It already offers spectacular beaches, wonderful weather and intriguing culture, and now with the arrival of two luxury resorts Zanzibar is about to go upmarket
There are other Indian Ocean idylls with powder-sand beaches, turquoise waters and top-notch resorts, but few with as rich history and culture as Zanzibar
Calm waters in Zanzibar
Accommodation at Park Hyatt Zanzibar
One of the many intricately carved wooden doorways found in Stone Town
Zanzibar's slave memorial
In the bath-warm water, blue-spotted triggerfish guarded their patch belligerently, graceful angelfish perfected their synchronised swimming routines, and a twitching pair of antennae betrayed a lobster wedged in a crevice
Dusk was gathering as I reached Jaws Corner in the heart of Zanzibar’s old Stone Town, and the atmosphere was hotting up. An hour earlier, peace had reigned in this nook buried deep in the labyrinthine old quarter, bar a low-key soundtrack of haggling fruit sellers and bell-pinging cyclists dodging tourist shutterbugs.
But as the subequatorial sun softened, benches lining the square became crammed with white-whiskered elders in traditional kofias (cloth pillbox hats) and djellabas (robes). Pungent aromas heralded the arrival of steaming, tar-black coffee poured from equally blackened pots. Arms were waved and verbal sparring erupted, a scene echoed at countless barazas – local meeting places – across the island. It was an age-old tableau brought into the 21st century only by a communal TV blaring the latest news.
And there was a particularly meaty portion of political news to chew over. Multi-hued bunting fluttering overhead telegraphed the main topic: October’s annulled elections, leaving Zanzibar temporarily leaderless. But the elections, while disputed, were peaceful – not always a given in these parts. The air of good humour (or simply resignation) was encapsulated in a bon mot scrawled by some wag alongside the too-familiar spinning wheel computer icon: “Please wait… President reloading.”
As the muezzin’s call to prayer signalled a temporary intermission, I picked my way back through the winding alleys. Or tried to – getting lost is an inevitable pleasure in Stone Town. Yet it’s one that relatively few Brits enjoy. It’s not that the near-legendary “Spice Island” is empty, but most visitors merely tag it on as a short beach extension at one of Zanzibar’s east-coast resorts after a safari on mainland Tanzania.
As the muezzin’s call to prayer signalled a temporary intermission, I picked my way back through the winding alleys. Or tried to – getting lost is an inevitable pleasure in Stone Town. Yet it’s one that relatively few Brits enjoy. It’s not that the near-legendary “Spice Island” is empty, but most visitors merely tag it on as a short beach extension at one of Zanzibar’s east-coast resorts after a safari on mainland Tanzania.
This seems a waste: there are other Indian Ocean idylls with powder-sand beaches, turquoise waters and top-notch resorts, but few with such rich history and culture. Upmarket hotel chain Hyatt agrees: it has recently opened the first African outpost of its top-end Park Hyatt brand in Stone Town. This could be seen as anticipating a boom – or as an attempt to stimulate one.
Either way, it’s another reason to visit. And it’s a very good reason. Though there are half a dozen boutiquey hotels in restored Stone Town mansions, the Park Hyatt claims to be the first five-star in the old centre with direct beach access – a haven of peace just steps from the bustle and buzz of the old centre. The sheer passion invested in the sensitive restoration of Mambo Msiige, the 150-year-old Omani trader’s mansion around which the hotel has been created, signals the owner’s confidence in a renaissance on the island. And from my own brief encounter, I’d say that confidence is well placed.
I’d come to check out the new Hyatt and another offering further north, and to scratch beneath the sun-sea-and-sand surface of Zanzibar. By that I mean Unguja, the main island; there are 52 in the archipelago, but 50-mile-long Unguja is usually known simply as Zanzibar and claims the lion’s share of attractions. Stone Town is the jewel in its cultural crown, a World Heritage-listed district best explored with a knowledgable guide – not just for navigational purposes, but to help tease apart the overlapping layers of history.
