Zanzibar is an Indian Ocean island of white sand, shallow turquoise lagoons and wooden dhows leaning across the water under a single triangular sail. The coast is what most people come for: fine sand that stays cool underfoot, water banded in every shade of green. Off Nungwi and Kendwa at the northern tip it is deep enough to swim all day; at Paje on the east coast it is wind-raked, which is where the kitesurfers go. The island's other half is Stone Town, the old capital: a warren of coral-stone houses and heavy carved doors, where African, Arab, Indian and European lives have mixed for more than a thousand years. It is now protected as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Inland, clove, cinnamon and coconut plantations still scent the air. Cloves are what made the island rich: by the late 1800s Zanzibar supplied roughly four-fifths of the world's supply.
The island's strangest sight comes twice a day, when the tide drains away. Along the east and southeast coasts the sea pulls back several hundred metres, uncovering a bright plain of wet sand, tidal pools and stranded boats. Out on the flats, women in bright kangas wade to their seaweed plots — the island's other great export, tended almost entirely by women — while children splash in the warm pools left behind. When the evening wind turns, the beached dhows lift off the sand and set sail again, their sails darkening against a sky going orange behind Stone Town. Inland, the Jozani forest shelters the Zanzibar red colobus, a tuft-headed monkey found on no other island on Earth. Zanzibar now lives on tourism as much as spice, but a dhow on the water and the smell of cloves are still what set it apart.