It is a city where you wake up with the street, in the cool hours, when the first ray of sun gives life to the day's before odors, the cry of the muezzin flies over the city and that black coffee steams in the carved silver cups.
It is a city of secrets, labyrinths, extraordinary doors and padlocks. This is a seafront sweet town, delivered to its musician's flute, to the nonchalant paddle of its ferrymen, to dust and perfumes. Zanzibar town is a mix of the ancient Persian Kingdom, of Oman's Sultanate in caliph's time and of India with its sensual fragrances. But it is an infinitely embittered city, whose bounds and iron rings remind us it was one of the biggest ports in the slave trade.