Tales of a Gypsy Hotelier

By Christina Synnott

Tales of a Gypsy Hotelier is a collection of unique travel adventure stories and letters home detailing the author's experiences while visiting 43 countries, living and working in 7 countries, and managing hotels in Kenya; Zanzibar and Arusha, Tanzania; St. Lucia, Caribbean; and Tonga, South Pacific. Several stories are inspirational, others illustrate the unimaginable difficulties that can arise from living in undeveloped countries; some are romantic, but all are gut-wrenchingly honest and from the heart.

Inside, stories range from a Thelma & Louise style adventure driving across Tanzania twice; sales trips to Australia and Martinique; seated next to a young soldier with an AK-47 strapped on and ready, heading north on a Kenyan bus as defense from getting held-up by Somalian thieves; wearing a dirndl at the Front Desk of a 4-star spa hotel in the Black Forest, Germany; sailing to a hotel job interview on an Arabian Dhow off Lamu, Kenya with stoned Captain Happy; firing cooks in St. Lucia and Tonga; being car-jacked in Tanzania twice; cooking competitions on a sailboat in the Grenadines; following love into the bush of Tanzania: encountering the elusive orange fish known as Nemo and stunning soft corals in Fijian waters; tailor-made dresses in China and Ghana; circumnavigating Skiathos, Greece; Hotel Consulting and Fire Dancing in Tonga; a Maasai Wedding in our garden in Arusha, TZ; to the ultimate exotic destination - the spice island of Zanzibar.

People often lament that there just don't seem to be many good travel books available these days, yet a huge demand exists, including from armchair travellers. So, sit back with a cuppa or something stronger. And read on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 11, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452034898

Christina Synnott

Christina Synnott is a Canadian adventurer who graduated with a BA in Hotel & Tourism Management from Schloss Klessheim affiliated with the University of Salzburg, in Austria and has 25 years of work experience in hotels. In addition, she earned a BA in Advertising & Marketing from Ryerson University, Toronto, Canada and a Certificate in Resort Sales from Cornell University, USA. She was also a bilingual tour guide throughout North America for three years, so is well-qualified on the subject matter. Currently, Christina is living in Fiji, in the South Pacific.

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Contents

Foreword

Moving To Kenya

Diani Beach, Kenya

Zanzibar

Train To Mpanda, TZ

Birthday In The Bush

The Ups & Downs Of Life In Mpanda

Dar, Zanzibar & Pemba

Nightmare In Nairobi

Dim Sum In Hong Kong

& Tailor-Made Dresses From China

House In Sinza (Dar, TZ)

Thelma & Louise Drive Across Tanzania

Car-Jacked In Dar

Goat Party In Our Yard & Climbing Kili (Not Me)

Interviews In Zambia & Visiting Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

New Job In Arusha, TZ

Home Sick

Very Happy In Arusha

Wedding In Our Garden – Arusha, TZ

A Wonderful Christmas & Serengeti Safari

Arusha - March 2007

Germany, Canada, & Greece

Arusha, After Job

Taking Care Of Myself

The Disenchantment With Africa & With Love

Farewell Africa…For Now

Birthday Pinatas In Mexico

Danger In Mexico City & Heidelberg, Germany

Peeling Potatoes & Other Hotel Chores In Austria

New Beginnings In

St. Lucia, Caribbean

Better Days In Marigot Bay

Leaving The Looshan Hotel & Sailing The Grenadine Islands

Driving Through The Cotswolds (UK) & Reunion In Estonia

Lonely & Disillusioned In St. Luccia

Why Fiji?

Writing From A Bure In Fiji

Fijian Adventures

South Pacific Fire Dancing & Paella In Tonga

Farewell Tonga

Acknowledgements

Foreword

At my Farewell Party in July 2005, I was presented with a journal from my wise friend, Amanda. Inscribed inside, were the words May you live in interesting times and share them. The following day, I moved to Kenya to manage a small hotel in Diani Beach. Occasionally, over the next four years, those words would haunt me and I would whisper, Not this interesting! This book is a memoir of that journey and subsequent travels.

Many of the names have been changed to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent.

