The flight from Amsterdam to Nairobi was to be aboard the new Boeing 787 (the Dreamliner).  It was nice a plane, but honestly, it was just another plane filled with people of all types sharing one common thing… a lack of deodorant use.

We arrived on the African continent with little fanfare, grandeur, shock or awe.  The touchdown at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi was well before sunrise so there really wasn’t much to see from the plane.

With a connection to Dar es Saalam in a few hours later that morning it made no sense for us to venture outside the airport.  Besides the time constraints, we have also developed (from somewhere) an impression that Nairobi was not the safest place to be.  I believe there was a terror attack on a shopping mall a few years ago that left dozens of people dead.  Normally I might throw a little caution to the wind, but this time I feel the need to be a little more vigilant in looking after my little blonde haired princess.

Our final flight to reach Dar es Salaam was short an uneventful except for the awesome sighting of Mt. Kilimanjaro, Africa’s highest mountain.  Poking through the layer of clouds, you could see all of its glory which drove the reality that we have arrived at a place where many adventures had taken place.  We will certainly find our own adventures on this trip.

We disembarked the plane and entered the small, outdated airport with poor ventilation and air conditioning.  It was everything I would have hoped to find in an East African airport.  The VISA application process was a bit confusing, but certainly not a deterrent.  After paying our $100 per person fee, we received our VISAs , collected ALL of our luggage and headed for the exit.  Outside the airport doors was a scene much like what you’d find in any other lesser developed country.  Hundreds of taxi drivers all begging for your fare.

We met George, our driver, who was to take us to the docks where we would take a ferry to Zanzibar.  Having 3 hours to kill we first drove to the port  to buy our tickets.  For an extra $25 per person we were able to upgrade to “Royal Class”.  Afterward, George took us to an really nice upscale hotel restaurant which probably no African could afford.  Although my usual desire is to seek out the traditional or exotic food, it was kind of nice for all of us after 2 long days of travel to choose from a typical American style menu.

Returning to the port we were met with a swarm of young black men, all dressed in yellow florescent vests, piling up around the car vying for our business.  It was very intimidating knowing that we all had to get out and walk through the craziness.  Everyone of them wanted to carry our bags, show us the easy route, and make sure we got to the right boat.    It was insanely chaotic, and although I was feeling quite annoyed and a little overwhelmed, I didn’t really feel a sense of danger — I still kept Taylor within my reach.

Reaching the point of embarkation, we were confronted with a big problem — all of our tickets were dated for the following day.  We were told to exit the port and go back to the ticket office to exchange the tickets, but there was concern that it would take too long and that we’d miss the boat (which already had our luggage onboard).  Fortunately, we were able to convince them to allow us onboard even with the incorrectly dated tickets.  The two hour ferry ride a bit rough, but very comfortable.

Did I mention we purchase “Royal Class” tickets?

Arriving at Stone Town, Zanzibar Island, we had more confusion and more herds of people to work our way through in order to get our luggage and clear customs.  I’m not entirely certain why Zanzibar puts you through the whole immigration process as it is part of the same country of Tanzania.

A short taxi ride through the streets of Stone Town and we’d arrived at our first hotel, The Tembo House.  After nearly 48 hours of travel, we were all ready for a place to drop our bags, a hot shower and a place to sleep horizontally.