To Zanzibar

I have not slept well. A noise that sounded like the crunching of bones kept me awake and I had assumed it was some kind of birds romping on the corrugated iron roof – at first light I go outside to check and realise that it’s a thorn tree scratching at the roof in the breeze.

Our 8.15 departure is delayed by the absence of Chloe’s bag which, it transpires, has left with an earlier group. An anxious Isaac gets on the case and a few calls later manages to locate it and arrange to pick it up en route. We stop twice at souvenir shops on the way to Arusha – first at a modest roadside shop where I buy a rosewood elephant. The wood grain is beautiful and I’m reluctant to beat the seller down too much but feel that honour demands at least a token effort at negotiation. He offers it for $25 dollars and we settle on $20; anything less seems mean given the relative wealth of our countries. The second shop is much more grand, a gallery with some breaktaking works of art and sculpture and prices to match. I pick up an Ngorongoro fridge magnet here for $5 and Isaac picks up Chloe’s bag. We continue towards Arusha and as we approach, Mount Meru fills the windscreen.

We stop for lunch at Arusha Coffee Lodge where an excellent buffet is served in a tropical garden. We say goodbye here to Yvonne and Courtney who are flying home early, and give Isaac and Goodluck their tips as they are not coming with us to Zanzibar. After a group photos, they drive us to the airport almost opposite.

Chaos reigns here – there’s a simple wooden counter for check in, no computers or baggage drop conveyors. We’re issued boarding passes bearing just our first names and told to pile up our bags. They are weighed and then moved to another pile, then a third, before being put on a trolley and pulled towards the runway. A sign warning that concealed firearms are not allowed accompanies the normal sign about liquids and plastic bags, but Mervyn is allowed to take a bottle of water through. The departure lounge is a lean-to with a corrugated iron roof and there are no displays or announcements. Our departure time of 2pm comes and goes before somebody calls out the name of our airline and we are led to our plane.

The ascent is a bit bumpy but it’s a pretty smooth flight and we pass from land to calm blue sea and finally some small islands ringed by white sand. It looks idyllic. The tightly packed single storey buildings of Zanzibar city come into view and we land on a runway flanked by them. We are asked to fill in landing cards which are collected by an official who barely glances at our passports. Our bags are carried one by one from the plane, as an earlier flight is using the single trolley.

We are met by a rep who hands out chilled bottles of water and outlines the itinerary. There’s some confusion as each family will leave separately and the Georges are down from 4 to 2. It takes only around 10 minutes to drive us to the Tembo House Hotel and I’m delighted when it turns out to be the building whose architecture I had just been admiring. It’s a traditional building with a pool in its central courtyard, beyond which is the busy public beach. Our room overlooks the pool and has a small terrace with a sea view; our shower has a Moorish arch.

We go and sit by the pool with cold drinks and talk about dinner options – I’ve found a restaurant nearby which serves local food and tonight is live music night. The other families like the sound of it too so Simon walks down to book a table for us all. Alex has fun in the pool with the other teenagers. It’s going to be great for him to have people his own age to spend time with here.

The noise level from the beach increases and I go to investigate; a small crowd has gathered and youths are demonstrating their acrobatic skills by tumbling along the beach. We don’t get much of a sunset because clouds have gathered, but it’s still a spectacular view.

 

Simon and I stroll down to the Park Hyatt with Mervyn for an aperitif (our hotel is alcohol-free) leaving Alex and Chloe in reception with the wifi. We listen to the sea as we drink and chat; Simon goes on ahead to the restaurant as Mervyn and I haven’t finished our drinks. When we follow we’re accosted near our hotel by a tout who is determined that we should eat in his friend’s restaurant, and when we explain that our families are already at Monsoon he claims he can show us a short cut. We doubt his motives and refuse to follow him, rightly as it turns out because Monsoon is practically opposite!

No tables were available inside, so we are seated on the terrace under a pergola at a regular table. Inside the dining room where the band is playing it’s more traditional, sitting on the floor at low tables. The food is ok, although my King Fish is dry and seems overcooked. We’re on the coast road and there’s a fair bit of traffic, a significant proportion of which is large and new with blacked out windows. Vehicles often stop and the occupants open the windows and appear to check who’s out before driving on. I find it faintly sinister.

We’ve been invited to go inside and listen to the music after dinner but service is a bit slow and everybody is ready for bed when we finish eating. Back at the hotel, Simon and I got to the raised sundeck to see if we can see the Perseid meteor shower which is visible this weekend; although it’s a clear night we can’t see anything unusual.