In Zanzibar the air smells like cloves and the past lingers in the breeze.

I wandered through Stone Town’s narrow alleys, between carved wooden doors and faded coral walls. The call to prayer echoed from rooftops, and the scent of spice hung in the heat, everything slowed. Out on the water, the sea turned from turquoise to deep blue, and the sky never hurried.

Further south, in Paje, mornings began with the hum of kites above the reef and ended with fresh seafood eaten barefoot in the sand. It’s where local life meets salty breeze, and days stretch on without a plan.

Zanzibar isn’t just a beach escape. It’s memory and movement, trade winds and tradition. A place that invites you to stay just a little longer, and then never quite leaves you.