6th September 2008

Following the spectacular high of Charlotte and Suraj’s utterly fabulous wedding, everything else inevitably felt a little… well, flat. Not unlike a balloon two days after a party, still colourful, but lacking lift. Nonetheless, we rallied and managed a full day of shopping in Stone Town.

Sue didn’t join Sarah, Jamie and me on this retail mission as she was nursing what we assumed was a particularly vindictive mosquito bite on her ankle. It looked like something from a medical drama, red, swollen, and oozing with theatrical flair. It refused to stop weeping, which meant she couldn’t walk comfortably. Instead, she wisely opted for a day by the pool, armed with a book and a bottle of antiseptic.

Meanwhile, the rest of us did our bit for the local economy. We bought Charlotte a painting she’d admired earlier during her visit to our hotel, a wedding memento with slightly better longevity than cake. Not to feel left out, we also bought ourselves a painting from an artist in the Old Fort, which involved a bit of good-natured bartering and a lot of gesturing. We celebrated our minor shopping triumph with lunch at the Fort.

Thankfully, Sue rallied by evening and was able to join us back in Stone Town for dinner at the superb Indian restaurant we’d discovered. The food was once again excellent, and no one got food poisoning, always a plus in my books.

The next day was spent lounging about the hotel, paying the bill, and saying our goodbyes. Jo, one of the lovely hotel staff, was genuinely tearful to see us go, though I suspect she was also secretly thrilled to get her sun-lounger back. Apparently, we’d stayed far longer than the average guest, most of whom only pop in for a quick beach break before or after a mainland safari. We had, quite unintentionally, become part of the furniture.

Then came the ordeal of Zanzibar Airport. On the hottest day of the year, we found ourselves queuing for over an hour in full sun just to collect boarding passes and pay the obligatory $30 ‘exit tax’, an inspired way of saying, “thanks for visiting, now give us more money.”

The flight left on time and was perfectly pleasant. Unfortunately, Nairobi airport was still Nairobi airport, and we had six long hours to kill. After Jamie’s suitcase went missing on the way out, we were all a little anxious about what sort of abuse our luggage might be enduring behind the scenes. We passed the time playing cards on the floor like a troupe of slightly sunburnt nomads.

The flight to Heathrow took 8 hours, during which we attempted to sleep in that uncomfortable, head-flopping, spine-twisting way only an economy seat can provide. We landed at 6:10 am feeling like crumpled laundry.

As semi-predicted, our luggage failed to join us at the carousel. We weren’t alone; the empty belt was eventually restarted and coughed up a few bags, just not ours. Then, after a further 90 minutes of false hope and mild despair, three of our cases emerged… but not Jamie’s. Of course.

While I was off filling out the now-familiar lost luggage forms (again), Sue decided to check the carousel one last time, and, as if by magic, there it was. Jamie’s wayward suitcase, nonchalantly circling as if it hadn’t just ruined our morning. No comment.

The car was retrieved from the car park without incident, a minor miracle, and we headed back to Harborough. The house was as we’d left it, and after a proper British cup of coffee, we began to feel human again.

Tomorrow, the whirlwind continues: Sarah and I will set off at 7 am to Heathrow to collect Charlotte and Suraj and deliver them to Gatwick for their honeymoon flight to the Maldives. Meanwhile, Lucas will come back with us, hopefully without needing a lost luggage form.