Essaouira

The little beach town of Essaouira felt like the coastal equivalent of Chefchauoen’s mountain retreat. After spending an evening in Marrakech’s crazy medina, the cozy port town was a welcoming calm. Essaouira’s medina sits directly on the water’s edge. So close in fact, that while walking along it’s outer corridors, you can feel the ocean spray coming in over the massive walls. There aren’t many tourist sites in the little town, but you could easily get accustomed to the relaxing lifestyle the city offers. Strolling through the medina, a leisurely late morning coffee, a casual walk along Essaouira’s long stretch of beach, and a fresh seafood dinner at the port. It’s hard not to feel at ease in the little town.
I spend my one full day in Essa doing just that. It took all my strength not to buy half the medina as I wandered through spice stores and pottery shops. So I opted for a cafe au lait and some people watching instead. In the late afternoon I walked along the beach until I could hardly see the city walls anymore. I must have been lucky, because there was barely any wind that day. I’ve heard more than a few people complain about their beach walk due to the wind. Essaouira is known for it’s windy weather, and what’s normally a leisurely beach stroll can easily become a sandstorm, giving you an unwanted sandpaper scrub.
When I arrived back in the city, it was dinner time. I opted for the cheap, food stalls at the port; a “must” according to my guidebook.
I was feeling a little indulgent, and so figured I’d spend twice as much on dinner as I normally do. I walked up to one food stall that had a huge display of seafood, caught fresh that day.
“I would like 80 dirhams ($10) of food please. I’ll eat pretty much anything, so feel free to mix and match whatever you think is the best” the guy at the stall was so excited, since I was his first customer of the evening. He started grabbing this and that and putting it on a platter for me. Then he sat me down with a fresh salad and some bread rolls.
I think I may have underestimated how much food 80 dirhams was, because when my food started arriving I was overwhelmed. First, prawns. About 20 prawns on a plate were placed in front of me. Then came the fish: two massive sardines, and two other whole fish, splayed out and grilled up, were set down. Just when I thought that was everything, a bowl of calamari was given to me as well. How in the world was I going to eat all this?!
But I did, slowly but surely, one at a time. I read my book, and picked away at the tasty fish. The owner of the stall kept coming out and yelling at his staff, who were supposed to be coercing more people to have dinner, but who preferred instead to sit down at my table and ask about where I was from and how I liked the food. They would all jump up and rush around, yelling at people to come eat. Then the owner smiled at me and gave an exasperated sigh. I had to laugh.
When dinner was over I wandered through the medina again, trying to walk off the crazy amounts of food I’d just eaten. Before long I heard someone yelling.
“Hey, Canada!” I turned around to see Matt, an American guy from my hostel waving at me from across the street. He and an Australian girl were headed to a local restaurant to watch Omar, a local Moroccan they had befriended, play music. I figured I had nothing better to do than to join them.
The restaurant we went to was tiny. It only held about 15 people. The place was dark, and candle lit, and had a bench with Moroccan cushions all around the edge of the restaurant. The Aussie girl, Matt, Omar and I sat down for some tea and coffee and met up with Omar’s friend who would be playing with him. Then the show started. Omar played the guitar, while his friend kept beat on a drum and the two of them sang. The music was almost Latin sounding, with an African beat that was wonderful to listen to! They played for around 45 minutes, then sat back down to join us at the table. We chatted and played music into the evening, until I realized I was falling asleep and had to head back to the hostel.
I’m a little upset I had such little time in Essaouira. I could easily have lounged around the city for days. But there’s so much to see in the country, and my time is limited, so it was back to Marrakech the next afternoon!

