Sketches from Sifnos: September 2011

Thursday, September 22, 2011

September on Sifnos

Photo: First Day Ceremony at Sifnos High School

Locals are dismayed by news of higher property taxes. The IMF is pressuring the national government which, in turn, considers imposing more property taxes. This article explains the circumstances well: http://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/0,1518,785993,00.html . Sales taxes are already very high, (similar to the rest of the EU), including on groceries, (costing us about 25% more than what we pay in northern California). On Sifnos we pay modest property taxes through our electricity bills. For years we have been expecting more of a property tax hit, (being conditioned by the Bay Area), so this resistance from locals has been a bit surprising, yet becoming more understandable as we learn of local conditions. Financial transactions here are almost always in cash. For the first time this year, I assume due to Greece’s financial woes and need to establish more controls, all shop owners are giving us receipts. If we were to stay a few months longer in each calendar year, we would have been obligated to submit Greek income tax returns. Fortunately, for administrative ease, we have only the U.S. return to deal with during this year’s experience. Despite the significant financial constraints and stresses that Greeks are currently experiencing, it is amazing to see the resilience and fortitude of our acquaintances. Daily life continues as normal and kindness still prevails. As friends explain, the current concerns are not new ones, just more severe. Islanders have long done their best to protect themselves from central government forces by setting up small multi-generational family businesses, ensuring multiple sources of income, investing savings in real property, and sharing wealth in multi-generational family units. Unfortunately, this formula continues to include forcing the young adults abroad in order to find enough income and opportunity to develop income-generating skills. With the exception of a few ex-pat women who are dependent on their husband’s incomes, all of our acquaintances earn their livings through multiple income-generating means.
Haircut stress! One of the stress points when moving to a new location is overcoming the of a failed hair cut. Am I not right? We’ve been ignoring this fear for far too many weeks. On Sifnos we know of only one barber shop. Older men frequent the place for their smoke and chat with the owner. I’ve never seen anyone getting their hair cut there. What to do? Fortuitously, our friend Sophia, (guest worker from Georgia—the country that is), completed the 18 month certification training in Athens and is newly established in the business of cutting hairs. It is never wise to employ a good friend if one wishes to remain friends, yet, in desperation, this is what we did. Phew! All is well that ends well. In our house, in one relaxed hour, Sophia has proven her skills on all three of us and we are content to advertise her skill on our heads.
Meteorological and astronomical miracles labeled by an iPad app: Thunderstorms rocked after the most incredibly awesome sunrises and moon rises. After viewing the sky flash with thunderbolts I can better appreciate the genesis of Greek myth that has Zeus throwing around lightning bolts during his tantrums. In the past we’ve enjoyed our fair share of spectacular sunrises, sunsets and moon rises from our patio. Nevertheless -- I swear -- the ones in the past couple of days have been the most magnificent. Try as we may, the camera can’t capture the grandeur of these natural phenomena. Kelly tipped us on the app for the iPad, called Starwalk, that uses the embedded camera and compass, (note: not GPS), to report back our position in the universe. Stars and planets are labeled so that our stargazing is more informed. We could easily while away hours and hours gazing at nature’s spectacular displays.