Moving To Kenya

At the end of July, 2005, I arrived safely in Nairobi, Kenya. My blue metal steamer trunk would take another month to arrive by ship in Mombasa’s harbour and then an additional month would be required for negotiations.

Nairobi was cold: only 17 degrees Celsius day and night, so I needed a sweater and I had only packed three. Yikes! I didn’t expect it to be cold in Africa. I stayed at the African-designed Boulevard Hotel, where I had stayed previously with both Karen (my best friend) and Gavin (my son) on separate occasions. As before, I dined at the elegant Norfolk Hotel, where Kenya’s upper class once held garden parties and balls. I wandered the hotel hallways admiring the old black and white photographs and could sense their ghosts happily waltzing past me.

During a stopover in my journey, I met Jane Goodall, the champion of chimpanzees, who runs a conservation reserve in Tanzania. She was standing at the airport luggage carousel in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania at 11pm also waiting for her luggage. She had been on a speaking tour in Vancouver. She is such a humble and elegant woman. Naturally, I walked over and introduced myself. I told her that I was honoured to meet her and that I had attended her presentation at the Hamilton Coliseum in Canada a few months earlier. I let her know that my sister had been so inspired by her work that she had become a veterinarian. Meeting Ms. Goodall seemed like a sign, that I was where I was supposed to be.

Where did this passion for Africa begin? What made me move halfway around the world to manage a hotel in Kenya?

In Grade 4, Mrs. Farrow, my warm-hearted Social Studies teacher, taught us about the explorers: Viking Leif Erickson; Vasco de Gama rounding the Cape of Good Hope; Magellan; Christopher Columbus; Marco Polo; Sir Francis Drake; even Genghis Khan. A highlight for me was watching a black and white film depicting Drake on his ship Golden Hind going up and down on rough seas. Recently, I turned the wheel of a replica of that ship (which has also sailed thousands of miles) and smiled. I knew in Grade 4 that God had not put me in this village of 2,000 inhabitants (in rural Canada) just to stay there all my life. I was an explorer; my mission was to search out other lands and cultures and to interact with and to learn from others. My love of travel and adventure was born.

Naturally, films like Out of Africa influenced me. It all seemed wild and romantic. I wanted to be courageous like Karen Blixen. I had walked on Karen’s terrace at her house (now a museum) on the outskirts of Nairobi, imagining her and Denys Finch Hatton (the famous professional hunter) dancing on that spot to her old wind-up phonograph. How brave she had been to run a coffee plantation at this high altitude where no one had ever grown coffee before, all alone in the 1920s. I always got misty-eyed when her African assistant asked if Denmark was far away and she replied that she would go ahead and prepare camp and light the fire for him to find her. Like Beryl Markham who trained Kenyan racehorses and was the first woman to fly west across the Atlantic Ocean, I wanted to become an intrepid, strong and brave woman, too.

Most of all, Kuki Gallman’s book, I Dreamed of Africa, had enticed me to go and see the beauty for myself. However, I knew by the end of the book, that I was hooked on Africa. I would not only visit, but eventually live there. It was also made abundantly clear: Living in Africa is hard.

Therefore, in 1997, I went on safari with my best friend Karen, a Canadian teacher and fellow nature and animal lover. We were picked-up at our hotel in Nairobi in a Land Rover and drove for more than five hours to the dusty village (at that time) of Arusha, Tanzania. We proceeded to view Lake Manyara Game Park, where we were greeted by large elephants no more than 10 feet away. We cooled-off in the infinity pool at Lake Manyara Game Lodge in the late afternoon. In the Serengeti, we saw thousands of wildebeest, many impalas, zebras, gazelles, even getting close enough to a cheetah to see the soft tufts of his hair blowing in the breeze. A pride of lions with cubs played outside the gates of our Flinstone-look-alike Seronera Wildlife Lodge. Small baboons ran throughout the lodge. Each day at 6am, we awoke and would head out for an early morning safari, followed by lunch, a nap and another game drive around 4pm, when the animals were friskier. At night, we could hear lions roaring, as well as other wildlife noises. Unfortunately, Karen contracted a horrible virus (with symptoms similar to malaria or dengue fever) and was terribly sick with vomiting, sweating, even hallucinations. A village doctor gave her a shot, which made her breathing erratic - frightening us greatly because she was asthmatic. We had already prepared to have her air-lifted with the flying doctors the next morning had her condition not improved. Luckily, she listened to some soothing ocean tapes and was well enough to travel the next day on to the incredible Ngorongora Crater. Whether it was a miracle or just her devotion to a once-in-a-life-time opportunity, we’ll never know.

