After spending so much time in "real" Africa (ie a tent in the middle of nowhere) this seems artificial and touristy to me. At our camp there are large groups of very loud, overweight people and it makes Ben and I twitch to have to listen to them carry on during dinner. Whenever I hear someone pathetically butcher the swahili language in an obnoxious, mocking way, I want to walk over and punch them in the mouth and call them a stupid Mzungu. Someone ignorantly says they want a shirt made that says "I survived safari" and I don't know how I manage to last the entire 3 days without punching anyone.
When our safari is over, we return to the YMCA and shower. Carly stayed in a really swank hotel while we were gone and by the time we go to meet her, its 7:40pm. She isn't in her room. We go to Bamboo and see if she's there. No dice. Ben is worrying a lot about missing her because she bought us plane tickets to Zanzibar and we're supposed to fly out tomorrow. We decide to grab dinner and swing by her place after. We leave her a note and head to Pepe's. Pepe's is that place that has the best food in all of Tanzania. It's true. We become exceptional connoisseurs of African cuisine during our travels and no place ever comes close to the assortment of delicacies served here. If I ever write a guidebook, Pepe's will be held in high regards on the recommendations list for sure. We gorge ourselves as usual and drink red wine. It's great because we haven't been able to drink while we were on the acetazolamide. We go back to Carly's hotel and throw ourselves onto her giant bed. We watch some of "Bewitched" the movie on her TV, until we all agree that it was the largest mistake of Will Farrel's career and actually painful to watch.
Ben and I go back and pack. We are all go, go, go. We haven't stopped to relax in weeks. The next morning we wake to the alarm at 4:30am. Our shuttle to the airport leaves at 6am. We throw things into our bags haphazardly at the last minute. I am convinced that I can minimize my stuff and roll up my duffel bag as carry on. Ben tosses me our 26 of Capt. Morgan's and I throw it in the bag. As I try to leave the room, I realize that my backpack is too big to get through the door. I get stuck. I drop my duffel bag and back up. Ben rescues me and opens the other door. I step into the hall and slip and almost fall on my ass on the cement and say "watch out, there's a puddle of wat-" and before I can finish, I realize what it is. It's rum. I drop to my knees and unlock the bag in a panic. Inside is broken glass and everything is saturated with rum. I say "shit shit shit" and frantically pull things out of the bag. Camera case is soaked, all my kangas are soaked. This will never make carry on now. We mop up with towels and then throw them in the garbage. Ben is chomping at the bit to get going and we have no time to spare. I do up the bag, throw my camera around my neck to tend to later and we leave.
Ben leaves me in the dust and I curse the whole way. Carly is standing outside the bus, making them wait for us. She says "I hate you guys" and then "oh God, you reek." I do reek. I smell like one of those booze soaked slot machine women. It is not a good smell at all. I have rum soaked into my arms and legs, on my sandals and saturated into my camera case. I waddle up with my booze soaked duffel and get on the bus. I tell Carly it's the camera case and she puts a hand on my shoulder, looks me square in the eye and says "no, it's your whole body." Yeah, she's right. It is. Every time someone coughs or rubs their face, I am certain it's because of the awful smell emanating from my vicinity. I ride the entire way with my head in my hands, praying that they even let me on the plane. I hope that the chaos and disorganization that was the Nairobi airport is present and active here in the Tanzanian airline industry.We go through the checks and Carly keeps saying "oh and don't let Kelly carry that, she's wasted" and "Kelly can't find her passport cuz she's drunk." I vow that if they kick me off the plane, I am hanging onto her pantleg and so help me God, she is coming with me. And they let us on the plane. That is a fine example of how shitty the process is for airline checks. No one says anything to me. Even with Carly's wisecracks, my stench and Ben's look of embarrassment, we are not given any trouble.
Carly ends up on the same plane as us! She is flying to DAR though, to catch her flight home. When we land in Zanzibar, we all hug and she says "I'll never let go!" and we laugh but it's so sad. She says "don't look back" and it's a really sad feeling, to lose another group member. Ben has been freaking out because we have no plan. We kept meaning to book a place to stay, but as we step off the plane, into the humid, sticky air, we got nothin'. We collect our bags and sit on the ground inside the airport. He looks at me like "what do we do now?" and I shrug. We open the guidebook. I see a sign on the wall that is an advert. for "Paradise Beach Bungalows in Nungwi Village". Just as I catch sight of that, Ben squints into the book and says "Hey, what about a place called Nungwi village?" and it's meant to be. We nod at each other and decide to get a cab. After all, what better place than paradise to spend our last days in the motherland?
