3 days on a train and ZANZIBAR!

Hmmm... I could have sworn I wrote a post when I was in Lusaka, but I guess I'm mistaken. My bad for keeping you waiting. Alright, where to start?!?! We have a lot of ground to cover, so keep up. The hostel in Livingstone, Zambia was a freakin' paradise! Most definitely the nicest I've been to. And of course that didn't have anything to do with the fact that I was one of the only guys there, surrounded by dozens of girls in bikinis.

After the stress of Zimbabwe I decided just to do a whole lot of nothing for a few days except have a few beers by the pool. Surprise, surprise, I ran into Casey from the Namibia tour at the same place and a very good guy, a retired Brit by the name of Gary, so we three hung out for a few days. I was happy to get to a restaurant the first night where we were the only white people. The music was a lot of fun, with the very drunk band playing covers of Elvis and Bob Marley to an island rhythm. We took a taxi back 'home' because it's not advisable to walk around town at night (or anywhere in Africa really), but as I was getting into bed I had a panic attack: I had left my bag at the restaurant. Why I brought my passport, Ipod, cell phone, and traveler's cheques out with me remains a mystery. So, thankfully a Dutch guy who also joined us for dinner offered to walk (run, actually) with me back to rescue my shit, and aside from virtually breaking my toe on an uneven part of pavement, it all turned out fine.

While in town we took a gander at the Vic Falls from the other side of the Zambezi river. I didn't think it was possible, but the spray was about twice as heavy on this side - it was like being in a hurricane, but without the winds. I got very few pictures because I feared for my camera's life (kudos to the inventor of the zip loc bag, and a pat on the back to me for wearing my bathing suit). The morning I left town, I did a flight in a microlight plane - a kind of hang glider with a propellor attached - over the falls. Despite the great things I heard about the experience, I was not all that impressed. But I did get some cool pictures from the left wing ;)

Later that day I jumped on a 7 hour bus to Lusaka, the country's capital. Passing by a pickup truck packed half full of men and half full of baby goats was a highlight of the trip, as was avoiding potholes at 100kph in a huge coach in the pitch black of rural Zambia. Zimbabwe's run-down exterior, with its lack of activity and feeling of hopelessness was in stark contrast to the upbeat, thriving towns with shops that have brightly painted facades that I noticed traveling Zambia. Or at least that's what I thought until I got to Soviet Lusaka. What a really weird place. That's the only way to put it. There was clearly some communist style central planning going on here. The East Berlin style housing compounds looked bleak and the bizarro architecture was trying to be modern but succeeded only in looking childish. Walking the main drag on a Sunday, not a damn thing was open except a string of about 4 restaurants, including a Subway! They only had one kind of bread, used about half the toppings I'm used to, took half an hour to make my cold cut trio and claimed that the watery sludge out of the tube was mustard, but it was nice to get a bit of home on the other side of the world.

I'm not exactly sure why I spent 3 nights in this excitement abyss, but it was good to be in a place that hasn't yet been Westernized (yet). Walking through the market on the last day was a freakin' experience. Every five minutes, someone shouted at me "Hey white man!" (or in the local language, 'Umazungu'). The first time this happened I was stunned. All I could think to say back was "Hey black man!" Hah. I was offended until I realized there was no racism intended here; we white folk are just a novelty in these backwaters.

The first night at the hostel, Casey and I had an interesting conversation with a very nice, UK educated Zambian couple. I'm still not sure how to interpret this experience, but it seemed to me that they were trying desperately to shrug off their 'Africanism' and impress us with how posh they've become. Regrettably, I fell into that trap and started minding my grammar more closely and using vocab I usually don't. Their views on tourism was mind openening: Casey and I agreed that the potholes, the delays, the power outages were all part of the charm of Africa and the reason we chose to come here and not somewhere like Western Europe. Their master plan was to dismantle this authenticity and replace it with five star hotels and great infrastructure. But I could understand that their prime goal was to eliminate poverty and that my hope to keep things 'real' was a product of where I was raised.

While in town, Casey somehow convinced me to take a 2 night, 3 day train to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania with her, eventually going on to the tropical paradise island of Zanzibar. To prepare for the trip, we had to grab some groceries. In one of the most surreal moments so far, our taxi driver said to us "Could you please wait here for one minute, we [the other drivers] have just bought a communal drink and I haven't had my share yet." To translate, he had to take a big swig of beer before driving us across town.