At sunset one evening while I was on my own, I sat on the terrace overlooking the Serengeti Plains enjoying a Tusker beer. I realized that this is the Garden of Eden; that this is where we all once came from and that anything is possible. I didn’t have to continue working in a little cubicle as a Catering Manager in a Toronto hotel. The world was open to me. I could live anywhere and do anything. I wanted to own or manage a hotel in Africa. Five days after I returned from this journey, I quit my job and proceeded to get myself on a path to become a Hotel General Manager, including returning to school, writing a business plan and working as a Sales Manager for one-and-a-half years.

As we boarded the Air France flight to the Seychelles after our safari, I freaked out passengers with my dusty red hair and the Maasai bow and arrow for my son (which at that time I could still take as carry-on). Karen nicknamed me ‘Bush Woman.’

By 2000, I missed Africa terribly and wanted to return. I am a Piscean dreamer - a romantic and an idealist. Therefore, I needed to prove to myself that I could survive in Africa: handle the power outages, water shortages, the many inconveniences and lacking of what’s familiar.

I contacted every NGO (charitable organization) that I could think of. They were neither interested in my Hotel Management, nor my Advertising &Marketing degree. They said, You’re neither a nurse, doctor, nor a teacher. What can you offer? I persevered and found a wonderful American organization called ‘Cross-Cultural-Solutions.’ They understood that I wanted to work in Africa for a summer and bring my teenaged son along. I began working in Ghana in July, 2000 as a kindergarten teacher in a 45 student classroom in the mornings. I used my son’s books as a teaching aid, and at the end of my stay, gave each child his first and own book. Not seeing enough play at the kindergarten level, a colleague and I bought parts and hung a tire swing in a tree, so the kids could have some fun. The kids were sweet and innocent. Their strong and beautiful singing voices once made me cry. I recall Impatience (a student) not trusting me. At first, they didn’t like me saying, Oh, your drawing is very good, or What nice printing you have. African children are not familiar with such praise. However, after awhile, the kids (even Impatience) would rush to me rather than Mary, the assistant teacher, looking for a kind word. Yvonne was the coolest kid in the class. She was less than three feet tall, but she possessed more self-confidence than most middle-aged women. And when she focused on a project, there was nothing that could stop her. Right on, girl power! I pantomimed skiing, ice hockey and showed the kids all the clothes that we wore in the winter in Canada. They laughed and asked me why I would live there. Why indeed?

In the afternoon, I taught women at co-ops and teenaged mothers at a high school a program that I had written. I used local products and business women in town as examples in a unit entitled ‘How to Start Your Own Business.’ This was such rewarding work. Ho (the town where we resided), was famous for its dressmaking capabilities. I interviewed tailors who could only afford one light bulb so that they could work at night, but saved on electricity with a foot pumping sewing machine. I had a gorgeous halter evening gown made out of chocolate-coloured fabric with large orange African tulips. All I had to do was draw it and the girl cut and sewed it to fit me perfectly. I spent several days observing the intricate process of making batik and learning how the owner had managed to start her business.

Once, when I read my business start-up program to the Grade 11 class, they dozed off. However, when I read it to the Grade 12 class of unwed moms at the high school, they clapped because they understood it was a means to making a living. Several girls wanted to start-up small businesses, but I was amazed when one girl announced that she wanted to purchase her very own hotel. Inspiring! I told her to take hospitality courses in Accra (the main city of Ghana).

We were moved to tears after we spent an afternoon at a women’s co-op in a small village. The women all lined-up outside as we emerged from the classroom and sang us a song of how grateful they were that other women believed in them. And that’s what it’s all about, baby: belief in one another; women believing and supporting each other.