On the first weekend in September is the annual celebration of Cycladic life, hosted by the village of Artemonas, and organized by our friend Ronya who is the director of the island’s civic center. Berkeley friends can envision it as the equivalent of the Solano Stroll. In addition to a street fair that winds its way along the pedestrian paths of the village, all churches are spit polished and beeswax candles are lit to encourage visitors. I am told that Sifnos is well known for the significance of its inventory of historically relevant iconography. Anyone with a craft to share sets up an exhibit. Our favorite cheese and wine makers exhibit alongside our favorite bakers and potters. Space is reserved for live music and traditional folk dance. Portable chairs are arranged for those too weak to roam on their feet for too long. A priest, who was previously a professional violin player, regales the crowd with foot stomping tunes. Free wine and food samples are abundant. Grandparents proudly push their grand-babies in strollers. Young lovers hang out together. Gaggles of teen-agers, separated by sex, crowd the paths. Clusters of older men sit gossiping while demonstrably admiring the young ladies passing them by. The fair begins at 8 p.m. each evening and, I am told, continues into the wee bacchanal hours of the morning. Subsequently, everyone seems to be on a friendlier terms.
Wazup? When out and about we are pleasantly surprised to find ourselves hailed by villagers as they express a need to touch base on a bit of information, make a plan together, or simply exchange pleasantries. I’m finding the island small enough that most know each other. Our family news travels faster and farther than do we. Daphne, the piano teacher, knows when Maria, the Greek teacher meets with us, who is friends with Chryssa, from whom I take my painting class, who knows our baker Annalisa, who knows Karoline’s home room teacher Lillian, who knows our ex-pat friends Lulu and Button who operate a lavender farm, who tells us about the time for the local showing of a new French movie that showcases our friend Antonis who performs a minor role, etc. Our Greek instructor confirms our understanding that these daily contacts are the prevalent way of getting things done on the island, far surpassing email or even telephone as a way to communicate. There is no newspaper, email forum or central bulletin board for sharing community news. Instead, word of mouth continues to be the practice for conveying this information. Engaging in social activity takes on a whole new meaning for us.
Rhythm of life shifts to off-season: Hotels, restaurants and retail that cater to tourists are beginning to close for the slow season. Food and general stores reduce their opening hours: none on Sundays; Mondays and Wednesdays closed after 12:30 p.m. As always, siesta hours are observed: from 1 p.m. to 6 p.m. it is impolite to call and possibly disturb another’s rest or family time. The stores that are open do so from about 10 a.m. to 12:30, then again from 6:30 to 8:30. After the mid-day rest, people become active again from 6 and until 11.
This new lifestyle of being my own boss has it’s merits. Since our summer travels, I’ve been at it for three weeks. One of the downsides is that my time can be wasted very easily without enough self-discipline. I’ve found myself mentally checking a list of key projects throughout the day as a means to enforce productivity. My weekday project list, (taking approximately 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.): yoga, positioning Karo in the local school activities; being Karo’s Calvert Learning Guide, planning meals based on what is available in the market, studying Greek, organizing my book project, mapping the next trail, planning travels, writing the next blog entry, teaching myself Chi Running, gardening, housekeeping and preparing meals.
7^th grade Calvert distance learning: Karoline launched her school year in rhythm with the U.S., officially declaring her first day to be the Tuesday after Labor Day. The first day was consumed by the three of us practicing our new roles as we waded our way through the first lesson for each subject. Gerhard is the IT Specialist and Science advisor, I am the Learning Guide, and Karoline is, of course, the Student. She is enjoying Calvert's structure and direction setting, enthusiastically marking a *check* on the subject list after completing a day’s lesson. I am quite impressed with the approach and the material seems to align on a reasonable progression path from where Karoline left off in 6^th grade. Karoline has always been self-disciplined and self-motivated, making our parental role an easy one. So far, in our third week of experience, it takes on average 2.5 hours to complete a day’s set of lessons.
What does it entail to be Karoline’s Calvert Learning Guide? Tasks: plot the weekly lesson schedule on Sundays; oversee progress and adjust schedule daily; ensure learning aids are available when needed; discuss plans and issues with Karoline, ensuring that she drives me and not the other way around; coach on setting goals, determining priorities, organizing effort, and managing time; be available during her study hours to address her questions or help escalate issues to Calvert staff.
