Welcome to the fold.

I'm skipping about two weeks worth of safaris that I'll have to update you on at a later date. I'm in Zanzibar right now and had big plans to catch up on all my blog posts. However, the power goes out sporadically and for hours on end, so my grand plan will just have to wait. Indefinitely.

But first, my intro to the northern beaches of Zanzibar:

I was lounging in the sand, taking in a beautiful sunset over pristine waters when a woman came up to me and asked me if I wanted a massage. How much? 15,000 shillings for a half and hour. 25,000 for an hour. (Approximately $16.) I say, "Maybe later."

Later.

"Are you ready yet? You said later. It is later."

Me, "Can I finish my beer first?"

Lady, "Ok."

Later again.

"Your beer is finish. You said you get a massage when your beer is finish. Now?"

"Ok. Now."

She took me to a tiny little shop with a table covered in a sheet just back from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Take off your clothe."

I took off my shirt and bra.

"Take off your pants."

I took off my pants, all the while hoping that none of the herds of people walking by have bothered to look in the windows, and climbed onto the table.

The lady started massaging my back when another, very large black woman walked in--and when I say large, I mean hugely obese. She also stripped down to her bra and underwear, commenting on how hot it was. She wrapped up in a sarong, and then just sat quietly in the corner. About 20 minutes into my massage, my lady said, "All done," and large lady took over.

Ok. Tag team massage.

Large lady did a good job, but every time she positioned herself by my head and leaned over to massage my shoulders, my face was smothered by her large stomach and breasts. I had a few moments of panic, thinking that I was going to die--not from being mauled by a lion or drowning while rafting--but instead suffocated within the folds of a gigantic African woman.

But it would have been the world's most relaxing way to go.