IMG_0233.JPG

IMG_0234.JPG

IMG_0235.JPG

IMG_0237.JPG

IMG_0236.JPG

IMG_0238.JPG

IMG_0247.JPG

IMG_0249.JPG

Advertisements

Wilderness

20130315-080211.jpg

We weren’t entirely sure where we wanted to spend our next night. Originally we had thought Knysna, until Sam told us it wasn’t worth out while. Then, when we stayed an extra night in J-Bay, we tried to include as many sights as we could in a single day. We aimed for a little town near George called Wilderness. Why not? It was quite a ways down the road, it had a cool name, and we’d heard it was a pretty laid back beach village. Sounds good to us!
For the first part of our trip it was still raining. We stopped in Storms River for lunch, but the town didn’t have much for people stopping by. We had opted out of the bungee jumping (the largest bridge jump in the world at 216m) to save money for several other must-do activities along the way: plus after the gorge swing I’d had enough of hurling myself off huge heights.
The garden route was lovely, but the misty rains made it hard to see things, and the side roads to Nature’s Valley was sadly closed.
Fortunately, by the time we hit Plettenberg, the clouds lifted and the rains stopped. Plettenberg was adorable. The whole town was built on a hill, overlooking the ocean. The locals walked around the street barefoot, and everyone seemed friendly and in good spirits. We wandered around a little craft market, then made our way down to the shoreline. The waves were gorgeous, the sky had brightened and we were in heaven! It was hard to leave, but finally we made our way to Knysna.
We drove through Knysna to “The Heads” which had some incredible views of the coastline. I don’t know what Sam was talking about; Knysna was beautiful! The cliff sides and splashing water was absolutely stunning to look at. We found more than one view point and spent forever just taking photos from every angle we could find. On the other side of the water passage, there we all sorts of hiking paths and caves to explore. If only we had more time, and if Kelsi could walk without a limp, we could have spent hours exploring the area.
We drove back down to the bottom of the cliffs to see the water up close. Right along the shoreline was a beautiful little restaurant that served wine and seafood. One of our goals along the way was to sit and eat oysters and sip on wine somewhere along the coast. Unfortunately, this place was too classy and too expensive for our tastes, so we got back in the car to search somewhere else.
We did a quick drive through of Knysna’s busy restaurant area, then carried on to find a place called Buffalo Bay.
We were all about pulling off route to find small corners of the earth, untouched by tourism. Buffalo Bay was the first of those places that we’d found. Just a little ways away from Knysna, Buffalo Bay (or Buffels Baai as the signs show) it a tiny town with some outstanding shoreline. Fisherman fished off the rocky shores and the sun and clouds made for an awesome photo op. we didn’t spend much time in the town, as the day was getting late and we still had to find a place to stay. So we hopped back in the car and continued back along the N2.
Just a little ways along the highway there was a turn off to a community called Timberlake. Hardly a community really, it was just a small village with about 10 buildings that considered itself an “organic community”.
I made some lame Justin Timberlake joke and looked back at the town as we drove by.
“Stop!” I yelled “there’s a place called ‘The Oyster Shack’ and it’s an actual shack! Let’s check it out!”
Kelsi pulled a U-Turn and we flew down into Timberlake. It was the best U-Turn I’ve ever made.
I can’t even find a word in my vocabulary for how much I liked Timberlake. There’s really no reason for me to have loved it so much, it was ten or so little wooden buildings that sold organic goods from around the area. Honey, wine, cheese, cured meats, and there was also a beautiful looking restaurant… Then there was the Oyster Shack.