I am proud to say that four of us (another American girl from our NGO, two male business students from Ho, and me) managed to create the ‘Women’s Entrepreneurial Association of Ho’, with 40 women attendees meeting regularly. Although it was sometimes challenging getting the women to understand that no one was going to steal their secrets, instead they learned that they could get so much more accomplished in a group versus all alone.

We lived in Ho, in the lush hilly Volta region of Ghana, in a very simple concrete compound. Twelve of us shared one flush toilet and one cold shower and another twelve volunteers on the other side of the building, had the same set-up. We bunked in two or four man dorm rooms. The food was horrific (especially the grey cement dumplings called Fu-fu); we often had power outs, occasionally water shortages, and many of the volunteers contracted malaria (which luckily soon disappeared once a shot was administered). This did remove some of the pink from my idealistic African sunglasses.

On weekends, all the volunteers travelled extensively throughout Ghana, visiting the capital of Kumasi, the east coast, and Takoradi’s lovely beaches (just before Ivory Coast), by squashed minivan buses or coaches that would often break-down. Once, a group of us ferried up the Volta River for two days and one night, enjoying picnics on deck while watching simple villages floating by. Actually, we were floating; the villages were stationary. Gavin and I visited Elmina Castle, which left a very sobering effect on us. This had been an infamous Slave Castle on the Gold Coast. Upstairs were beautiful varnished wooden floored rooms with large seaward windows, which the officers enjoyed. Below were segregated dungeons for males and females. There was only one narrow exit doorway, the width of a person (perhaps two-and-a-half feet across), leading to a plank which led to a ship in the harbour; behind the captured slaves stood someone with a gun. There was no option other than getting on the ship or being shot. I felt so ashamed to be white.

My favourite assignment at Cross-Cultural-Solutions was to check-up on how the businesses of ten women were doing after each had received a US $100 infusion. A previous volunteer had left behind US $1,000 which was divided and given to each of the women on loan. It’s amazing what US $100 can buy in Africa. One woman complained that she could’ve used more money, but the other nine told wonderful tales of how their businesses and lives had improved. One young woman in particular moved me. She had previously sold large plastic bowels at the market which everyone needs; however, her dream had always been to work with hair. This money allowed her to set up her own hairdressing business in her home. She was so happy in her new career, it was infectious.

My son, Gavin had brought both a soccer ball and basketball in his suitcase. He organized after-school activities for all the young people who came around in the late afternoon (usually 20 kids). Besides playing games and ping-pong with the kids, he also helped some teachers settle down the unrulier kids in their classrooms during the day. The local Ghanaian kids treated Gavin as one of their own, inviting him to climb hills, make sling-shots and kill small lizards. They even bought him a Kenti-cloth shirt as a going-away present. However, I believe what Gavin enjoyed most, being thirteen-and-a-half years old, was to be treated as an equal of university students and adult volunteers and being able to drink (albeit only Coke) and play pool at the local bar and hang-out, the White House. This trip obviously had some impact on him, for he is currently studying International Development.

We were only frightened once while travelling in Ghana. At a police check-point on our way back to the airport in Accra, a Police Commissioner went berserk. He looked like a general from Blood Diamond or Lord of War, wearing a military uniform and cap, high leather boots, a white cravat and aviator glasses, toting an AK-47. He started shouting like a madman at our taxi driver, which we could not understand. It was so severe that I motioned for Gavin and Lisa (who was accompanying us) to get down inside the car in case shooting started. As a matter of fact, I was already visualizing sliding into the driver’s seat (while they were arguing) and driving away. Apparently, the Police Commissioner took great offence to the fact that our taxi driver was driving without a valid driver’s license. It was finally agreed upon that after dropping us at the airport, he would give himself over to the authorities in Accra. On the other end of the spectrum, I encountered numerous ladies standing in front of their huts inviting me inside for tea.

