A snapshot of Stone Town, Zanzibar

Steeped in history, Pemba is the name of the larger of the 2 islands
that make up what most people think of as ‘Zanzibar.’ I arrived in the
capital, Stone Town, more than a little disorientated after a long
sleepless flight and surreal ferry journey (seated next to a young boy
with a LIVE chicken in a plastic bag)! The heat was stifling. The sun
coupled with the bright colours of the women’s clothing dazzled me as
I took my first steps on African soil. Ever since I had gazed across
the strait of Gibraltar while on holiday as a child, I had dreamt of
coming to this ancient and enticing land.

I had pre-booked a room at the Flamingo Hotel (flamingoguesthouse.com/
$10 per person per night for very basic en suite, £8 for shared
bathroom facilities) which is a popular haunt for budget travellers.
Basic, clean…ish and with breakfast on the roof included in the price,
it was just the ticket. After dumping my bag in my room and changing
into cool white and modest clothing (this is primarily Muslim town), I
headed out into the heat of the afternoon. Despite my tiredness I was
keen to explore this Unesco World Heritage Site.

Diving straight into market, I found myself well and truly in at the
deep end of everything I had imagined Africa to be. The smell in the
air was a fantastic blend of spices and exotic fruit. Stalls selling
everything from shawls to sardines surrounded me. My pale skin singled
me out as an easy target for shopkeepers, artists and tour operators,
not to mention some less savoury characters. I would soon become
accustomed to the constant calls of ‘mzungu, mzungu’ but for now it
was disarming to be stared at for being exotic.

Stone Town is a photographer’s heaven. Around every corner there is a
scene begging to be captured. The architecture is unique, mixing
traditional African with Arabic influences. This was a major hub of
the slave trade, where several million African people were held before
being transported to Asia and the Middle East. At St. Monica’s Church,
which was built on the site of the old slave market, you are able to
do a tour of the church, monument and the eerie slave chambers.

For the delicious food I headed to Forodhani Gardens where each
evening countless stalls piled high with exotic seafood, local kebabs,
traditional chai and more can be found for just a few dollars. If
you’re feeling flush, Africa House is the perfect place to go for a
sundowner (www.theafricahouse-zanzibar.com/). I was lucky enough to be there in July for the Zanzibar International Film Festival(http://www.ziff.or.tz/) which showcases local, national and
international film makers in the fantastically atmospheric Old Fort.
Easily accessible by taxi or dalla-dalla (local mini bus) are
countless beautiful beaches, and Jozani Forest where you can see the
approachable red colobus monkeys endemic to Zanzibar.

The world works in mysterious ways…

I struggled to wake myself from my dream this morning. It was unusually vivid, featuring a friend from Tanzania who had, in the dream, moved to England. I was surprised at how realistic the dream was. I have never dreamed of him before, and as I distractedly get ready for work, couldn’t shake the feeling that it had to mean something. I checked my diary and was both astounded and yet somehow not surprised to see that one year ago to the day, I had said goodbye to my friend, and to Tanzania. After not having been in touch for months, I was happy if not shocked when I got into work to see that I had received an e-mail from the man himself (on an unrelated topic). It served to remind me that the world does indeed work in mysterious ways – or else maybe it’s just my mind that is weird!

In other news, I am elated to be able to apologise for the pessimistic last post and to report that my Retired Greyhound Trust donation wedding gift went down a storm. Everything is once again right in the world; my friend and his bride are happy to have received a thoughtful gift, my conscience is appeased and the greyhounds are, I’m sure, grateful to be kept in chew toys and fake rabbits for the coming months.

Poetic justice

This weekend I am going to a friend’s wedding. As seems to have become the custom these days, he and his fiancé have registered a wedding list at a high end department store. I find the idea of telling people what to buy you quite vulgar, and defeats the object of buying a gift to congratulate the new couple. The definition of a gift is ‘something given voluntarily without payment in return, to show favour toward someone (or to) honor an occasion.’ Although I do appreciate that it can be helpful to some people to have an idea of what to buy, but it leaves me cold and wondering if I’m only invited to the wedding as a potential gift giver rather than a friend. Many couples who have already set up home together give you the option to donate to a charity. But in this case, not only did they not offer this, I even received a text message from the soon-to-be-groom to remind me to get him a good present from the list! On this list there is a kettle priced at £70, £120 for a sandwich toaster, and so on! So as my gift to the happy couple, I am going to donate to a charity in their honour. Not sure how that will go down, but I will feel a lot happier giving my money to a worthy cause… and one that I hope will at least raise a smile from them – proud owners of 2 gorgeous greyhounds - the retired greyhound trust!