Just a little bamboo and wooden shack, with a tiny bar, some killer tunes and wandering chickens. Yup, there were chickens in the bar. On top of that, they sold very cheap, entirely organic oysters and amazing local wines. Win!
We sat down at the bar and met Dominique, the owner and bartender and one of the most pleasant people I’ve ever met.
“How did you find this place?” He asked us.
“We saw it from the road and got so excited we pulled a U-turn!”
He laughed and asked us if he could get us anything. We ordered some oysters, I got a glass of wine, and Kelsi sipped on a cider. Then we hung out and chatted to Dominique about our travels.
The oysters were incredible, and the wine was my favourite of the trip. Dominique was super helpful and suggested a couple places in town to stay for the night (along with directions). He asked us if we could do him a favour and send him post cards from India and Canada and New Zealand. He wanted to be able to post post cards up on the wall of the shack from around the world, but sadly only 2 people had remembered and his collection was lacking. We promised him we would, and in turn he offered us some shots on the house. Kelsi was driving so we said nothing strong. He suggested we try this new type of liqueur that just came out on the market 3 weeks ago. It was called Black Moon and was peanut butter flavoured. We figured we’d try it out, not expecting much, so he poured us a round. It was out of this world amazing! I couldn’t believe it! It was the perfect combination of sweet and salty and one of the best shooters I’ve ever had (which, let’s face it, is saying something). I have searched long and hard for that liqueur ever since and have unfortunately not come across it. So sad.
When drinks were finished, we said goodbye and continued the 10km to Wilderness. We pulled up at the hostel Dominique had recommended and was greeted by the owner who was in a frenzy!
“Girls!” She said, stopping everything she was doing to talk to us ” can I help you?”
“We were looking for a room for the night”
Her face was genuinely upset. ” oh I’m so sorry ladies, I’m so full! I have people sleeping on my couch at home, and I’ve given out all my tents! I can’t think of a single place to put you!” She turned to me and gave me a big hug. “I’m so sorry love.” Then she turned to Kelsi and gave her a huge embrace as well.
“Look,” she said, determined not to let us down “ill call the hotel down the street and see if they will give it to you at hostel price” she did, but they wouldn’t budge on their offer. “Sometimes I don’t know how people like that can run a business!” She exclaimed.
Then she gave us directions to a hostel on the other side of town and asked us to come back for dinner if we could. Oh my god, how nice is everyone in South Africa?!
We made it to the next hostel by dark, and the old man who ran the place was just as pleasant. He talked on and on about all the wonderful places to see in Wilderness ( he obviously took great pride in the town) and gave us some restaurant suggestions as well. When we were shown our room, we decided to head to a local restaurant called Cocomo. They had an incredible seafood platter and amazing live music. He band playing was called Wild Lettuce, and had some of the most unique sounds I’ve heard in a while. The two guys playing were so amazing, Kelsi and I each bought one of their CD’s.
It had been another long day on the road but it was wonderful. The scenery, the people, the food: it was in Wilderness that I decided South Africa was my favourite of all the countries I’ve visited. Yup, for a person who NEVER chooses favourites, this was a big milestone.
Next stop: Oudtshoorn for a second glance!

