Yo Adoro Comoro

With every passing minute on the island, I fell in love with Comoros a little more. It’s hard to explain – just a good, genuine vibe. Not a touristy, steel drum, sipping piña coladas-kind of vibe. But the feeling of being in a special place, with friendly people, who smiled and said hello and made you feel as if they were truly happy to have you here.

I’m So Excited (and I Just Can’t Hide It)
Off the bat, I’m always overly excited to see a country that normal people have never even heard of. It’s why Nauru was one of the first places I traveled once I decided I was going to see every country.

In fact, seeing my very first bizarre and “off-the-beaten-path” country back in 2014 (Suriname), was probably responsible for planting that first “gotta see every country” seed. I remember being so excited to see this country that nobody I knew had even heard of! Ask someone what continent Suriname is on, and they’ll almost always guess Asia or Africa way before South America. Suriname was my first taste of “strange” country: the places you don’t learn about in school, cannot point to on a map, and if you’re a normal person, the countries you simply didn’t even know existed. Turns out these nations would be my absolute favorites.

>>> RELATED: My Top 5 Most Bizarre Countries

Sadly, I was running out of these mysterious lands. Mauritania, Timor Leste, Equatorial Guinea, Tuvalu, Eritrea and most of the “Stans” had already been ticked off, with lots of great memories made. Luckily, there were still at least two or three of these weirder places left, and Comoros was up next.

A disclaimer when I call countries weird or bizarre: It’s a compliment and I don’t mean anything insulting whatsoever. I once heard from a local in Mauritania that took offense to me calling his country “mysterious.” These are all words I interchange for “different” and/or “lesser-visited,” and as I mentioned, I adore these special places. “Bizarre” in my book is absolutely and totally cool.

According to Gunnar Garfors’ “World’s 20 Least Touristy Countries” (a list that has inspired me to no end), Comoros ranks as the planet’s 17^th least-visited country. I couldn’t wait to arrive and see what things were like on the ground there.

I’d spend two nights on the main island, Grand Comore, including New Year’s Eve 2022. The African island nation would be my last stop on a quickie Malawi–Tanzania–Comoros week-long jaunt – a super short trip for going all the way to Africa.

The Arrival
Per the usual, my itinerary was already super-tight. The fact that we were in a pandemic with the Omicron variant only less than a month old (and originating out of Southern Africa), made me just super thankful to even make it here at all – one canceled or moved flight, and it would’ve been curtains. Thankfully, all the flights happened without a hitch, and by noon, my hour flight from Dar Es Salaam was landing at Prince Said Ibrahim International Airport on Grand Comore. I was the only gringo on the plane – that’s a good thing in my book. Garfor wasn’t lying!

I paid 50 USD for my visa on arrival. I had no blank passport pages for the big sticker and was grateful the immigration officer didn’t give me any flack for not having any vacancies in my book – he even let me choose where the full-page visa sticker would land. I quickly perused the pages to find one of the less “cool” places to cover up. I’d never want that new sticker to mask something awesome like my Guinea Bissau– or Somalia–stamped pages – those ink impressions were treasures to me. I ended up choosing page 31, which contained just plain ol’ EU stamps. I wouldn’t care if they were covered.

RAMBLIN’ TIP: Many countries require one or more completely blank pages in your passport. Be prepared!

Once outside, I had a hard time negotiating a taxi fare – it was obvious the cabbie didn’t know any English, and last time I checked, my Comorian (and French) were as good as my quantum physics skills. Thankfully, a young man nearby (who spoke very rudimentary English) helped confirm the 5,000 Franc price: about 11.50 USD. The ride took a little longer than I thought it would and traffic bottlenecked once we approached the center of town.

Much of the ride was along the sea and there was so much to observe. There would be no doubt to any visitor that Comoros is a Muslim country. The number of men in dressed in robes and taqiyahs (caps) reminded me of Senegal. The women wore bright, colorful hijabs. The kids were dressed in the classic religious garb as well. Beautiful, really.

I get a kick out of how literally “scared” I was the first time I landed in a Muslim country, with a bunch of Black guys running around in robes and caps. My ignorance was innocent and contained no hate or malice, but nonetheless existed. After over 20 trips to Africa and the Middle East combined (including Iraq, Yemen, Somalia, Libya, etc.) I’m pleased to say that, today, nothing about this culture frightens me in the least (radical Islam aside) and I’m happy to call these men in boubous and taqiyahs my brothers. Everyone should travel outside of their comfort zone – it helps open your mind in ways nothing else can. At least for me it did. We’re getting off track.

