Zanzibar: A Love Letter to Slowness, Senses & the Sacred
My whole system was asking for a pause.
Not a dramatic escape, not a full reset, just a moment to stop the endless motion.
To breathe. To feel again.
To return to myself and to the ones I love.
After the passing of my father, this need became even more undeniable. Life is unpredictable, fragile, wild. And if we don’t honour its invitations when they arrive, we might miss the very moments our souls are calling for.
So when a small window opened, a chance to visit a boutique retreat resort in Zanzibar, I said yes.
A soft yes, but one that carried the longing of many months. We packed last minute, children and all, and flew towards the warm breath of the Indian Ocean.
Zanzibar always feels like a secret love story I’m living.
I flirt with the winding streets of Stone Town, kiss the ocean goodnight, and let my whole being be seduced by the rhythm of this sensual island. It’s the kind of place that reminds me of how good it feels to be alive.
We stayed in Jambiani, where the beach stretches long and wide, with sand so white it hums and waves that shimmer in every shade of blue the universe ever dreamed.
The people passing greet you with ease, with that slow, soft smile that says: hakuna matata, you’re exactly where you need to be.
And oh, Stone Town.
One of my secret treasures is tucked away there: a traditional spa that feels like a time portal.
No frills. Just presence.
My body, aching and tender, was met with care.
Muscles unwound. Breath deepened. I came home to myself again, on that massage table, as the scent of clove and cardamom whispered through the air.
Zanzibar reminded me that sacredness is not reserved for ceremony or silence.
It lives in the moment your toes touch warm sand.
In the laughter of your child chasing crabs.
In the tea shared at sunset.
In the slow, steady beat of your own heart, finally heard.
I didn’t go to Zanzibar to be productive.
I went to remember what it means to be.
Simple. Kind. Real.
And I carry that remembrance with me now, like salt on my skin and light in my bones.
Until the next time this island calls me back.
Love,
Cindy
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