20130315-075906.jpg

20130315-075928.jpg

20130315-075949.jpg

20130315-080017.jpg

20130315-080048.jpg

20130315-080109.jpg

20130315-080136.jpg

20130315-080154.jpg

Riders on the Storm

20130314-212713.jpg

The morning we checked out of Jeffrey’s Bay, we had horse trekking planned. Papesfontein horse trekking is the only place in the country where you can let loose with horses and gallop for kilometers down the beach in the surf. This sounded incredible, so we signed ourselves up.
As we drove away from the hostel, the clouds began to roll in. It sprinkled a bit, then cleared up again as we neared the ranch. This didn’t look good.
When we arrived at the farmhouse, there were only four of us signed up to ride: Kelsi and I, and a couple who had never been on horses before, ever.
The lady who owned the place was lovely. She said, because we were more experiences riders, that we could pretty much do our own thing.
“When you hit the sand dunes just split off from the group and do what you’d like. The horses know their way home, it won’t be a problem, and the weather should hold out, you may get sprinkled on a little on the route home, but that’s half the fun!” she gave us some faster horses and said that if we wanted a real thrill we could switch our horses with the guide’s. That was her horse; a real racehorse. “If it’s adrenaline you’re looking for, that horse will give it to you” then she sent us on our way.
We walked through the first part of the trip: Kelsi was on Bubbles and I had Patches. It was a lovely, rolling hills area that we trekked through. The South African couple that joined us were very nice, and were quickly getting comfortable with the feel of their horses. The four of us and our one guide strolled for about an hour along the dirt paths before we hit the sand dunes.
The sand dunes separated the grassy, forested hill area from the beach. From the top, you could see forever, (or at least all the way to J-Bay) it was beautiful. This was obviously the turning point towards home, because the horses started to prick up and get ready to run.
“Can we run a little?” We asked the guide.
“Sure” he said.
But our horses were nervous about stepping out of line from the guides horse at first. They wouldn’t run without the lead horse in front. So instead, we all picked up our pace to a canter together until we hit the beach.
The new couple was hanging in there and didn’t mind the fast pace. But Kelsi and I were ready to go faster, and with an endless expanse of white beach and surf line ahead of us, we pulled away from the group and started at a gallop.
We’d only been running for about a minute when our guide came bolting past us on his horse. Oh my god was that horse fast. I thought we were going fast, and he passed us as if we were standing still, sand spraying up behind the horses feet. The guide looked back at us with a concerned face, but we couldn’t tell why.
“Catch it!!! Catch it!!” He yelled at us.
Catch what? We thought.
Then I turned my head to the right and saw a riderless horse run up along side me. I pulled my horse to the right and reached out to the horse next to me, still at a full run. It took a minute, but I finally caught ahold of the reins.
Now I had two horses, who didn’t particularly like being next to each other, running at a full gallop, with me hanging in between the two of them. Okay, so it wasn’t a full gallop. In reality we were probably close to standing still, but it was so exciting I thought I was still galloping. I managed to get the escapee horse under control, before my horse swung around and I lost hold of the second horse.
By this time the guide was back and was able to grab him. Kelsi swung her horse around and we all started back to the other couple.
The lady had apparently fallen off when her horse took off after ours, but she was fine, having landed in the sand, and was brave enough to “get back on that horse,” literally.
When everyone seemed okay, Kelsi and I took off again at our own pace. The horses seemed to know the way, and we were ready to go! I’ve ridden horses a lot in my life, but something about riding along the beach in the surf was really amazing. Just open space to run and see and move. It was beautiful… Except for the ominous black clouds looming ahead of us. We both put our rain jackets on in anticipation, and it started to rain soon after.
It just sprinkled at first, which was nice and refreshing during a running part. Then the wind picked up and it started teeming down. Gale force winds is what we were apparently in (as we found out later) and they were not fun. The rain stung our faces and burned our eyes. Wearing sunglasses helped for a minute, then they fogged up so much that you couldn’t see a thing. We looked back to see our guide half way between us and the older couple way off in the distance. He must have had a hell of a time keeping track of the four of us in the weather.
As we turned away from the water and into the dunes again, another guide came up to us. He had been sent to find us in the storm. He directed our horses at a trot back through the trees.
We came over one sand dune and down over a short rocky area. The wind was still howling and we were both soaked to the bone. Kelsi’s horse was ahead of mine and trotted swiftly over the rocky ground. Then, to the right of the horse, a long black log lay on the ground. The horse obviously saw it too late, then got spooked and jumped to the right and then back to the left in quick succession. Kels counteracted the horse’s first skitter, then lost her balance on the second turn and, in slow motion, spun off the horse and hit the ground. Her knee smashed into a large rock, and she went down on her elbow as well. My horse jumped to the right out of her way, then I pulled it up to a stop to see how Kelsi was.
“Kelsi! Are you okay?”
She was silent. Sitting up in a crooked position with one knee twisted under her against a rock.
“Kels?”
Still silent. I know Kelsi is in pain when she’s silent. I don’t know anyone in the world with such a high pain tolerance. She doesn’t complain ever about being in pain, and even if she is aching all over, she’s usually still laughing. So silence was NOT a good thing.
She was wincing in silence and biting her bottom lip. The guide pulled his horse around to come see if she was ok. I tried to think of anything in the world that would help.
“Do you want me to come down and help you?” I asked “I could give you a hug, I can help you get up! Oh my god, I feel your pain right now. I’m coming down to help you” I just blabbered on and on trying to think of something to do or say to make it better. Then I tried to get off my horse. Unfortunately, after a month of gaining weight traveling, and being soaking wet from the rain, my skinny jeans weren’t moving, ANYWHERE. I was totally stuck in my saddle.
“Sorry baby! I can’t get down! I’m too fat for my pants and now I can’t move! You’re on your own.”
Kels cracked a teary-eyed smile and then struggled to her foot. Her one leg was not in any shape to touch the ground, and to be honest, I have no idea how she crawled back on that horse. We were only ten minutes to home, so close! We half trotted and half walked the way home. Every bumpy movement meant agonizing pain for Kelsi’s knee. However, by the time we reached camp we were both in good spirits and laughing again. Despite the storm.
The owner gave us some towels and we changed into fresh clothes. Then we thanked her for an unforgettable ride and hit the road. Our busy road trip couldn’t be put on hold any longer. We were off to the Garden Route!