>>> RELATED: Senegal Scaredy Cat

Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn
The first thing you’ll notice when planning a trip to Comoros: There ain’t much choice in where to stay, and sadly, there aren’t really any super “nice” places here, at least not to American standards. I’d waited too long to book, and the place recommended to me—The Golden Tulip—was sold out. The Retaj ended up being a decent pick and was closer to the action anyway, so it would all work out.

The first thing you notice when you walk into the reception is the smell of fresh pizza being baked. The “good” kind, not the Pizza Hut kind. I wondered if Comoros was known for their pizza like Zanzibar? Same region, so maybe.

RAMBLIN’ TIP: Check out hotels, resorts and apartments in Comoros HERE.

Room 112
Besides a few small mold spots on the bathroom walls and ceilings, the room was clean and that’s all you can really ask for in these “not-so-touristy” destinations. I had to remind myself, Comoros is not a vacation destination. I did my usual “spider/bug” check and the place passed. The AC worked and there were at least two English channels on the telly, so I was content. WiFi was decent. The electricity would cut off and on every hour or so and I’d have to restart the AC manually, but I got used to it. All in all, would I recommend The Retaj? For Comoros, absolutely. But just keep in mind, if you’re using American standards, the place would probably be a one or two-star. There ain’t no Westins here!

It was hotter than a snake’s ass in a wagon rut (Good Morning Vietnam reference), but with my limited time here, I wanted to suck it up and hit the streets right away. I decided to walk the mile into the center of town (as opposed to grabbing a cab) because I didn’t want to miss anything along the way. That was probably a mistake (due to the extreme heat and traffic), but nonetheless I enjoyed seeing everything on my walk in.

She’s as Skinny as a Stick of Macaroni…
That’s the chorus to the classic “Boney Maronie.” And if you don’t know the song, you should. I prefer the Richie Valens version. And I couldn’t get that damn song outta my head, almost the entire time here, for the capital and biggest town here is Moroni. Boney Maronie echoed over and over inside my head like a crazy person as I trekked into town.

The first thing any visitor will notice is all the trash. It was a little depressing at first, but the island’s charm would eventually distract me from the garbage. There were abandoned, junked cars everywhere, too. Some looked just months old; others, with just rusty carcasses remaining, looked like they could’ve been there since 1955. Their placement had no rhyme or reason – they were just haphazardly scattered and rotting away on the sides of roads, in ditches, and on vacant lots, often overtaken by mother nature’s loving vines.

Funky Cold Medina
15 minutes later, I’d reached the center – or at least what I deemed the center of town to be: the little harbor and big mosque whose image is used in almost every online description of Comoros. Children swam below in the clear water, sadly littered by garbage all around. It was a shame – this place had the bones of a visitor’s paradise like Zanzibar or any other island with lush green plants, sexy beaches and authentic, unspoiled local charm. I saw so much potential.

After admiring the round, white mosque that watched over the harbor, I walked into a little plaza and noticed an opening to a medina-like neighborhood. Old men sat on stoops while children playfully chased each other down narrow corridors. I’d just found the kind of unfiltered beauty that I live for seeing – and something that was nowhere to be found on any of the online “to see” lists for Comoros. I’m goin’ in!

I spent the next half-hour getting lost inside the twists and turns of this little neighborhood they call Badjanani. And while it wasn’t even 1% the size or scope of a medina like the one in Tunis, its scale was just perfect for Comoros. I exchanged constant bon soirs and ça vas as I passed by locals going about their business and snuck in a few photos when the coast was clear, careful not to overtly invade the residents’ privacy.

>>> RELATED: Tunis Take Two

Market Watch
As I exited out the back of this little medina, I was dumped right into a bustling market. I’d hit pay dirt twice in a row now – both the Badjanani neighborhood and this local market not mentioned once in any of the online guide books I’d skimmed for Comoros. How could they miss two such charming and important local slices of Comorian life here?

