BootsnAll Travel Network



Paradise Island

Zanzibar, June 1984
Riek and I took a bus to explore the interior of the island. We trundled past coconut groves, banana plantations and green fields of yams, manioc and sugar cane. Big breadfruit trees grew by the roadside. A plethora of tropical fruits and spices are grown on Zanzibar, many brought from Indonesia by missionaires. The cloves for which the island is famous filled the air with their scent

We stopped at a village of straw huts under the canopy of a coconut grove which looked like something out of my childhood fantasies. Over a lunch of patties fried in coconut oil, one of the villagers offered us to spend the night in an abandoned fisherman’s hut on the beach. There was not another soul around. We were alone with the gentle rolling of the ocean and the occasional breeze rustling through the palm fronds. Across the white sand and turquoise water we could see mangrove-fringed coral islands perforated with limestone caves which had been used as secret hideaways during the second world war and now are home to large swarms of bats.
Walking down the beach, I bent down and picked up a piece of startling deep red organ pipe coral. All that was missing was my snorkeling gear — the diving here had to be out of this world.

After our Robinson-esque retreat, it was time to return to the mainland. Riek had to get back to work and I had to enquire about a visa for Zambia. I ran a few errands and by the time I got back to the harbour, it was late. Riek, with whom I had arranged a dhow-trip to Bagamoyo, had gone. I was told the dhow would not leave until tomorrow and that I had missed the boat back to Dar by half an hour. Riek had to be on that, he could not afford to wait another day.

I cussed and cursed and a helpful guy finally told me about a cargo ship that was destined for Bagamoyo later that afternoon. It wasn’t exactly my notion of romantic travel: a large metal ship reminiscent of a car ferry and the ticket was still 100 sh. My new friend seemed genuinely concerned about my foul mood and talked to the captain who invited me to travel for free. We left on time. Really, I had little to grumble about.

I stood on deck watching out for dolphins. I had turned down an invitation to lunch from the first mate because it meant going below deck and hoped it was worth my rumbling stomach. Suddenly, there was a movement among the waves and for a split second, a gleaming black back broke through the surface, showing a large fin. Then a second and a third. We passed a school of tiny dolphins, possibly Tursiops truncatus attenuata, a pygmy version of the common bottlenose dolphin. They did not approach the boat but the crew encouraged me to keep a look-out and a quarter of an hour later I saw them again. I ran and stumbled across the swaying deck to the bow to glimpse a shadow in the waves below. It was gone in an eye-blink but it had been worth the missed lunch.

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