Karo’s local school activity: With encouragement from a neighbor who is a local teacher, and with Karoline in the driver’s seat, I have assisted in coordinating an independent study plan at the local school. We participated in the September 12th opening day ceremonies, led by Orthodox blessings. Karo’s schedule needs to be organized daily since there is no set program (yet) at the school. Depending upon the teacher’s preferred second language, I find myself communicating in English, German or French. Recent national spending cuts have generated chaos. All schools are without textbooks, setting teachers adrift with their lesson plans. Due to significant staff cuts, classroom teachers find themselves also serving in the role as specialist teachers, (i.e. foreign language, arts, science) for which they have not been trained or certified. Despite this mess, the teachers have enthusiastically embraced Karoline as their special project. If she attends the first period Karoline catches the school bus, otherwise we drive her the 5 minutes to school. It is the public bus that makes a special run just for the island’s school students. Thankfully, the staff is slow to enforce the rules so Karoline can attend while I continue to chip away at the requirements for officially enrollment. Enrollment has required special help from Karo’s Berkeley school VP, pediatrician, optometrist and dentist. All have been so kind and supportive. Their letters need to be translated and notarized. A special cardiovascular exam must occur, (even though this can only be done in Athens since there is no specialist on the island). All this before the local pediatrician can complete his perfunctory school physical exam. Karoline is choosing to engage in the local school so as to learn Greek faster, make better friends, and show appreciation by making a contribution. In addition to joining the music, art and PE classes, she is having fun working as a teacher’s assistant in the German and English language classes for her age group. Given that her cohort is no more than 40 students, soon she will be on first name basis with ALL the island’s kids of her age! Much to her surprise and credit, Karoline declares the local school experiment a grand success, except, “learning the teachers’ last names and remembering all the students’ first names is SO HARD!” Already, as we pass on the streets, Karoline is being hailed by her fellow students, “Yasu Karoline”! With fellow parents, Gerhard and I are finding that we carry a new, more integrated, community stature.
After school: Karoline is committed to weekly piano, flute, and two sets of Greek lessons. Unfortunately, the Mandarin lessons will be on hold this year, for lack of time and time zone convenience. When not otherwise occupied, Karoline joins me in yoga, practicing Chi Running and Walking, (thanks for the tip Joanne!), completing sewing projects using the machine, preparing meals, and plotting a perivoli / kitchen garden with Gerhard and Nasia. Also, we have an outstanding commitment to ourselves to complete a social studies project that seeks to compare the cultures we are experiencing and documenting our observations on our blogs. There are offers from well meaning acquaintances to engage Karoline in their drama, horseback riding, art, and Girl Guide activities, yet we are dubious that Karoline will have the time to get so involved. Needless to say, it is wonderful to see how receptive the community has been to Karoline’s interests.
Making friends: Karoline is slowly making acquaintances with fellow students who are brave enough to converse in their best English. Yet, she still does not have steady playmates with whom to have regular get togethers. The language barrier remains significant.
Multi-culti vertigo: In addition to our local Greek friends, we are finding ourselves fast bound to the active ex-pat community. At a luncheon on Sunday we rotated conversation between French, German and English while throwing around a few Greek words, depending upon which cluster of conversationalists we joined. Poor Karoline: in this season the average age of the group is easily above 60, leaving her the youngest, therefore, being placed in the spotlight, (which has never been her favorite place). After the luncheon, I found myself feeling inordinately disoriented and over-stimulated. I‘m not sure how to express it. Was I experiencing multi-culti vertigo?

