Per Grin’s request, we raised anchor the very next morning and did not look astern as we left Zanzibar and both Steel Sapphire and Erie Spirit in our wake. Neither of those crews were as grouchy as us, and so they decided to stay to re-experience the fun of the Secret Garden dinner and music night. We, on the other hand, plowed headlong into head wind, head current, and large-enough-to-be annoying waves between Zanzibar and Dar Es Salaam on a less than perfect weather day, just to be free of that anchorage with the horrible green ferry.

“You’ll be happy to know that the Green Ferry has remained on its mooring all day today, leaving the anchorage calm and flat.” Mark from Erie Spirit texts us as we re-enter data service waters.

“Figures,” Andrew replies.

We give our friends the Advance Party Report of our passage and the entrance to Dar Es Salaam, and the anchorage in front of Hotel Slipway. The anchorage is flat calm and cuddled by a not-too-close-not-too-far shoreline of one of the biggest city in East Africa and one of the biggest cities in the world. Currently, it boasts a population of seven million people, and with its current growth rate the population is expected to be twenty-two million before the year 2100 if nothing changes. Despite this busy backdrop, our anchorage was separate from the major shipping port and so quiet and lovely. Katherine Hepburn could return to enjoying her solar panels, and even Grin was able to rest and recover with the help of water taxis provided to the anchorage by the Slipway Hotel. With just a click of the VHF Radio button and a quick hail, a water taxi would appear at the side of Sonrisa to shuttle us into a little enclave of civilization waterside restaurants, hookah lounges, an art supply shop, a gelaterie, and even a bookstore!

A perfect place to recover our spirits.

And to celebrate my 40th Birthday.

“What are we going to do for your birthday?" Andrew asked. 

“A nice dinner with our friends and some champagne.  That's all I ask.”

"Duly noted," Andrew says. “We'd better try the restaurants around to decide which one you like best. First up, the Turkish place."

Entering the quiet, airconditioned Turkish restaurant manned by a father and son team from Turkey, we order a shawarma wrap with pickled chilis and a Coke. We enjoy our lunch while Andrew admires the tidy mustachios of the Turkish men in residence.

Maybe this is what planted the seed of discontent.

With an after-lunch espresso warming our bellies, we make a loop around the mall and find the gelaterie.  Vanilla for me, mint for Andrew. Yes, this will work just fine for a birthday, I think. But, maybe I’m not in the mood for Turkish Cafe.

The next night, we try the Waterfront Cafe with its lovely view and live music. But it took many hours to receive Mark and Susan's food, so that one dropped off the list.

The night thereafter, we went for Thai Food and/or Sushi with the whole team. Excellent Thai food, fresh sushi, craft pale ale brewed in Dar Es Salaam (a rarity in tropical latitudes!) seated on another waterfront patio. We watch acrobats turning flips and doing handstands atop their buddy’s hand.

Good, but still, not quite right. We looked across the way to see a restaurant perched on the rooftop of a hotel.

“What's that?" We asked.

Mark and Susan had walked over for lunch earlier that day.  “It's the Fishmonger," they said.  The view is incredible, and it seemed really nice.  The food was pretty good.  Seafood, but well prepared. This seemed like it might work, and just in time, too, because the next day was my birthday.

Andrew twirled his mustache, thoughtfully.

My birthday dawned with Andrew singing me happy birthday and Kitty requesting a fresh bowl of kibble.

Andrew wanted to get fancy about the breakfast. So, my very own Captain Fantasy Mustachio constructed and served me a “Gourmet 40th Birthday Savory Waffle” with thyme and tarragon batter layered with crispy bacon and topped with a poached egg and a dash of clove syrup for sweetness. This was a culinary achievement gained as all culinary achievements are: by way of at least one pan crashing through the kitchen and a few choice "sailor words" adding spice to the sauce.  Breakfast turned out, though.

I lost track of Andrew after breakfast until I notice shuffling and bumps, grunts of frustration from the bathroom. Then, the door swings open and Andrew's head pokes between the door and the wall.

“Can I shave off this mustache?”

Oh no.

My instincts raise several possible scenarios: (1) am I supposed to encourage him through a bad-mustache day? or (2) am I supposed to encourage him to embrace whatever fashion choice he chooses on a given day? And worst of all: (3) EVERYONE IS GOING TO THINK I ASKED HIM TO SHAVE FOR MY DAMN BIRTHDAY!

For the record, I did not.

“Oh no,” I say, “This is relationship between you and Mr. Mustachio..."

“I'm going to shave it."

“...but I don't think Mr. Mustachio will like being shaved off.”

“I'm going to shave it.”

 “Are you having a bad mustache day?" I ask.

Andrew pulls his head back in behind the door, shuts it, then comes all the way out.  He stands before me, pointing at Mr. Mustachio.

“Mm, I see.” As has been the case for the last week at least, one side is pointing South, and the other side? Due West.  “Have you tried the mustache wax with the pine pitch and the comb?" I suggest.

“I'm shaving it.”

Without further ado, he re-enters the bathroom and I hear buzzing. I wince as the locks of hair slow the rattle of the razor, and I imagine all that dedication and work falling to the floor. 

Andrew appears clean shaven and cheerful.

He radios our friends to tell them he is ready for their collective visit to the Customs Office. Erie Spirit and Steel Sapphire arrived over the weekend, so this was their first available day to get their Transzaire (Tanzania’s version of a cruising permit to travel between ports) stamped. Andrew went once already but did not succeed at getting his stamped on his first visit, the office staff that day not quite understanding what he was doing there or why. I hear Pete's whoops of joy from the water taxi upon seeing Andrew's clean shaven face.

I was left to enjoy some quiet watercolor painting hours with Kitty. The latest in my lifelong commitment to only dabbling in random things.

Eventually, Andrew texted me to invite me to lunch at the Turkish place again. There, he presented me with a nice book about Dar Es Salaam to memorialize where we were for my birthday.

I open the cover and read the inscription. 40!!! “This birthday really snuck up on me,” I say. Who would have expected I’d turn 40 in Dar Es Salaam Tanzania?  This place was never on our sailing route, and we should have been safely nestled on land back home by now! Yet, here I am. This book is a perfect gift to remember it by. I savor the luck of my life over this shawarma wrap, shared across the table with my handsome, fresh-faced lad and a cappuccino.

We sneak over to the gelaterie for Birthday Ice Cream #1.

Before we know it, it's time to return to Sonrisa to get all gussied up for the party tonight. We dress up, Pete and Jen arrive early to bring me over a nice packet of gifts, too, and I feel awfully spoiled. Andrew gives me a second gift, a beautiful fresh logbook (with a beaded bookmark!) to fill with records of more adventures together. Then, we gather Mark and Susan and head to the Fishmonger.

We settle at a table overlooking the anchorage, an enormous city stretching in every direction, and a pretty sunset. We go crazy and order a bottle of Moet Chandon Champagne, the first I've ever tasted. We cheer each other, the day, and the luck in being given another year of life to lead.

Then, I whisper to Andrew, “I'm getting the lobster thermidor because I’m forty!”

I have a cherries jubilee for Birthday Ice Cream #2. Not to be left out, Andrew had his own chocolate sunday.

And, as we walk back toward the boats, Mark comes through for me and says: “We should definitely get you Birthday Ice Cream #3, shouldn't we?”

Indeed.

This time, I got chocolate.

Cheers to 40.