Upon concluding our volunteer programs, Gavin and I embarked on a long journey (since our airplane radar broke down over Togo) to Zanzibar, Tanzania. As we flew over the island, seeing streaks of sea-green, aquamarine, and blue sea (the most exotic place I had ever visited), I proclaimed, This is where I want to live. However, I had joint custody of our son and Gavin wanted to return to school, his dad and friends in Canada. We made a four year plan, agreeing that once he graduated from high school and went off to university, I would start a new life in Africa. I’m sure that Gavin thought that I was joking at the time, but when our Toronto house started being renovated to sell; he grasped my intention and wished me well. During a subsequent visit before he climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, he once told me how proud he was of me for going after my dream.

Looking back, it’s amazing how I had such blind faith, fully believing that I would find work and move to Africa. Several people tried to dissuade me. A Dutch guy sitting on the plane next to me, who was fed-up living in Tanzania, said to me that I would have to be pretty special for a hotel to fork out US $1,000 for a work permit. My cousin protectively tried to warn me that only 1 out of 20 hotels might need a GM at any given time and she was correct. Not to mention, my parents thought that I was crazy. Also, I was going alone, not with a husband or partner. However, I believed that it was my destiny and I persevered. I guess it was a pretty bold thing to do, but it felt so right.

During the two years before I moved to Africa, I began emailing and interviewing with several hotel owners in Zanzibar, Tanzania. This is how I met my wonderful Belgian friend Georges (who owns Sunrise Resort in the south of Zanzibar) and a Scandinavian lady, who both helped me tremendously with my career. I am forever in their debt for giving me a hand-up into an unknown world. I even flew to New York City to interview with the owner of the poshest hotel in Stone Town (the main town on Zanzibar). After one hour of talks, we both agreed that I would become General Manager of his hotel at the end of June, 2005. I began packing my trunk and making the many preparations which are involved with selling a house and moving halfway around the world.

Strangely, I heard no more from this silent hotel owner and after a few weeks emailed him. I received a curt answer from his business partner that he had hired an Italian diving instructor instead. Obviously, I was floored because my house was already on the market for sale. One year later, I heard from a hotel colleague that the partner (who used to tour the island in a Drag Queen show) was intimidated by my resume and therefore did not want to hire me. He had used me as a pawn against his partner with whom he was dissolving their relationship and to show his control. Oh well, what goes around comes around, but that’s for a later story.

What to do? Freak out? Thank goodness, my dear friend Phil was painting and renovating my house at the time and he calmed me down a lot. He told me to persevere and that things would fall into place. I also went to visit my wise friend and hairdresser, Amanda. While getting my hair done, I flipped through an issue of People’s Magazine. As I glanced at photos of the emerging romance of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie frolicking on the beach in Diani, Kenya, I remembered that, months ago while in Nairobi, I had also interviewed for the particular hotel where they had stayed. I saw this as a positive sign. I immediately drove to the book store, purchased a book about Kenya and proceeded to email my CV to every hotel owner from Malindi south to the border of Tanzania. One replied. He asked, "How did you know that I needed a General Manager?

Diani Beach, Kenya

August 5, 2005

Hello Everyone!

Jungle Green Cottages is beautiful - more like luxury houses. There are 8 cottages, accommodating up to 35 guests. My living room and dining room are open-air under a huge thatched palm roof, called makuti. I have a kitchen, two bedrooms and bathrooms. Come on down y’all. The large swimming pool is gorgeous and has a sunken bar with underwater stools at one end. At the other end there is a Flinstone-rock with waterslide into the pool. I swim every night after work under the stars and think of my friends at Aquafit class back in the Beaches of Toronto. The food is wonderful here and the restaurant is alfresco. We dine on mangoes, avocadoes, good fish, prawns, even occasionally good steak.

Best of all, the staff is very friendly and gives good customer service, much better than I experienced when visiting Zanzibar. They are loyal and kind and have been very welcoming to me. They work hard from 8am to 5pm with their hour break at a nearby snack stand. Also, they all speak good English. Yesterday, I handed out their salary in cash to each staff member and thanked them for their work.

We had guests all week and I usually have dinner with them or nearby, in case they need entertaining. The weather is great – about 27 degrees Celsius; sometimes cloudy with a 15-minute shower then sunny again, not very hot, but a little humid.