Monday, September 12, 2011

August in Tanzania: the land of Triple S, (Simba, Sea and Spice)

Photo links:

Tribes: http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=2AbuXLhw1bsWR3

Dar: http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=2AbuXLhw1bsWSI

Safari: http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=2AbuXLhw1bsWRm

Zanzibar: http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=2AbuXLhw1bsWRV

In Dar es Salaam, Arusha, Ngorogoro Crater, the Serengeti, and Zanzibar we experienced the Republic of Tanzania. In retrospect we seized the wrong approach to explore Tanzania. There is no ambition to return *as a tourist*. Yet, I would wholeheartedly participant in a development program. Those people we met who were in the country as part of NGOs or humanitarian projects seemed to have a much more positive experience. The month we spent in the Republic was a fascinating orientation to this impoverished country. The overall impression is one of being exploited for our money while being forced into the captivity of golden cages. Real life occurs elsewhere. It was our most expensive travel adventure, ever. To put it into perspective, we spent more per day than the average person in Tanzania earns in a year.

It is straightforward: The tourist is eagerly invited and politely welcomed…to be unapologetically exploited. Polite ‘eat or be eaten’ seems to be a pervasive street sentiment. To travel with our usual custom of making sincere contact with local people was prohibitively difficult in Tanzania. Men were clearly and singularly interested in our money. By tradition, women remained modest, subservient, and unapproachable behind their jilbaab, abaya, or kanga. Children practiced, (with gleeful difficulty), their *mean glare look* while extending a hand, palm up, gesticulating demands for gifts, expecting us to strip ourselves of our watches, hats, sunglasses, rings and shoes. After experiencing such activity on the streets of Dar, Arusha, and Stone Town, we gladly accepted the invitations from private drivers who whisked us away to our heavily barricaded plush tourist hotels well guarded by Masai morani. In the gilded cages of the private car or hotel, we stared at all that was new to us, wishing for another way to participate comfortably in quotidian life. While providing the necessary safety, the barriers stifled personal activity and liberties we take for granted in the U.S.

It is not to say that the tourist agencies were not good. Quite the contrary. Masai Wanderings for safari and Pongwe Beach Hotel for Zanzibar were excellent choices and live up to their online reputations. The U.K. ex-pats who operate these businesses knew exactly for what we were searching, and supported us, to the degree that Tanzania allows tourists. Highlights were the visits to tribal villages offered through local connections of Masai Wanderings. We visited the Iraqw, (agriculturalists and brick makers), the Datoga (blacksmiths), the Hazabe (bushmen hunter gatherers), and the Masai (warrior nomads). While better than museum exhibits, it was a bit of a put off that these visits were clearly orchestrated as displays for the tourists, therefore, as artistic versions of daily life. Admittedly, if we were to ‘go native’ authentically, I agree that we would have been much distressed by the harshness of daily life, and in my case, the imbalance of work and subservience of the women. While there is variety, most families live in stick and mud single room huts with open air windows (if any) and dirt floors. The women and children carry from great distances daily water and firewood supplies. Food source is as much from what can be extracted from the surrounding earth as what is purchased or traded at informal street-side tiny markets. Publicly organized sanitation methods are rudimentary, if existent.

More to say:

- Jambo! Karibu! Akuma matata! Lala salama! Asante sana! We learned to exchange Swahili pleasantries from citizens who hold politeness in high esteem. Americans could learn a lesson or two in politesse.

- Proud people: Modestly, cleanly, and elegantly clothed women and men. Americans could learn another lesson or two in personal grooming and presentation when in public.

- Ecological balance in the Serengeti: We watched for an hour as a cheetah finished his kill and meal of a wildebeest. Once satisfied, he shuffled away with full belly hanging nearly to the ground. Meanwhile, the hovering vultures began to attack the remaining meat, only to be pushed away by arriving hyena. First one came loping through the grass, then it was followed by hordes of others who travelled great distances from hiding and to the killing field. The hyena’s cackling laugher and crunch of jaws breaking bones disturbed the otherwise quiet scene. A jackal hovered for a surreptitious grab of a few shards of meat. The argumentative vultures returned for the final scraps. Within one hour we had witnessed the finish of a kill and complete consumption of the wildebeest, leaving only a neatly cleaned skull as evidence that a violent meal had just taken place. Except for these short term acts of violence, most on the Serengeti is quiet beautiful serenity. Animals, if they move, do move in a slow and graceful dance with nature. Animals resourcefully consume while keeping their habitat clean and sanitary. Why can’t urban humans do the same?