20130314-212442.jpg

20130314-212500.jpg

20130314-212545.jpg

20130314-212642.jpg

Zanzibar: Rastas in the East

20130215-144216.jpg

The next morning, 8 of us split off from the tour group and spent three days on the East coast of Zanzibar. Nick and Sandy were good enough to do some research and book us all into a little backpacker hostel called Mustafas.
The place was wicked. A super laid back Rastafarian joint that had quaint little bungalows, sandy paths, a huge fire pit and a bar/restaurant for everyone to relax at. The bar had a constant stream of Bob Marley tracks blasting out into the courtyard, and a steady supply of semi-cold Kilimanjaros (our favourite beer here). The locals who worked and hung out there each introduced themselves by their strange nicknames: Shaggy Dog, Scooby Doo, Slim Shabby, and the such. They spent most of the day smoking hash, lounging about, and serving us food and drinks as we needed. Life is sweet.
On our first afternoon, we walked the half block to the beach for a swim. The tide was way out, so mostly we just trudged through clay-like mud until we could find a deeper spot to wade in. That’s where we met Shaggy Dog: the supplier of all tourist needs! The know-it-all of East Zanzibar! He could get us scooters, bicycles, snorkels, paddle boards, kite surfing, or a large assortment of illegal drugs and have everything organized in a matter of minutes.
The boys had already done introductions by the time Kelsi and I waded up through the water.
“Hi, my name is Shaggy Dog”
“Hilary” I replied as I shook his hand.
“Hairy? Nice to meet you, Hairy.”
Great. The second he said it, I got sideways smirks from the boys and knew “Hairy” was going to be my permanent nickname for the rest of the trip. Oh well, embrace it. “Yup, that’s me, Hairy!”
We told Shaggy Dog we were going to take it easy, but we’d chat with him the following day about activities. That day, we took it slow. Finally a day to lounge at the hostel, relax in the surf and walk along the vast stretches of white sand beaches. The water in Zanzibar is a beautiful turquoise blue colour that I wasn’t quite expecting from the coast of Africa. It was paradise.
We all went to a local restaurant for dinner, waited over an hour for our meals (despite being the only people in the place) then spent the night laughing by the fire. One of the local guys, who we nicknamed “Colgate” because he only had 3 functioning teeth, took a liking to Sandy which resulted in more fits if laughter from us girls. Colgate spent the evening dancing, playing the bongo, and offering up flowers and coconuts to him. Endless amounts of entertainment! We finally had to escape for a midnight dip in the ocean and lie out on the sand watching the stars well into the night.
The next day we collectively agreed to rent scooters for the day. Although we couldn’t drive the scooters on the roads without a permit, Shaggy Dog said it would be no problem just cruising up and down the beach. Falafel (Mallory’s nickname because she is a vegetarian) was our only voice of reason in the group.
“Guys, none of us know how to drive scooters, we don’t have permits, we don’t know the condition of the bikes, I’m not coming”. So Kelsi and I sat and tried to explain our unreasonable side. If we were going out, we were bringing the whole dirty 8, no man gets left behind!
“Falafel, it’s just scooters, what could possibly go wrong?!”
Famous last words…
In the end, we did convince her to join us. We rented four scooters between the 8 of us and trudged to the beach.
“No worries,” we told Shaggy, “we all know how to use these!”
Immediately afterwards the boys taught us all how to drive (being the only 2 people qualified enough to work a scooter). And yes, even I drove a motorized, 2-wheeled vehicle for a little while.
When we’d all practiced for a few minutes, we decided to head out 6km or so north to the Blue Lagoon. We hopped on the bikes and started out. Sarah jumped on the back of Nick’s bike, and as he started revving forward, she leaned back and the two of them flipped backwards, the bike, with wheels still spinning, crushing them from above.