Guide Rashid and I started at the harbourfront. Faced by containers, cruise ships and ferries, with kids in Arsenal and Chelsea shirts leaping into the ocean, the town seemed modern enough. We turned around, though, to be faced by a 17th-century Arab fort alongside the House of Wonders, or Beit-al-Ajaib. Built as a ceremonial palace in 1883, this was the first on Zanzibar to boast electricity; wrecked by British bombardment during the 1896 Anglo-Zanzibar War – the shortest in history, at just 40 minutes – it is now a museum, though currently closed due to structural problems.Delving into the maze, Stone Town felt much more venerable than its 150 or so years.
There’s a whiff of a Moroccan medina – Fès, perhaps – but with a flavour of its own. Among the souvenir shops, Rashid unearthed the real treasures: huge, ornately carved doorways fronting mansions built by wealthy Arab traders after the Portuguese were ousted in the late 18th century. Many sport sharp brass studs – anti-elephant protection, on Zanzibar decorative rather than defensive – plus more revealing and disturbing reminders of the island’s past. “See the cloves carved into the lintel?” pointed Rashid. “This was a spice dealer’s home.” After the Omani sultanate took control in 1698, clove and other spice plantations were established to augment the ivory trade. They demanded labour, as another doorway whispered. “The chains running along the frame show this house was built by a slave master,” Rashid grimaced.
There’s a whiff of a Moroccan medina – Fès, perhaps – but with a flavour of its own. Among the souvenir shops, Rashid unearthed the real treasures: huge, ornately carved doorways fronting mansions built by wealthy Arab traders after the Portuguese were ousted in the late 18th century. Many sport sharp brass studs – anti-elephant protection, on Zanzibar decorative rather than defensive – plus more revealing and disturbing reminders of the island’s past. “See the cloves carved into the lintel?” pointed Rashid. “This was a spice dealer’s home.” After the Omani sultanate took control in 1698, clove and other spice plantations were established to augment the ivory trade. They demanded labour, as another doorway whispered. “The chains running along the frame show this house was built by a slave master,” Rashid grimaced.
A short, snaking stroll brought us to the Anglican Cathedral. Of modest interest in itself, its core claim to infamy lies in the vestiges of the slave market that underpinned the economy for nearly two centuries. Rashid led us down to a pair of dank, claustrophobic chambers. Dozens would have been crammed into each after the hellish – and often fatal – chained march from the interior, imprisoned up to three days without food or water before the next auction day. Hauled out and tied to a jojoba tree, they were whipped to test their strength; those who cried were returned to these infernal chambers. Few survived a second incarceration. The stomach-churning horror is amplified because this shameful episode is so recent: the trade was outlawed as late as 1873. Outside there’s a powerful counterpoint in a monument by Swedish sculptor Clara Sörnäs, five concrete figures of neck-chained slaves, blank eyes drained of hope.
The sprawling Darajani bazaar provided a lively contrast to those sombre relics. Dozens of counters were piled with a kaleidoscopic array of fruits and vegetables, dried seafood, spices and vivid kangas, patterned wraps worn by many Zanzibari women. The point of a kanga, though, isn’t design or colour but the Swahili message it carries. “Let’s say a man marries a second time,” explained Rashid. “Wife one buys a kanga with a message: 'I’m the first.’ Second wife sees it and buys a kanga saying: 'Yes, you were first – but now you’re old, while I’m young and beautiful’.” A catty comeback in cotton – Zanzibari trolling.
In the 1904 market hall, fishermen watched their yellowfin tuna, marlin and sharks being auctioned, while colourful reef creatures were laid out on nearby stalls: octopus, prawns, triggerfish and parrotfish – just some of the species I’d meet the following day. At nearby Fumba, tourists gathered on the mangrove-fringed beach to board their dhows. A couple of souvenir vendors made desultory attempts to peddle tie-dyed kikois and bags bearing the ubiquitous motto “Hakuna matata”: no problem. A little egret floated with languid flaps over the exposed coral as we waded out to our boat, the Stahamili Tuu. Leaden clouds seeped across the northern sky like an ink spill on blotting paper, accentuating the iridescent turquoise of the ocean.
Though tidied up for tourists, the Stahamili is essentially the same as those fishing boats I’d watched sailing out from Stone Town harbour. And though ropes might now be nylon, and its distinctive triangular sail made with cotton rather than palm leaves, it’s a design basically unchanged in centuries, recognisable from here to the Arabian Gulf and across to Karachi. Captain Morgan (real name Hassan) outlined the day’s plans, which didn’t take long: head to a couple of good snorkelling spots, then to a sheltered islet for lunch, and keep eyes peeled for dolphins on the return voyage.