- Hazabe bushmen kill and consume a kudu in 45 minutes: Masai Wanderings arranged for us to join a Hazabe clan for their daily hunt. After an early morning fireside greeting ceremony that included the hunters smoking copious amounts of marijuana, we trotted behind a dozen young men clad in dirty skin or kanga chest cloths and soiled shorts, wearing sandals crafted from the rubber of old truck tires. Their weapons: belt knives and self-made bows with poisoned arrows. For several hours we quietly followed the hunters as they searched for prey. We were constantly falling behind as we delicately extracted hair, clothing, and skin from the pervasive thorn bushes, trying not to cry or say ‘ouch’ too loudly. It was an embarrassment of our ineptness. We missed the actual shot from the bow, yet moments later, the victorious hunter ‘clicked’ the story of his success and rounded up his fellow hunters to help him track down the poisoned male kudo. Within minutes, the now dead kudo was dragged out of the bush and the young chief began to skin the beast whilst the youngest started a fire, (from stone and stick). Before we could count, the flesh had been sectioned, ribs barbequed and eaten, poisoned bits fed to the fire, and other waste given to the domestic bush dogs trailing the hunters. The butchering field was cleaned until there was no trace of it with branches of bush. After more drags on the marijuana pipe, the lumps of flesh were hefted back to the home hearth around which stories of the hunt were ‘clicked’ to those who had remained behind. A victory dance was performed, we were taken to meet the womenfolk who had been hiding in the bush, and we drove back to camp for our own breakfast. With newfound respect for the skill of these bushmen, we marveled at our experience.

- Tippu Tip’s house in Stone Town: Tippu Tip is famous for being one of the most ruthless slave drivers in Africa’s history. His house still stands in Stone Town. Normally, it is not open to the public for it is a private apartment building. As luck would have it, one of the dwellers noticed us admiring the architecture and invited us inside for a tour. I could swear that he was a descendant of the man himself, looking just like the photos, right down to the elegantly wrapped head scarf. I don’t know what was more eye-opening: the history of Tippu Tip’s life, as recounted by the kind guide, or what we saw of the current apartment home life within. When slavery was legally banned Tippu Tip surreptitiously continued his business by bringing the slaves from a boat through a tunnel and into the ground floor of his house via a hidden staircase accessible through a stone covering in the vestibule floor. While the slaves were secretly chained below, his family lived above! Now, the building shows only decayed signs of it’s earlier days of elegance. As we ascended multiple staircases I discretely used the art of rock climbing, (ensuring that at least two of my appendages were firmly grasping ‘solid ground’), in event that the staircase would collapse underneath me. Apartment dwellers, who were modestly dressed muslim women and girls, cast unpleasant stares at Karoline and me from behind their veils while crouching inactively on the floors, lingering in the vestibule and hallways, away from public life. The shared kitchen was nothing more than an open air room with a charcoal fire pit in the middle of the floor and vats of water lining one wall. Austere rooms furnished with barely a piece of warped, unfinished and instable furniture allowed room for our voices to echo throughout the building. Dirt, garbage and filth left us feeling uneasy. Even though we generously tipped the gentlemen for the private tour, nevertheless, the children lined the staircase, tugged at our clothing hems, hands out, asking for more.

- Hilarity cast in brick: An Iraqw host proudly escorted us around his village of farmland and brick factories. Pausing at his cousin’s brick making concern, we made acquaintance with young men, (14-16 years old?), who were in the midst of shoveling earth into pits, mixing with water, then scooping the mud into wooden molds. Yet other young men would carry the filled molds into the sun for drying. One of these handsome carriers was an obvious admirer of Karoline. Upon noting her gaze towards him, he quickened his step in proud display of his deftness. However, as he jogged up an incline to the drying field with a newly filled frame in hand, he slid, lost balance, and did a face plant into the brick mud. Slowly, his face came out of the mold, and, looking sheepish, he wiped the dripping mud from his face. In shame, he ran away to wash off his face. Karoline’s eyes grew as round as a Caucasian’s. His uncles, who had arrived a few moments earlier to gape at us, cruelly guffawed. We took a peek in the affected brick mold and saw there a lovely face imprint with the nose deep set in ooze. Still now, we can’t help but to have tears in our eyes from laughter over this youth’s misfortune in gallantry.

