By 10am we’d climbed onboard ‘Christie’ the very large white and orange over-landing truck driven by Vic and were heading for Dar port as true to her word she’d arranged two free ferry tickets over to Zanzibar.

With our kit and bikes stored for free at Silver Sands, we’d thrown a few things into our tank bags, which were now transformed into rucksacks; we climbed onboard the rusting ferry a little concerned about it’s sea worthiness. The ship was filling up quickly. As we pushed past those who’d already found their seats we were feeling a little conspicuous as the only white people on board. This was strange as we’d travelled through West Africa and not felt ‘out of it’ once. Being stared at wasn’t helping. The occasional sting of acrid body odour wasn’t going to help with a rough crossing but with the already scorching day getting hotter, probably couldn’t be helped. Steve an Auzzie embryologist was already looking comfy as we found a couple of seats next to him.

When we thought the boat was finally crammed to its limits, the crew waived another 50 passengers onboard, nobody even blinked an eye. Conversation was kept to minimum over the next 4 hours as it was taking all our concentration to fight off the feeling of nausea as the boat rocked from side to side and the horizon disappeared as the boat stern shot skyward lifted by the large swell.

After what seemed like an age, heavy aged ropes were flung to dock with a nonchalance gained from years of repetition. We were in Zanzibar the ‘spice Island’.

The small port was a hive of activity. Cargo was shoved, pushed, thrown and dropped into awaiting ships and passengers pushed and vied for space to disembark. Past salt corroded containers we followed our travelling companions, they seemed to know where they were going. With the customs building found we filled in entry cards and had our passports stamped. It was kinda’ cool to see the ‘Zanzibar’ stamp sitting proudly on a page to itself.

A short walk later and we’d found Narrow Street Hotel in the middle of Stone Town and arranged a night for $18. We’d already been surprised at the very Eastern/Moroccan feeling of Zanzibar.

It felt more than a little strange not to have our bikes close to hand and now we’d also have to find some food as our own and cooking gear was all stowed at Silver Sands.

With some advice taken we found ‘The Sweet Eazy’, (at GPS: S6 09.689 E39 11.259) a restaurant specialising in local and Thai food. Rough carved tables laid with delicate but brightly printed cloths were scattered inside and out and all looked inviting. The softly drooping palms of young banana trees cast deliberate shadows over guests, backlit by the warm flickering light given off by the storm candles. Scanning the menu for err…cheap stuff, we ended our day with a cold beer and a Thai green noodle soup.

With our bags over our shoulders we checked out of Narrow Street Hotel and headed back to the port. We’d planned on picking up our ferry tickets for the following day. We’d passed the ‘Zan Travel’ office and decided to pop in to pick up some information on Zanzibar and collate some info for the web site and maybe for an article I’m thinking of writing.

Christine greeted us warmly in her soft Australian tone and asked politely how she could help. 20 minutes later and we were still in her office with coffee in hand and talking about just a few of our experiences on our journey. Each time we thought we should leave and allow her to get back to work she’d throw in another well thought question.

I’d asked if they had a website that we could link ours to? “Marks organising that but it’s taking awhile as we’re so busy”. As if on queue Mark popped his head round the office door and apologised for interrupting, Christine made a quick introduction and 5 minutes later on I’d left Lisa with Christine and Mark and I were in his office finding out if I could help get their WWW up and running. It wasn’t a big site, the photos and graphics were all lined up, it just needed putting together and I was guessing two days tops?

“Where are you staying”, Mark asked. “Don’t know, we were planning on leaving tomorrow”, I replied “Well you can’t go until you been to the North end of the Island, why don’t you stay at my place”. And that was that.

Lisa had also been surprised by Christine who’d arranged for one of the guides to take us on a complimentary tour of Stone Town, once a slavery strong hold and with more history than you can shake a stick at. Mr Howey, a legend in his own lifetime, was to be our guide, what Mr Howey didn’t know about Zanzibar wasn’t worth knowing.

We had one last favour to ask of Christine; We needed to phone Noli and Gill, Nick's parents who'd we'd met in Cape Town. Nick had mentioned that his parents owned a ‘small Hotel’ and could perhaps put us up for a few nights. Gill answered the phone and within minutes it had been arranged that we'd stay at their house upon our return to Dar Es Salem.

So with calls made and our thanks expressed to Christine and Mark, we followed Mr Howey, left the air condition office of 'Zan Travel'(at GPS: S6 09.485 E39 11.660) and dove into the history of Stone Town, the old slave market, fish and veg markets and churches that make up a tiny piece of Stone Town.

By 6pm with thanked Mr Howey, said farewell and had found the very colonial looking ‘Africa House’ (at GPS: S6 09.874 E39 11.222), the ex-pats’ gentleman’s club of days gone by. We’d arranged to meet Mark and his girl friend here after he’d finished work. We’d parked ourselves up on the second floor veranda and watched the orange glow of the setting sun disappear and that’s where they found us. Several gin & tonics later courtesy of Mark, we’d met Caroline, whom after some volunteer work had landed a teaching job on the Island. And so after laughing and getting to know our new friends and with night time firmly settled, we jumped into Marks old white pickup and headed back to his home.