“Help!!! Help! Get it off!” Sarah yelled at Nick.
“I can’t! You have to let go of me!!” Unfortunately, Kelsi and I were already driving up the beach, and so I missed actually seeing this. But apparently it was fits of shrieking from Sarah as she death clutched Nick’s waist so he was unable to move… Everyone else just stood around and watched and laughed. Minor cuts and bruises resulted from the accident, and the two of them were up and speeding down the beach in no time.
It was hot that day, and the wind blowing in my ears made it impossible to hear what Kelsi kept talking about as we drove along the surf line. A few minutes down the beach I heard Kelsi yelling something.
“What?!” I yelled. “Your helmet? What’s falling off? Should I hold it on for you” Then I looked up and realized what she was talking about. Cara and Mel had drifted too close to the water and hit some soft sand. The bike swerved, stopped short and sent the two of them flying over the handle bars. Mel did a full front flip from the back of the bike and landed in the water. Cara hit the handle bars during her ejection and skidded face first into the sand. Kelsi and I pulled up moments after Sandy and Falafel to find the bike upside down in the sand and the two girls walking around in a shocked daze.
“Are you alright?!”
“Ya… We just crashed” they said, all too calmly.
Cara was walking around in a crooked line, her face half covered in sand, lip bleeding and a mangled nose ring hanging from her nostril. Mel was just soaked, trying to take off her helmet as she walked back up to the beach. We hugged them both, made sure everyone was okay, flipped the bike back into an upright position and sat on the beach laughing for a good five minutes.
“How fast were you two GOING?!” We asked.
“Don’t know, but we were in 4th gear.” Said Cara.
More laughter.
Turns out, the bike engine was flooded and the front wheel was crooked. The girls were still a little shaken, but in amazing spirits. We hopped in the water for a swim, washed Cara’s face off, and made bets on how bad her black eye would be the next day.
The bike wouldn’t start. We dreaded how much it was going to cost us when we brought a busted bike back to Shaggy Dog. Falafel shook her head at us and reminded us of our “what could possibly go wrong speech”. Oops!
Luckily for us all, a half hour later the girls were able to kick start the bike and we set out (at a much slower speed) to find Nick and Sarah at the lagoon. In the end we never found it. But we did come upon a beautiful light blue cove with a resort that was absolutely stunning. A dock went out into the middle of the water and had a restaurant floating above the ocean at the end of it (For guests of the hotel only).
We went for a long swim, lay down in the lounge chairs, and eventually stopped at a restaurant on the beach for lunch. The seafood in Zanzibar is incredible. Actually, I think we only ate seafood for the entire four days we were on the island. The restaurant we were at served this delicious octopus curry that blew my mind. We actually ended up eating there the following day as well, where 4 of us ordered the octopus dish a second time.
After lunch we packed up and headed home (Cara and Mel a half hour slower than the rest of us). The damaged bikes were no big deal and cost us just a few dollars. The rest of the night was spent lounging around. We had another campfire party, which ended up turning into a tiger balm massage party after not too long. (Mel gives incredible tiger balm head massages that became a continual necessity for the rest of the trip).
On our final day in the East we were determined to find the real Blue Lagoon. So we rented slightly safer bicycles, got some vague directions from one of the staff and set out along the road. All of the locals in Zanzibar are so lovely. Nearly every man, woman or child we passed greeted us muzungus with an excited “Jambo!” and a wave. It felt nice to be so welcomed in their community.
