It has a checkered past; being as it was, a major centre of slavery. Though I’d have to wager that even among the shackled scores of thousands who were stolen from their homes and shipped here, before being sent wherever their captor could flog them, some would have probably, albeit grudgingly, admitted that Zanzibar seemed somehow better than the Congo or Malawi or wherever else they’d been forcibly taken from. I’ll bet one or two of them even thought something along the lines of: “Hey, this place has potential… a few hotels here, a couple of bars there and we could be quids in” But this checkered past just seems to lend to the appeal of the place. It adds a mystique, a melancholic edge that is missing from pretty much every other touristy island paradise.

The main town on the island is Stone Town. It’s a fabulous place. A place where clichéd nonsense like “where east meets west” etc is really valid. The narrow lanes have the feel of an eastern bazaar with the look of a Mediterranean city, complete with reckless Vespa riders. While in most places the picture of folk gazing down from their colonial style buildings to view Dhows plying their trade upon the gorgeous blue waters would seem incongruous here it just seems as natural as ordering another beer with a splendid curry. And I assure you the exotic mix of this place certainly extends to cracking Indian food. I suppose it’s no real surprise that the Indian food is so good, not because this was once a British protectorate, though that probably helps, but because it’s known as the “Spice Isle”.

By my way of thinking if you go somewhere called the “Spice Isle” it’s right and proper that you find out why. So we took a tour of the island and its spice farms. Sounds a bit dorky, I’ll freely admit that, but it was actually really interesting. I mean who’d have known that pepper looks like a kind of ivy and attaches itself, harmlessly, to trees in order to grow? Or that Arabica coffee beans grow on huge shrubs and that the beans taste exactly nothing like coffee? To me it tastes more like melon, so who was first to decide to sun dry it, roast it and pop it in very hot water? And perhaps more pertinently, why? It might seem like I’m stating the obvious, I image I mostly do, but these fresh herbs and spices taste so intense and so much better than anything you can buy at the supermarket. It’s amazing.

After wrapping up our spice tour we headed back to Stone Town for a spot of shopping. Not for any old tourist tat, nor even a bag of fresh cinnamon. Oh no, we were shopping for something much better, Lobster. Not just any kind of lobster, but my favourite type; cheap lobster! And guess what? We found it. Anyone know the song: “Hey, Mr. Fisherman… home from the sea… have you a lobster you can sell to me?” Well, much to Heide’s horror I took to “singing” this little number as we shopped. My singing aside this really was a most pleasurable shopping experience.

We found our lobster man who, upon the passing of just a couple of bucks, willingly allowed the odd looking crustacean to fulfil its noble obligation in life and become our dinner. Mr Lobster, Mr Fisherman, I salute you both! A quick BBQing later and we would be tucking into a quite divine meal.

As we waited, impatiently, at our plastic table I began salivating like a rabid dog at the prospect of our first lobster since we lived in Boston (it has been a long, long time coming) and Heide had picked up the refrain of the wee ditty I’d been singing. Then it came. Oh Lordy, the biggest, fattest, pinkest, juiciest, most succulent lobster this side of the Jenny Craig office on Miami Beach. What a beautiful sight. At least it was for about three minutes until it was reduced to a shell and some empty, oversized claws.

What a treat and what a great way to finish our time in Stone Town before heading for the beach so that we too could work on the lobster look that a laze on the sands of a paradise isle can induce.