- Colorful kanga-clad sashaying women: The favored outer garment for Tanzanian women is the kanga. It is a most versatile garment used as skirt, blouse, head scarf, baby and goods carrier, or cushion for carrying a load on top of the head. I use mine as beach cover up, beach towel, blanket, and tablecloth. Kanga patterns and colors carry meaning. Each has a printed saying (originally in Arabic, now, more commonly in Swahili). The ones I purchase say in Swahili “Wish God to celebrate the new day”, “Wish for you to be happy with our kids”, “I live with somebody for happy times and bad times”, and, “If somebody give something it is difficult to take off”. More about kanga traditions: http://archive.lib.msu.edu/DMC/African%20Journals/pdfs/political%20science/volume1n1/ajps001001011.pdf . How to wear a Kanga: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xw4FI-9rlYA . How to tie a head wrap: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P886cwAoAnc&feature=related . How to wear a kanga/sarong: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUtETAb96TA .

- Ramadan white: While waiting for our flight from Cairo to Dar, we shared the café space with hundreds of white clad Muslims observing Islamic traditions during the first days of Ramadan. Most seemed in destination for Jeddah. They brought their own meals to share with one another. It is too early for Hajj, yet this seemed to be what they were doing. Men, clad only in Turkish towels, spent hours in the hallway and bathroom, splashing water around such that it flooded beyond the doors of the bathroom. Gerhard was unable to use the mens room as it was overrun by devote men and performing ablutions.

- The Zanzibar hotel Emerson and Green rooftop restaurant provides a wonderful venue to avoid the chaos of the Stone Town streets below and a panoramic view of the city while enjoying a sundowner. The Serena hotel is a lovely place for sipping a sundowner and watching the dhows carry tourists on sunset tours.

- Tanzania could compete with Cairo for the honor of the ‘place that never sleeps’. Sounds and activity constantly abound. Early morning on Pongwe beach the sing song voices of women and children pass with the breeze from their low tide attentions to shellfish gathering and seaweed harvesting. An alarm ‘coos’ and we blame each other for falsely setting our various digital alarms, only to realize that a bird just outside our room sings with the same gusto and melody as our electronic devices. The surf pounds on the beach. Beach boys exclaim ‘Jumbo, Mambo’, willing us into lengthy negotiation for their trinkets. At night in the Serengeti animals of all sorts crush brush underneath just outside our camp tents. Lions roar and elephants trumpet. In Stonetown, callers herald the time for prayer from the multitude of mosques. At evening prayer, melodic chants escape from behind mosque doors. Gospel song reverberates from walls of Christian churches. Late into the evenings we hear the melodic thump of drums as locals enjoy Taraab music. From their palm tree homes, from dusk to dawn, bush babies cry with an alarmingly ear penetrating “caw, caw, caw”.