Twenty minutes later we’d donned mask and fins and hopped into the bath-warm ocean. Not dived: the coral is too close to the surface, so snorkelling is sumptuous. With a flick of the flipper I surged above waving fan corals and anemone gardens bustling with Nemos, as dazzling parrotfish munched at staghorn corals. Blue-spotted triggerfish guarded their patch belligerently, graceful angelfish perfected their synchronised swimming routines, and a twitching pair of antennae betrayed a lobster wedged in a crevice. Wise crustacean.
On nearby Pamunda Island a barbecue had been set up at a tiny, sheltered cove where less fortunate slipper lobsters, prawns, kingfish and chicken awaited our attention. And crabs. Crabs everywhere. Tiny ghost crabs skittering across the sand; hermit crabs hauling their conch-shell caravans into shady corners; vast coconut crabs out-aliening ET. Lunch demolished, Captain Morgan treated us to a lesson on Zanzibar’s organic bounty: a fruitorial, if you will. He sliced honey-sweet pink grapefruit and dodo mangos, lush and unctuous as kisses. Pink-sugared baobab seeds. Passionfruit, glistening grenades of tartness. And crocodile-skinned jackfruit with cocktail flavours of banana and pineapple. The ocean lapped a little closer to the dhow’s plimsoll line when we reboarded for our postprandial voyage. Zanzibar is not a diet-friendly destination.
Next day, an hour’s drive north brought me to the fishing village of Nungwi, flanked by resorts including the soon-to-be rebranded Essque Zalu. The journey provided a tantalising snapshot of rural life. We passed glacial-paced bullock carts and dala dalas (pick-up trucks with passengers crammed on benches), kids gossiping with schoolfriends, women planting cassava and blank-eyed Brahman cattle. A tour of a spice cooperative at Kizimbani was as eye-opening as it was mouthwatering. Ever wondered where annatto food colouring comes from? Watching our guide tint his lips with the clayish-red seeds, I wondered how Revlon ever made it big. I peeled the stringy red netting from around nutmeg, tasted fresh green cloves and ginger plucked and sliced straight from the ground, and practised pollinating a vanilla flower. All in a morning’s work.
Essque Zalu (as it’s still called until March) is a collection of thatched villas and suites around an imposing 115ft-high makuti-thatch central building. With its infinity pools, coolly elegant design and – like the Park Hyatt – exceptional food, you could easily cocoon yourself, venturing out only to explore the world-renowned dive sites fringing nearby Mnemba Island. But, again, that would be a shame.A few hundred paces along the shore brought me to a headland, the island’s northernmost point, beyond which stretched the white sand of Nungwi Beach. It’s boats before bikinis here, though, with dozens of dhow builders hammering in the shade of coconut palms, their completed fishing boats bobbing at anchor just steps away.
It’s a timeless scene, belying the changes that may be afoot. The Per Aquum luxury chain is in the process of transforming Essque Zalu; while I’m generally allergic to talk of hotel “concepts” and brand slogans, in this case the sassy revamped suite designs, innovative spa packages and a raft of mooted new experiences are genuinely exciting – again suggesting that Zanzibar is on the verge of something. Quite what that something is, time will tell. A new tourism dawn? Well, perhaps. There are whispers of a Four Seasons and a One & Only arriving on the island. There’s the Park Hyatt, of course, and the new international airport terminal opens imminently. But then change, evolution, adaptation is in the island’s DNA. Or perhaps in its code. Please wait… Zanzibar reloading.
Paul Bloomfield travelled courtesy of Qatar Airways (0333 320 2454), which flies daily from London Heathrow to Zanzibar via Doha from £680 return in economy and £2,314 in business class. Park Hyatt Zanzibar (00255 24 550 1234) has doubles from £283 in a Park King room with sea view, including breakfast and VAT. A private full-day dhow cruise costs from US$537 for two people, plus US$100 transfer from Stone Town.Essque Zalu Zanzibar, to be fully rebranded as Per Aquum Zalu by March 2016, has double suites starting from £300 including breakfast.
No comments :
Post a Comment