We arrived at Dongwe to the breezes zanzibar resort on the east coast and a few miles from any villages, the soft sandy beaches stretch forever and the ocean colours are amazing.

We sit out on the beach for a few mornings and watch the sunrise, local men are out spear fishing and the water is calm.

This is tourist africa, we have entertainment every night, acrobats, tribal dances, complete with feather dusters in their hair and even a saxophonist, not quite authentic but entertaining none the less even if its for all the wrong reasons.

The island of mnemba is on the horizon and it is one of the top diving sites in east africa if not the world, so after many years of snorkelling and scuba try outs I book into the dive school to get certified.

3 full days starting with a swimming pool session and then 4 open water dives on the reef with (intense) reading and homework to do in between, culminating in an exam on the 4th morning. The dives are fantastic, loads to see with some skills training and tests in the water. I score 98% on the exam and leave dongwe as a qualified padi open water diver. Although the downside is they don't let me keep the rubber outfit!

What dave keeps forgetting to mention in his blogs is that this trip has enabled him to find his feminine side. He has started turning into David Beckham pre 2000. Yes you've guessed it he's started wearing a sarong, be it in a masculine green colour. its quite amusing watching him sit down in it as all he keeps saying is how do woman manage to wear them. I think he would have something to say if I sat with my legs spread as wide as he does.

Anway I'm sure daddy cutts will have words on our return and the sarong will be banished to the bottom of the wardrobe and only brought out for special occassions.

Stone Town was the colonial capital of ‘the spice island’ unfortunately since Tanzanian independence 50odd years ago none of the many splendid buildings, balconies and arches have been maintained, painted or even cleaned, apart from the beautiful intricately carved doors (it’s famous for them). When this place falls down (and I’ll give it 10 years tops!) the doors will be all that is left.

Still despite it’s rough and ready feel, we wandered the narrow alleys, browsed the stalls and shops but made sure did not partake in the food on the hawker stalls of the night market (one risk too many me thinks) and generally enjoyed the slightly scary, slightly amusing Afro/Arabic mix.

If you’re ever here try the spice tour, the Shwartz spice rack contents in your kitchen almost certainly started out here and it was more interesting than I expected (that’s the tour not your spice rack), plus you can buy handfuls of vanilla pods, nutmeg and cinnamon for a couple of quid.

Next, Jambiani village to start the beach bit, we arrived via what is locally know as the main road – in reality it’s the gaps between the buildings, there are more cows, goats & chickens than vehicles!

We crash on the beach for 4 days and do nothing. Our laziness is interrupted hourly by the local kids…

“Jambo, jambo, pen for school?”
“Jambo, jambo, chocolate?”
“Jambo, jambo, football?”
“Jambo, jambo, t-shirt?”

This is one of the poorest places in the world, tourism is helping but apart from a couple of places on the island the big hotels and big money has not arrived – just the back packers, the kids are entertaining if not a little persistent.

At low tide the water recedes almost 2 miles, the local ladies come out to harvest the farmed seaweed and collect coconut husk pinned under rocks overnight. We walk out amongst them past stranded fishing dhows and make for the rock pools nearer the waters edge – there are many crabs and little fish around but for the bigger stuff a boat trip is required to get out to the reefs.

Next stop the attractively named Dungwe.