Cheating my way to Zanzibar

I felt a bit guilty this morning as I waited to board the Coastal Airlines flight to Zanzibar. "You filthy cheater!" I said to myself. "You are weak! What are you doing flying - you are robbing yourself of the African experience! What happened to embracing discomfort? Hunger? Anger? Penny pinching? Isn't the 12 hours of nausea and filth, with nothing to eat but friend chicken and peanuts, the essence of African travel?" Had I cheated myself out of lifelong memories by opting for a sterile airplane ride? Yes. Yes I had, but to be honest, I've got enough of those that I'm trying to forget. The bus ride from Lamu to Mombasa immediately comes to mind. The rains were so unbelievable that by the time I boarded the bus my belongings and I were drenched. We drove for 2 hours before stopping to do some "minor" repairs. 3 hours later (3 hours of me ignoring a delusional man hanging in the doorway, rubbing his shiny bow tie, telling me he loved me) our "mechanics" gave up and the Tawakal bus company gave us a bus with brakes. BRAKES! Not that we really needed them up to that point. We had been driving through sludge so slowly that passengers were literally walking on and off the bus as we drove. The first 5 hours of that trip were one long, drawn out FML moment. 6 hours later - 4 hours later than expected - I arrived in Mombasa. The moment came back when I took a shower and watched the colour slide off my body and swirl down the drain. Not a tan, apparently. That one scarred me for life, and the thought of putting myself through that kind of filth and agony one more time was more than I could handle.

I felt a bit ashamed of this airplane ride at first, but as our 12-seater took off, I realized that this was an African experience of a different kind. I sat in what was essentially a flying mini-bus. The pilot doubled as a flight attendant, giving us a very brief safety briefing as we taxied down the runway (something along the lines of "your life jacket is under your seat for when we have an accident over the Indian Ocean." And our co-pilot was, in fact, not a pilot at all, but a passenger who wanted a front row seat. Only 10 minutes into the flight, I realized that I was not robbing myself of anything, as there were just as many things to be afraid of in the air as on land! Rather than rolling in a ditch, we could plummet through the air by the force of gravity. Oncoming traffic is still and issue, only in the air there's the added bonus of a surprise collision, as half of our time was spent blindly navigating through clouds. And let's not forget the worst scenario of all - having to pee. Considering I have to pee at least once every hour, 12-hour toilet-less bus rides have really gotten in the way of my hydration routine, as I am forced to go all day without drinking any water. But at least buses have bush-toilet breaks! Up in the air, with no bush to speak of, I was in trouble 15 minutes into the flight. Honestly, that was the longest hour of my life. A near death experience, if you will.

Despite the expected fears that come with any means of African transportation, flying had its benefits. It gave me an alternative to admiring the scenery on land - and this one didn't involved mamas shoving nyama choma (roasted meat) through my window. From the comfort of my air conditioned seat, I had a 180 degree view of Arusha as we took off, saw Mount Kilimanjaro breaking through the clouds, and admired Zanzibar's clear blue water, so clear I could see the sand underneath all the way from the air. The flight alone was breathtaking, never mind Zanzibar itself. But that is a story for another day.