For some backwards reason, the train doesn't leave from Lusaka and we had to take a bus from Lusaka to Kapiri Mposhi, about 200 k north. That bus station was the most chaos I've ever seen in one place. 50 people in my face trying to sell me transport to Livingstone, buses intent on running me over, horns blaring. A lot like what I imagine urban India to be like. Kapiri - what a dismal town - it's essentially a village of mud huts with a ginormous communist style train station in the middle. I made a friend outside the station who offered me some salted fish. It took a few days to get that taste out of my mouth.

At the station we ran into a bit of an inconvenience. Tanzania is a Muslim country, so men and women are not allowed in the same train compartment unless they're family or they can get a compartment with nobody else in it. The prospect of Casey and I being separated the whole time wasn't appealling, so I spent the whole time trying to convince the ticket guy that we were married and needed our own caibn, and when that failed, talking to other tourists and seeing if they wanted to book a cabin together. Foiled in the end, but that wasnt' much of a big deal. We got compartments next to each other and spent most of our time in the bar and dining cars anyway. Speaking of which, I'm very happy we brough a bottle of gin and a few of wine. It made time fly quicker ;) Ditto for my Ipod. All in all, I can't really complain about the trip. While it was hot and bumpy and smelly and Casey and I were both not very talkative, the scenery was amazing. The tracks took us through a remote region of Zambia and Tanzania that you just can't access by road.

One of the greatest experiences (and photo-ops) was whenever the train stopped. From the surrounding rural villages, dozens or even hundreds of kids would rush to meet us to beg for whatever we wanted to throw out the window (plastic bottles seemed to be a hot item), sell potatos, carrots, nuts and other stuff, or to just wave at us and stare in awe at my white-ness. When I tried to take pictures, the kids would scramble like I was pointing a gun at them. As we got farther into Tanzania, things really started to change. The weather for one - it's damn (i mean damn,) hot here owing to the ridiculous humidity. Also the people - although most of the rural kids were absolutely filthy, most of the adults would wear clothes with beautiful bright patterns. Nobody here spoke much English. Laundry would be laid out on the grass to dry. The last day, the train took us through the tip of a game reserve, so we saw wild zebra, giraffe, elephants, impala, etc... But probably the most extraordinary experience for me was the stand up shitting! Yes, you heard right! While this rickety train was rocking back and forth and bumping around, you would have to squat over a toilet bowl with no seat, all while holding onto nothing but the walls, and pray you have good aim. Wiping was another story. My quads still hurt.

And now, we're just kickin' it in Zanzibar, an island famous for it's beautiful beaches, seafood and intriguing history as a source of wealth for several empires - Arab, British, Portuguese... We're staying in a part of Zanzibar Town called 'Stone Town', a beautiful, if run down place that looks way too much like the old parts of cities in Morocco. The only problem is that until last night it was raining literally non-stop in torrential downpours. We arrived off the ferry from Dar-es-Salaam (Tanzania's capital, opposite Zanzibar) two days ago. Getting to our hostel (which smells damp, and is damp), we had to wade through water rushing down the streets that was 2 feet deep at some points. Thankfully it stopped last night and hasn't started, but the skies are grey. I want to go to the beach, dammit!

Last night was a blast and a half - we had dinner at a cool (if touristy) restaurant on the beach, and a live band started playing at 10. Pretty quick the dance floor was packed and everyone was having the time of their life, including us. Uncharacteristically, I danced all night, and have never sweated so much. Around 11 we left there with some Brits that were trying to pickup Casey and after making a few stops around town, driving with the driver's door open because the switches for his power windows had been stolen (yes you read that correctly) and we were fogging up like mad, we stopped at a local 'Umuzunga' club for more dancing. By this point I was on my 15th gin and tonic, so I wasn't thinking all that clearly, which may explain why I suspected one of the girls I danced with was a transvestite. This morning I realize I have no valid reason to believe she was, but at the time I was convinced. Oh Africa, you crazy bastard.

By the time we got to the THIRD bar I was really ready to go home. I had resorted to drinking water and was exhausted. Being the only white people there, it was clear that we were not welcome. I was surprised the music didn't stop when we walked in the door like it does in the movies. The black dude I was with decided it would be safer if he walked with me to the washroom, and I'm glad he did. From there we went to a reggae bar around the corner which was much more welcoming, but I seemed to be the only one enjoying it, so everyone wanted to go back to the last place. However, it was 5am and I put my foot down so Casey and I jumped in a cab, getting into the hostel just as other people were waking up. We woke up at 12 today, and plan to do nothing! Hopefully will move over to the East side of the island tomorrow where the weather and beaches are better. Then from here it's off to Malawi to settle for a few months and do some volunteering! Until next time...