Some places are just wrong, like my kitchen sink and the vast majority of Mosman. Whilst I do a good job of not visiting those places, somehow I still occasionally find myself in Zanzibar. Which is no good, because my presence and drink-buying cash only encourages this mockery of aesthetics. It’s a guilt I’ll just have to learn to deal with.
The bar’s website claims it is “an exotic oasis located in the heart of vibrant King Street”. This might be true, or it may well be one of the most insidious lies in the history of the world. The place actually looks more like a very, very cheap harem without any of the exotic Eastern beauties one would rightfully expect to see lounging at a harem. I’m fairly sure that every time I enter Zanzibar, the décor kills a part of my soul.
What the place lacks in looking acceptable to the human eye, it more than makes up for in having some of the worst bouncers in Sydney. Seriously. They roam around the bar making the punters feel awkward. They wear headsets I’m fairly sure aren't even connected to anything. And the door guys won't let people in because... well, they don't need a reason.
But wait! There are some good aspects to Zanzibar. The upstairs bit isn’t too bad in the same way serious injury isn’t that bad when compared to gruesome death. They have bar food, which tends to be just what you want when you’re at Zanzibar, and hence presumably sickeningly intoxicated. And best of all, ol’ Zanzy occasionally delivers on its promise of being open 24 hours. Of course, usually they shut around 4am because they are a pack of filthy liars.
Zanzibar is just…wrong.
(Originally published in The Brag as part of the Under The Bar column).