I have an excellent Front Office Supervisor, Obama, and an adequate Accountant, Mary who comes two evenings a week. The owner is still in Holland and will return in a few weeks, which will give me time to get up-to-speed. So far, I have become familiar with the hotel’s reservations system and have implemented computerized payroll to expedite repetitive work and guest invoices, to look more professional. I have also learned to convert Kenyan Schillings into US dollars and Euros. I know the names of most of the staff now. Chef Karl seems to know what he’s doing - at least the first few meals have been good.

I had a terrible time with jet lag. Finally, I slept ten hours after many nights of lying awake wishing that I could email my friends. Most days are ten hours or more when greeting the guests at dinner, but I’m excited to finally practice the hospitality which I saw from Senora Piri as a child in Mexico and which I learned at school in Austria.

Three very bad things:

a) The telephone lines are horrific on the Kenyan coast and our computer (dial-up, of course) is not capable of getting onto the internet most days; forget about Hotmail. I feel like I’m living on the moon and cannot connect to the outside world.

b) Apparently, the boss is a chauvinistic farmer who is unpredictable (this is what the accountant and his friends told me). He considers the hotel his hobby and has lost interest, but he wants to make lots of money. He will be arriving with his girlfriend, Violet on August 17th and staying in his luxurious cottage on the property.

c) Although Christmas and end of August bookings are sold-out, there are few reservations for September, October, and November. Supposedly, I am expected to do sales. That’s not very likely from Diani Beach with little or no internet connection and no budget for a sales trip or advertising.

Oh boy, I’ve been taking driving lessons from George on an ancient huge Land Rover truck (not a jeep) around the hotel property. I’m sitting on the right and shifting with my left hand and driving on the left – it all seems very foreign to me. However, we may need to postpone further driving lessons because I re-injured my left rotator cup in my shoulder the other day. What a challenge!

The evenings are a bit lonely. The good thing is that we have a decent selection of television channels, so I can watch news on CNN or BBC and at 8pm; there are old, mediocre movies. Therefore, when we have no guests, I spend many an evening wrapped in a blanket on my outdoor couch, watching TV to entertain myself and hope that not too many doo-doos (insect excrements) drop onto me from the makuti ceiling. No, the blanket isn’t because I’m cold, but to keep the mosquitoes from biting me. I am occasionally all alone except for Security (called Azkari), monkeys and a Doberman in the Jungle Green Cottages on 10 acres. Perhaps, I should learn how to use the Azkari’s bow and arrow, just in case….

Mid-August, 2005

Dear Gavin & Friends,

Today, I felt capable of being the General Manager and of running this hotel. A fortnight after my arrival in Diani Beach, and after some bumbling and fumbling (not to mention some homesickness), I believe I will succeed here. I held my first staff meeting, thanking the staff for making me feel welcome and for their hard work. I told them that their good customer service would lead to future guest referrals and they cheered when I said that in the busy times we have to work hard, but I will try and give them time off in the low season to spend time with their families. It felt good, having this meeting. It felt like the staff looked up to me for leadership.

What a line-up of rag-a-muffins, though: torn T-shirts and ripped pants with nothing matching. Pierre (the owner’s assistant and my first friend) and I agree that the staff desperately needs new uniforms. Pierre reminds me of a modern-day Denys Finch Hatton (from Out of Africa), flying planes into God knows where. He told me a story how once an elephant pummelled his plane on the runway overnight and hyenas chewed the tires, so best not to leave a plane here unattended for too long.

After having given all the staff Saturday and Sunday off, for we had no guests, I was about to relax when I received a phone call stating that the booking agency in Nairobi had made a mistake. The six arriving guests booked for Monday would actually arrive Sunday afternoon. Obama, Michael, Sadaam and I quickly made-up beds and placed towels and fresh flowers in the arrival’s rooms. Then I typed up a ‘Guest Information’ sheet in English (which I later translated into German and Spanish, as well).

By 3pm on Sunday, we were ready when the Dutch guests arrived from safari with freshly squeezed orange juice (from our own farm oranges). While they settled into their cottage, I briefly went to yoga at Shaanti Hotel nearby. There, perched on a small hill, we contorted (I exaggerate;