After 45 minutes of biking in the scorching sunshine, we finally came upon the “Blue Lagoon” sign. We were all excited! Exhausted from the biking, parched, and sunburnt from the midday heat, all we wanted to do was jump in a lagoon and cool off. We biked down the rocky path that the sign pointed to, came around a building, and realized we were at the EXACT same location that we’d been at the afternoon before. Fail.
Apparently “lagoon” doesn’t have quite the same meaning in Africa as it does other places; but we weren’t complaining! We rented some snorkels, lounged around, and ate more delicious octopus curry.
When we arrived back home we started drinking: sipping on Killis in the shade throughout the late afternoon. We asked around for a good place in town to eat, and were given the name if this great little place about a 20 minute drive away.
We were getting pretty tipsy by the time our cab arrived. The 8 of us piled in and our driver blasted ear deafening tunes the entire way. When we got to “town” (aka, a slightly more dense area than where we already were) all we wanted was another beer. Too bad. On an island where 95% of the population is Muslim, many of the restaurants opt out of serving alcohol. This restaurant was one of those.
So we sat, for ages, waiting for our food to come out, and began to sober up. We had joked all weekend that our food only showed up once the candles on our table had burnt out. But when the ones that night were getting very close to the end, our server laid fresh ones out… Looks like we were going to be waiting a long time to eat.
In our drunken hunger, we all ordered way too many dishes. Pizzas, pasta, seafood, chips, etc. all started filling the table. Us girls filled up quickly and gave all our leftovers to the boys. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen two people eat so much before. We could feel their pain as beads of food sweat ran down their foreheads. In the end, not a scrap of food was left; not even the pizza slice that had fallen off the plate and landed on the dirty table.
A couple hours later we piled back into the sub woofer that was our taxi and headed for home. We sat on the rooftop of our little bar and played a wild game of Kings cup. Part way through, Scooby Doo came to join us for drinks. Scooby was this laid back, dreadlocked Rastafarian that may or may not have worked at Mustafas. He did however sleep on the couch on the roof of the bar, and seemed pretty content smoking weed all day and chatting with the tourists. Scooby was pretty drunk when he joined in our drinking game, when we had finished, he was beyond wasted. At one point we apparently offended him and he blew up at us.
“I hate you all! No one has a heart here! Screw all you guys! Only Sarah and I have feelings!” (How he targeted Sarah as his favourite we have no idea). No matter how much talking down we did, Scooby just got more angry. Finally he stormed off in a fit of expletives and left us wondering what had just happened.
Hours later, at about 3:30 in the morning, he stumbled upon us on the beach with a machete. He angrily hacked away at any lamp posts or palm trees he could find in a blind rage… Perhaps it’s time to leave Mustafas.
So we waited til he passed, went to bed, got up early and checked out. At 8:00 am Scooby was already awake and stoking the fireplace. We tiptoed around him, not quite knowing what he remembered from the night before. As we snuck out the front gates of the hostel we could here him yelling to us.
“Hey! Hey! You better f*cking come back to visit us, you here?! You better f*cking come back!!”
“Sure, thanks Scoobs” we yelled back
“Sarah!” He yelled “Say hi to your mom and dad from me!”
Omg. What a crazy man.
We climbed into our van, exhausted, and made the hour and a half trek back to Stone Town. Time to get the hell out of Zanzibar. What a weekend!

20130215-144156.jpg

20130215-144209.jpg

20130215-144228.jpg

20130215-144236.jpg

20130215-144244.jpg

20130215-144257.jpg

20130215-144308.jpg

20130215-144319.jpg

20130215-144327.jpg

20130215-144335.jpg