Mark and Caroline had already left for work when we finally got up. At the end of Marks short drive we waived down a ‘Dalla Dalla’ the local name for pick-up with iron sides and roof welded onto the back and covered normally in an old tarpaulin. These things fly round the Island and are cheap. Back at Stone Town Market we crawled, hunched over, out of the back of the Dalla Dalla. The driver watched us and grinned uncontrollably guessing we were ‘Dalla Virgins’ and that he’d just popped our cherry.

By days end we were once again back at Africa House and had met up with Claire and Sarah two American girls we also met briefly on the boat over from Dar and who had arranged a mini-bus for 2,000 shillings each to take us all up to Nungwi at the North end of Zanzibar. Mark and Caroline had already suggested that we head for Kendwa when we arrive at Nungwi and so a plan was made.

Mark dropped us off at Florida Guest House at 8am where Sarah, Claire and Steve the Auzzie had been staying and where we’d pick up the mini-bus. With a few good mornings expressed we climbed onboard for the short 1 ½ hour ride North.

Out of Stone Town and tropical countryside took hold. Coconut trees with thick palms and banana trees line the small road. We passed several small villages, each one busier than the last and watched small children playing with disused old truck tyres with the same excitement that kids in the UK play with ‘Scale-electrics’. It’s a different World.

The further North we went the more the bumpier the ride became until at last the driver took a sharp left hand turn, dived into the undergrowth and took us down a muddy brown track to Nungwi…paradise found.

Silly grins were passed silently between all as we stumbled off the mini-bus. A few minutes later and we walked down between two stone buildings both adorned with colourful hand painted signs advertising the various excursions offered by the local scuba school and pushed our bare feet into the soft white sand allowing the cool water of the Indian Ocean to lap against our ankles. A small boat powered down its out-board and moored on the beach. “Right then who wants to go to Kendwa”, chirped Yarack as he jumped of the boat and splashed into the water. Yarack was the new Manager of the Kendwa Beach resort; a new set of rooms 10 minutes South of Nungwi. Six heads nodded happily and so with rucksacks and bags thrown onto the small craft we pushed off the beach and headed down to Kendwa.

The sea was a turquoise blue, the kind you only see in movies and a salty sea breeze left our skin feeling fresh.

The Amaan (the name of the resort) looked idyllic. The restaurant is a large wooden structure with a roof of palm built right down on the bleached white beach and here we bartered with Yarack for the cost of the rooms. The standard price was $30 per person and so out numbered 6 to 1 we eventually got him down to…$8. Bargain.

The large air-conditioned rooms all with spotless bathrooms would be home for the next three nights.

A wonderful few days.

To our surprise yesterday started with dark clouds rolling in from the sea, a stark contrast to yesterdays colour. Even so it didn’t seem to effect how stunning this place is. Instead of the normal dark grey clouds we’re used to these had a wonderful combination of dark blue and purple hues. We watched under the protection of the restaurant as the sweeping rain lashed the sea and filled up small dugouts until they finally gave up their battle and sank beneath the small waves.

By late afternoon the clouds had gone and we did what we’d wanted to do since arriving in Ghana all those months ago…lie out in the Sun, close our eyes and do nothing.

A seafood rice dish was dinner, courtesy of Yarack in exchange for a few high quality photos of the Amaan. God bless the barter system.

The nxt morning started with a slow walk down the beach, century old looking boats were anchored in the shallow waters of the bay, with local fisherman sitting back in the shade of the trees, busy mending nets or cleverly weaving palm strips into lobster catching baskets. A 15ft beheaded python lay half eaten on the beach, a reminder that there is still danger in paradise.

With Lisa back at the Amaan I set off to photograph what I could and ended up being besieged by a group of young boys, who delighted in performing incredible gymnastics in return for being shown the photo displayed on the small screen at the back of the camera. Their energy was endless.

Volleyball with the staff of the Amaan provided us the exercise for the day…bloody hell I’m unfit. And as afternoon turned into evening I was on the beach agreeing a price of 6,000 shillings (£4.50) for a freshly caught large Red Snapper. It ended up feeding Lisa and I, Sarah (USA), Steve (Auzzie), Ingo (German), John (Scotland) and a Dutch lady (I forget her name).

With a sad farewell to Kendwa we were soon back in Stone Town and back at the port with Steve and Ingo picking up our ferry tickets back to Dar.

We’ve decided to take the over-night ferry at $15 per person, which leaves at 10pm and docks the following morning at 7am. This will also save us paying a night’s accommodation at Silver Sands.

By 5pm we were all sat in ‘Mercury’s’ Restaurant (in honour of Freddie Mercury who was born on Zanzibar) and watching the busy comings and goings of the port. Dinner was courtesy of the myriad of food stalls at Filaney Gardens, a small patch of grass that sits in between The House of Wonders and the Sea. BBQ’d squid for 1,500 shillings, did the job.

By 8pm we’d been back to the hotel guesthouse that Claire and Sarah had booked for tonight and where we’d dumped off our bags earlier today and had joined in the pushing and shoving of the queue to board the ferry.