, we boarded the Flying Horse. We had opted for the night ferry to save a few bucks on a hotel. The night ferry takes the whole night, heading out to sea, dropping anchor half way across, and then continuing on to the dock in Dar when the port opens at 6am. When we first got up to our first class section (the only section foreigners are allowed to travel in, forcing us to dish out $20, like it or not), we were psyched. Large, plush couches, flat screen TV’s, red carpets, and most the most exciting - air conditioning greeted us when we walked up the stairs. This was not so bad.

But then we noticed a small cockroach. No biggy. Kill it, OK, see? It’s fine. Oh, but there’s another one, oh my, there’s another. Beth! There’s one on your bag! EW! There’s one on the couch! The place was infested. Dave and Kerri, both used to much larger and more bizarre creatures in Australia, merely laughed and Marjona and me, thinking we were just city girls out of their element. Beth also guffawed at our disdain, “They’re only cockroaches, and they’re the small kind,” Ms. I-grew-up-in-the-country announced. Marjona and I pulled on extra layers of clothing (so they wouldn’t crawl on our skin), killed as many as we could find, and curled up, each keeping one eye open through the night.

After the boat took off from Zanzibar, and, as we soon realized, the crew got off the boat, locals barreled up the stairs and into first class, rearranging chairs, turning on the lights, turning the TV up loudly (we had turned it off, and were already sleeping at the time), and screaming at each other across the room. One woman even sat on my feet and then glared at me when I jumped up to see what was going on. We understood, it made sense. Why stay in 3rd class when no one’s guarding the door for 1st? But all of us still had trouble fighting off the feeling of feeling a bit ripped off.

We got off the boat and headed to our old mainstay, the Luther House, but found that the inn was full. A few phone calls later, we ended up at the Econo Lodge in the center of town, which was OK, because we got air conditioning. We all piled into our rooms and fell asleep, this time, for Marjona and me, with both eyes closed.