Taking photos inside African markets can be dicey and I wasn’t sure how the locals felt about it here just yet, so I resisted the temptation for the most part. I’ve been screamed at and run out of markets like these just for snapping a quick selfie of myself. Every place is different, but there exists certain locales where the vendors assume you’re selling photos of them to magazines or books and getting paid big bucks for their likenesses. And of course I’ve been told about people who believe taking their picture captures their soul, but I’m still not sure if that’s a wives’ tale or not. Oh how I would’ve loved to take some close-up shots of the beautiful women working here. Not “beautiful” as in me being attracted to them, but the kind of beauty you’d see inside a National Geographic spread. The (mostly) older ladies were dressed in colorful outfits with faces that told a thousand stories. They were hawking fish and produce and beans and seeds. And while I didn’t have the gumption to ask any of these women for their photos, I did try my luck with a young man selling baguettes out of the back of a van. Despite the language barrier (thank goodness “foto” is pretty universal), he obliged and I got my shots. I was really beginning to warm up to the locals here. They’d all been really cool so far.

I continued walking north, passing a small monument, when I noticed two French women. Besides a couple Ukrainian and Greek young men back at the hotel, those two ladies were the only blancos I’d see during my entire two-night stay on the island. That’s not a complaint. As I mentioned earlier, I love going places where tourists don’t go.

Soon after, I came to the end of town. I’d walked a couple miles (and a couple more that morning, in Dar Es Salaam) and I was beat…and chaffed! I did too much. I hailed a cab to run me back to the hotel. It was time to find out if that pizza tasted as good as it smelled. Spoiler alert: It did. I ordered the lobster pizza and it was a 10/10!

You can check out and book The Retaj Hotel HERE.

The Awakening
I hadn’t planned too well for this trip. If you’ve read my last dozen or so blogs, you may have noticed that my lack of planning has been becoming a recurring bad habit. No excuses, except that I’ve been incredibly busy at work, traveling a ton, and just, in general, getting into the lazy habit of “playing it by ear” and waiting until I get somewhere to figure it out. So here I was in Comoros, not sure what I wanted to do for day two—my only full day on the island. I jumped onto the hotel’s subpar WiFi to do a last minute browse. I’d seen all there was to see in the capital – it was clear I needed some beach time. I decided on Chomoni Beach, which, in pictures looked absolutely heavenly. Now I just needed a way to get there.

I packed a small bag and headed onto the street to negotiate a ride. Haggling with non-English-speaking cabbies in a strange African nation was something I’d worked up to over years. Never would I have attempted this just three or four years ago. In the beginning of this quest to see every country in the world, any place as foreign and far-away (and as Islamic) of an African country like Comoros would have had me planning a private tour, or at very least, a hired car, months in advance. Years later I’d come to learn you can usually just show up and ask the hotel to arrange a guide and/or personal driver for you. The seasoned pros (which I aspire to be), simply walk out onto the street and make it happen. I’d be that guy today.

I had a strategy: I’d flag down only a taxi that looked like it could actually make it to Chomoni and back. Half of the cars on the island I wouldn’t trust to take me even two miles out of town. These were old, beat up jalopies, with cracked windshields and smoky tailpipes. Chomoni was at least an hour away and over the hills – I didn’t want to get stuck in the bush.

Minutes later, I was doing my best to negotiate with a man behind the wheel of a decent looking Toyota. My attempt to use hand signals, combined with a mix of Spanish and Portuguese with an embarrassing take on a French accent was futile. It was like a really bad Pepé Le Pew impression. I even held out my calculator in hopes the driver would just type in the fare, but I wasn’t getting through to him. Before I could give up, a young man passing on the street stopped and volunteered to be our translator. About 90 seconds later, everything was a done deal: to Chomoni and back for 15,000 Comoran Francs (about 35 USD). I was thankful for the kind and helpful stranger. I was really starting to feel welcome here. I was starting to really dig Comoros.

Head for the Hills
I really enjoyed the hour drive to the other side of the island. Usually I detest long drives in the car, but I looked at this taxi ride as a bonus island tour. It was up, up, up into the hills, as we left town, passing by modest residences, small mosques and tiny shacks. I estimate about half of the structures on the island are not finished: just cinderblock frames, sans windows, doors and roofs – left wide-open to weather in the elements. I saw minimal construction in action, which left me wondering the story behind it all. Were all these unfinished structures gave up on and abandoned or simply put on pause? There were just so many.

I Have Questions: Was construction on these houses on pause for fiduciary reasons? Stopped because the money ran out? Were they completely abandoned or given up? How long does it take to finish a house here? Will these ever be finished? What’s the plan here?