- Blessed are we in the U.S. to enjoy the privileges of civilized society, (except when it comes to cellular coverage). By ‘civilized’ I mean publicly planned and managed infrastructure for the good of all. Obstacles to daily living abound in Tanzania. Newspapers write of increasing human and domestic animal deaths from wildlife encroaching on human territory. Masai children must travel many kilometers on foot for school – there are no other viable transportation options – and must risk their lives for fear of hyena attacks. Public education is available, yet must be paid for at the equivalent of $60 per student, (in a country where the average annual income is around $300). Personal safety must always be guarded. Highway robbers not only steal but also kill. Our home exchange family from Rome told the story of their friend who was killed for her pocket change will on a motorcycle trip in Zanzibar. Gerhard was deftly pick pocketed on a busy shopping street in Dar during broad daylight. Drivers locked our car doors as soon as we entered. Police roadblocks are set up frequently to inspect cars. Each hotel sits behind a high fence, with private guards on 24x7 alert. I buy a $3 street map of Stone Town and within 3 hours it had been lifted from the outer pocket of my backpack. I read a newspaper article that offered safety tips to women, citing street and domestic violence as a pervasive national problem, with few legally implementable support services. Cars were lacking petrol: the government reduced taxes by 9% with the command that gas stations must reduce their prices accordingly. Gas stations refused, having bought their current inventory on the old/higher prices, therefore, claimed they were ‘out of inventory’, and closed. Our driver, for a 25% premium, bought gas on the black market for our return drive from the Serengeti. Most roads are rough dirt that encourage frequent automobile breakdowns. Meanwhile, repair services are few and far between. Small business owners are thwarted by primitive transportation options. Railroad had been a dream, yet now the 30+ year old system is in unreliable decay. Electrical power needs far outstrip available supply. Hotels must build in generators. One hotel had back up capacity for only 6 hours, whereas the power outage lasted far longer. We were eating dinner by candlelight and could not take hot showers. While water is a plentiful clean resource in Tanzania, the infrastructure to supply it falls far short of need. Many villages we explored had no local source so women and children had to walk kilometers, returning with water basins on their heads. All water from taps cannot be drunk and we were obliged to drink from plastic bottles. These plastic bottles are dropped everywhere and create urban—even rural--filth. We stayed in one public camp site for 4 days, during which half the time we had no water. Given that 120 people were sharing 4 toilets, 2 sinks, and 2 showers, with no supply of water, it is left for your imagination to understand our predicament. Double the grotesqueness of your vision and that is likely to be the disgusting experience that was ours. And, remember, we were paying for these services. It was explained that elephants had broken into the water pipeline as a source for their own drinking water. The (now permanent) back up system of trucking in water simply does not meet the demand. This was not an isolated experience, yet brought personal recognition to the newspaper’s description of villages without consistent water supply or sanitation systems. Due to power outages and further telephone company limitations, internet service, even in 4-star hotels, is slow and intermittent. Despite promises in advertising, it was rarely available to us. Strikingly, cell phone coverage is better and consistently available (even in the Serengeti) than what we have in Berkeley, CA. Perhaps the explanation is that the cell phone companies are private, highly competitive, and run their own infrastructure separate from the state-owned telephone company. Picture with me that which we saw consistently: cloth and bead draped Masai in bare feet with cell phones planted to their ears, even while herding cattle in the barren hinterlands!

- The land of sea and spice: Yum yum fresh seafood was in plentiful supply on Zanzibar. Everywhere it was easy to buy exotic fruits and juices. Spice plantations harvest the most lucrative of spices. Swahili cuisine takes advantage of these supplies, yet is not to my taste. Nevertheless, I was impressed by our safari cook’s skill and the decent meals served in the hotels. Unfortunately, not once did we enjoy the restaurant cooking or ambience experienced in Tanzania. Even so, I am happy to report that we did not see a single McDonalds or Kentucky Fried Chicken.

- Spice cure for acne: Our spice plantation guide gives us the tip for a topical cure of acne. Concoct a mixture of tumeric, egg white, a pinch of salt and as much water as is needed to make a paste. Apply overnight and wash off with warm soapy water.

- What to wear and bring: For safari, 2 pair light weight long pants and long-sleeved collared shirts to protect against sun, dust and mosquitoes. Bring a wide brimmed sun hat, sunglasses, the best binoculars and camera equipment you have, and a battery operated headlamp with spare batteries. Expect it to be a challenge to recharge batteries. For the feet, bring 1 pair of covered walking shoes, 2 pair of socks, and a pair of flip flops. Don’t bother buying expensive clothes and stay away from whites. Everything catches the dust which is impossible to completely clean away. It is probable that you will encounter rain and cold so bring a light raincoat and a fleece jacket. Bring a towel (I used a cotton sarong/kanga for this and multiple other purposes), baby wipes, small packs of tissues, fluid soaps for hair, body and clothes and mosquito repellent. A first aid kit will likely come in use—google for recommended contents. Don’t bring hard-sided luggage, as the driver needs to include other equipment in the 4-wheel drive vehicle and space is limited. For safari hotels, resorts, and city street dress conservatively by wearing outfits that cover shoulders, top of arms, and reach at minimum just below the knee. This applies to both men and women. Remember not to wear jewelry or expensive watches (so as not to become a target for exploitation).