When we arrive at Paradise Beach Bungalows, it’s raining. I am quickly reminded just how humid the coast of Tanzania is. We haul our massive bags to the reception area. At this point I am toting a large duffel bag, my backpack and two bows and arrows that the guards made me in Singida, wrapped in cardboard from old water boxes. Needless to say, I don’t really walk at this point; I meander and waddle.
A double room here costs 50,000TSH per night and is literally right on the ocean. You can’t get any closer to the water than this. Even though it’s cloudy, I am jumping out of my skin with excitement in anticipation of snorkeling. The water is rough, but it’s blue and I breathe in the humid, salty air and feel the rain on my face. I know that this is what life is really all about.
We are shown to a room with a large queen-sized bed (I swear it’s the biggest bed in all of Africa) and we drop our things and collapse in a heap. I am absolutely exhausted. And I smell like a brewery. Ben and I lie on our backs and look at the ceiling. I just feel at peace. There is nothing in the world that I need and nothing that I want. I feel like I never want to come home. The idea of North America seems even more irrelevant and distant than Africa had ever seemed at home.
Ben falls asleep and I begin removing things from my bag to wash them in the sink. The smell of rum is so strong, it makes me feel sick. I feel like I drank the entire two-six and am grossly hung over. It takes me about an hour to wash every article of clothing and kangas and chukkas with bar soap and hang them on the balcony. I painstakingly remove the broken glass and give multiple sniff tests. Washing clothing by hand is truly a lost art. I take pride in my new ability and kind of resent the idea of a washing machine doing something so simple for me. How lazy are we that we need an entire machine just to do this? I personally find it relaxing.
Ben wakes up and we stand on the balcony for a while. We stare out at the ocean. The clouds have passed and the sun is reflecting off of the most beautiful blue water that I have ever seen. I am amazed at how many times I am struck with awe at the beauty of this place. The sand is white and the ocean is endless and the greens of the trees are spectacular and just looking at them makes you feel alive inside and tingly all over. It’s like this great feeling that you can’t really compare to anything. It’s something like what you feel when you look at the world when you’re young. Like the exhilaration of going to the park when you’re five.
We stroll through the village of Nungwi and it’s pretty standard. Ben realizes that in his fretting about possible destinations, he forgot to go to the ATM. The guidebook says that the only one on the entire island is in Stonetown. We decide that we’ll just use my money and hit the ATM in three days. This means budgeting. We had planned on spoiling ourselves with extravagant meals of seafood and dairy products and wine. We now wander up to a rickety wooden kiosk which sells fly-covered bread and buy two loaves and a jar of peanut butter from a luxury shop. Ben haggles for bananas in Swahili and ends up talking himself into paying more. I think this is hilarious and tease him the whole way back to the hotel. No one haggles a deal like Benjamin Lee Travers.
We have lunch in our room. We use my jackknife to slice the loaves lengthwise and slather peanut butter on them. We toss a banana in the middle and sit on the bed cross-legged, each noshing on a loafwich. We giggle and lie on our backs and look at the ceiling and agree that this is the way to live.
Ben has been the perfect travel companion. He loves the dives we stay in and doesn’t mind eating peanut butter and banana whatevers for every meal and we begin every morning by listening to Paolo Nutini as we dance around brushing our teeth. Often, we talk about how glad we are that we travel this way. That we have stayed in hostels and walked for miles and never complained or spent more than necessary. We decide that forgetting the ATM was a fortunate event that allows us to stay true to our style and not become slothy during our last week. As we laugh at each other’s peanut butter smudged faces, I realize that I am going to miss him something fierce. I decide not to think about that and make us another loaf.
I rent a mask, snorkel and fins on the beach, but the tide is in and the diving isn’t all that good. High tide is never a good time because the seaweed comes with the tidal shift. I decide to head out early the next morning and I go back to the room.
We sit on the porch and watch the sun set and then head inside. The small bed is broken, so we both climb into the large one. We have been talking about writing together the entire trip and now we have the time. Ben says “I once knew a guy, who wore flip-flops no lie” and I yell “twenty-four seven ‘till the day that he died!” We bring out a notebook and lay there and write verses. This is why Ben is great. Together we are equally corny and totally lame.
The next day I go snorkeling for real. Ben and I go for coffee and then wander down the beach, knee deep crystalline water. We laugh and splash and the sun is huge and life is good. We carry our flip flops and the sand is a blanket under my feet. There are few things as peaceful in life as the sand under your toes and the water warm against your legs. I am happy.
We find a nice patch of beach and Ben settles down on a Kanga to finish The Catcher in the Rye and I drop my stuff and run to the surf. I eagerly throw my flippers on and walk backward into the waves. About 200 feet from shore the ocean comes alive. Unlike any marine life that I have ever seen, the ocean is swarming. I see countless species of coral, a neon blue fish and one that looks like a long, thin piece of seaweed until it moves, and then it flips through the water like an eel. I see a massive cockle scallop with a mouth like the edges of a razor and colours that dazzle in pinks and oranges and coral that waves like feathers.
At one point, my arms are stinging and when I spin around I see this beautiful blue jellyfish as big as my hand swimming away from me. It’s so pretty that I forget to swim away for a minute. I have huge welts, but it’s worth it.
The bottom of the ocean looks like debris covered in sand, but wherever I stand up, the sand clears and I see that the entire ocean floor is a mess of amazing shells. There are snail shells and conchs and they’re huge and bright. My eyes are so wide and I wish my dad was here so badly. He loves this stuff. He’d be out there for hours with me, pointing and smiling.
On the walk along the beach I find an octopus hiding under a clamshell. I pick it up and make Ben take a photo of it, but he’s not impressed and tells me to put it down. I shake my head and tell him that he needs to be a little more adventurous. Then I scare him by holding a hermit crab too close for comfort. He’s a riot. The mask pulls one of the 00 gage plugs out of my ear and I lose it to the sea. I make new ones out of driftwood with my jackknife and even Ben has to admit, they’re kinda’ cool.
We go back to the hotel and watch the sun sink again. Then we head downstairs to the hotel restaurant. We have to try the seafood here, just not at every meal. The restaurant is rickety and wooden and we are sitting right over the ocean. Each table is lit by a coal oil lamp that gives off a soft glow and there is Zanzibari music playing somewhere in the background. We have wine and I order giant prawns, as they are all out of lobster. The prawns are huge and I make Ben take another photo. He just smiles and shakes his head and everything is just so wonderful. We use our Masai Chukkas as blankets and fall asleep with full stomachs and the sound of relaxing music drifting in from below and the crashing of the waves outside.
We discover that breakfast is included at our hotel and we head downstairs and have eggs and toast. We walk along the shore again and as much as I’d like to snorkel, we don’t have enough money for that today. We buy scarves for gifts at a shop and then stand in front of the mirror in our room, admiring them. Pretty sharp. It’s our last day here and in the morning we will hop a shuttle van to Stone Town and look for a place to crash. We’re pretty good at winging it now and we sit on the beach until the tide comes right up and crashes over us. We soak up the last rays of the sun and I stare out at the ocean for what seems like hours, trying to remember every smell, every breeze. The stars are out and the moon is shining when we finally call it a night.