A Day at the Beach
Chomoni was awesome for so many reasons. The three colors of the beach contrasted each other so vividly. The turquoise water, against the white sand, against the black volcanic rock…wow! The water temperature was just perfect. But the best part? I was the only one the entire beach. Besides a couple of passing women carrying pots on their heads, the entire beach was 100% empty and all mine. Not one other person. I still have a hard time wrapping my head around that. Simply amazing. But how was it so? Why weren’t hundreds of locals out here enjoying this???

I took my time floating around the bay in a meditative state. A giant school of fish seemed curious and spent time darting all around me, back and forth. I wish I’d brought a loaf of bread to feed them. Hip-Hop music from nearby beach palapas fought with the classic Arabic songs playing from the big white mosque overlooking the bay.

I spent a little over an hour enjoying the beach but wanted to be conscious of Kasim’s time – he was waiting for me in the car. Before I left I spent ten minutes collecting trash. The beach was pretty clean overall, but there was a bit of plastics, fabrics and shoes strewn about in one area – probably refuse from the nearby homes. It’s always a good idea to leave every place just a little nicer than when you arrived.

And Now, The Rest of The Afternoon
With every passing minute on the island, I fell in love with Comoros a little more. It’s hard to explain – just a good, genuine vibe. Not a touristy, steel drum, sipping piña coladas-kind of vibe. But the feeling of being in a special place, with friendly people, who smiled and said hello and made you feel as if they were truly happy to have you here.

I was scouting out the grounds of the hotel when group of young folks waved and called me over to their table. They wanted nothing more than to talk. Maybe they were curious who I was and what I was doing here? What they probably didn’t know was that I was just as curious about them. And so the conversation ensued…

The Money Shot
As I mentioned earlier–during my walk through the market–I passed so many beautiful faces and it killed me not taking up-close camera shots of some of these vendors. I tried my best to capture the images in my brain, but the visions eventually fade. I’m sure I got caught staring a few times, but I couldn’t resist. It was times like these I felt I was starring in a movie – the scenes were just so vivid.

It was on this second afternoon, when I saw something so very special, that just screamed “magazine cover,” I had to get the shot. I was in a cab, on my way back into the center of town, when I saw the lady with the fish. A portly woman, with sandalwood paste glopped all over her face, holding an enormous fish. Smiling big. She wasn’t posing for anyone – this was just her everyday work on the side of the street where ladies sold fish and produce. In an instant, I knew I had to have the photo – this was just too good to pass up, and if I did, I’d regret it forever. About a quarter mile down the road, I finally told the cabbie to let me out, as I footed it back in the other direction to find the woman with the big fish. And there she was.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to get this photo, so I hung out nearby and tried to collect my thoughts. I could try and sneak a pic, but then I couldn’t get close and would risk being caught. I never wanna be “that guy,” either. I could ask for a photo, but would run the risk of getting a “no” and then the awkward exit. I could offer to pay for a photo, but then that kind of ruins the realness of it all and turns it into a transaction. And what if an offer offended the lady? Finally, I had an idea…

With the help of another kind soul who jumped at the chance to translate, I asked how much the big fish was. 15,000 Comorian francs. (I was probably charged more because I was a tourist). I carefully explained my offer: “How about I give you 10,000 for the fish. We take a photo…and I leave the fish.” It took a couple tries before the lady understood, but when she finally got it, she was in absolute agreement and looked pretty happy about the deal. I broke out my iPhone and snapped away, while she posed a dozen times, proudly displaying her fish and even throwing in some smooches. It was the best $23 I’d spent all week. I was so happy to have this beautiful scene captured forever. I regretted not asking her name. Totally spaced it. I was just so giddy to get the shot.

Back to Badjanani
Something drew me back to that beautiful little Medina. I didn’t want to spend my afternoon doing nothing – and I’d really run out of things to do in town, so another stroll through Badjanani seemed like the perfect activity to finish out the day…and the year. It was New Year’s Eve. I took some time to admire the bay and the mosque, and then tiptoed right back into Badjanani to get lost in those old, moss-covered stone corridors again.

