We're Trapped!

Ah! We're trapped in the crazy Rastafarian underbelly of Zanzibar! Thinking ourselves very, very clever, and in an attempt to not get screwed by strangers we contacted a local in Zanzibar recommended to us by a friend from Malawi. Nice enough guy, but clearly out to better himself and his Rasta friends. Instead of taking us to a nice normal resort by the sea, he put us in a taxi and sent us to the opposite side of the island, over an hour drive away, and dropped us at the saddest, most defunct "hotel" possible. As far as we can tell we are staying in the only guest room, obviously the only guests in months; the bar is a lonely specimen displaying one lone wine bottle being used as a candle holder. There is no beach and no restaurant in site. When we inquired about food we were marched thought winding bush paths to yet another rasta-owned establishment who was more than happy to to pluck a few fish and one crab from the water and fry it up for us. And so we spent our first meal in Zanzibar, eating greasy Baracuda and chips with our hands and wondering what the hell to do next. Up until this point we have prided ourselves on our travel savvy ways, but we are getting seriously knocked down here. Not that we aren't enjoying ourselves, but our ideas of long white beaches with cocktails and seafood buffetts is feeling quite far away. Jake, deciding to take matters into his own hands has just set off down the beach in search of anyone who may be able to help us out. ... One hour later, Jake has returned with good news! An Israeli guy building a lodge nearby has taken pity on us and called in a favor to a friend in a nearby resort, exactly the type of thing we are looking for. We leave in the morning, and already feel as though the tide is turning in our favor! -Katie