One of the highlights of my stop this time was when a kid by the name of Sultan approached me and asked where I was from. I quickly sensed an American accent and was so taken aback when he told me he was born in Chicago. His parents were Comoran. He lived here in Badjanani with his mother and siblings while his father worked in Chicago. We had a nice conversation and I enjoyed hearing how he adjusted to the differences of living in both places. His younger brothers Omar and Muhammad (I *think* they were both his brothers), didn’t speak English but looked on with curiosity and delight while the younger boy bounced a ball against the wall. I then met Sultan’s mom, Anzoune, who came out to say hello and chat for a bit. She too, was absolutely delightful. Finally, Sultan’s sister came outside to say hello, too. She was a real sweetheart. I will absolutely return to visit them next time around.

The Fixer
It was New Year’s Eve and in typical Ramblin’ Randy fashion, I was fast asleep by the stroke of midnight. I’m not a “party guy” in general, but add in a pandemic, and no way – I’m staying in. It was pizza number two for me at the hotel and then I was out!  I’d make the long journey home tomorrow.

I spent my final day in Moroni packing my bags and nervously awaiting my Corona Virus test results. The USA had just recently changed the testing window to return home from three days to one. This might work in developed countries but for places like Comoros??? Are you kidding me? The rule is absolutely absurd and the definition of unrealistic. Yes, I’m mad about it. Okay, rant over.

Luckily, I’d been recommended to the “Covid Test Fixer” – a local named Sa’id. For the bargain basement price of 150 Euros, he’d arrange a test and results in 24 hours, which for a country like Comoros, is witchcraft. It usually takes days. In fact, I was Sa’id’s first American client since the new “one day” rule had taken effect. At first I was really nervous that I wouldn’t receive the results in time and that I’d be stuck in Comoros. But for some reason, waking up this morning in Moroni – all of a sudden I just didn’t care. Maybe it was the fact that I knew I’d done all I could do, and the rest was out of my control. Maybe I was tired of all the ridiculous pandemic B.S. I’d been forced to put up with over the past two years. Maybe I’d just fallen in love with this place so much over the past 36 hours, that part of me wanted to stay. Whatever the case, a feeling of serenity had filled my body and mind that morning, and I was just going to go wherever the flow took me. But props to Sa’id – I’d received my test before noon and it had all worked out. I enjoyed the 45-minute taxi ride to the airport-window down–taking in every last sight as we left Moroni and traveled through the countryside. I’d really miss this place.

The only thing I really disliked about Comoros was the airport (departure) situation. It was one of those facilities where they made it a federal case just to get into the airport itself. I arrived to see an enormous line of people waiting to get through the front door. It was obscenely hot and humid and the line was not moving. I’ll spare you the details, but it was just a ridiculously long process just getting into the building. It was strikingly similar to my airport experience in Tajikistan recently, and really, it’s inexcusable – these airports have got to do better.

I breathed a sigh of relief once I was finally in my seat, on the plane. It would be a long journey home: Moroni to Dar Es Salaam, to Istanbul, and on to Vancouver, before finally landing back home in San Diego.

Final Thoughts
Comoros is definitely one of my top five favorite African countries, right up there with São Tomé, Eritrea and Benin. It is definitely one of my top 20 countries in the world. Some of my friends who’d been before me were underwhelmed with the island, and surprised I loved it so much. Dif’rent strokes for dif’rent folks I guess.

Comoros has an unmatched and non-staged charm like no place I’ve ever been. If you’re looking for a Seychelles-like resort island, this ain’t it. Sure, most “normal” people would rather spend their vacation inside a luxurious island retreat, where you’re locked in and hidden behind the tall walls of an all-inclusive – but my problem with those places is, they feel the same wherever you are. There are few differences between staying at a beachside resort in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic vs. in Saint Martin vs. Cyprus, etc. A nice beach, fancy room and big buffets are nice, but lack excitement…and you most certainly don’t get a true taste of the country you’re visiting. If you can get past the messy streets and lack of amenities–and really open up and allow the charm of this island to penetrate you–you might really love Comoros as I did. And if a nice beach is your thing, surely you’ll enjoy a day away from the crowds at Chomoni or any of the island’s other stunning (and empty) beaches.

RAMBLIN’ TIP: While I enjoyed two nights in Comoros, it left me wanting more. When I return, I will take time to book trips to the other three islands of Comoros: Mohéli, Anjouan, and Mayotte. The last one is actually a territory of France.

Check out hotels, resorts and apartments in Comoros HERE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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