Everybody has heard of Zanzibar but nobody is quite sure where it is. It lies in the Indian Ocean off Dar-es-Salaam on the mainland in East Africa What is known as Zanzibar is more correctly the island called Unguja. Zanzibar actually comprises two main islands, Pemba and Unguja, plus several smaller ones, but the latter seems to hog the limelight and most visitors; which is why rather incorrectly but popularly, Unguja is synonymous with Zanzibar.

Nungwi situated in the northern end of the island, is little over an hour�s drive from the Stone Town, which is the town centre of Zanzibar. Nungwi is a large fishing village, traditionally the dhow-building industry, which was until recently devoid of any tourists. Today it�s where all the action is, I discovered. Driving from the Stone Town to Nungwi is in itself a joy. Amid beautiful scenery and lush vegetation, large baobab trees, I made my way under blue skies with Zanzibari children playing by the roadside, through clusters of villages with mud and coral stone houses, with places with names like Mahonda, Kiniasini, Chaani and Mkokotoni. Stopping by at a local tender coconut vendor, much like I would in India, to quench my thirst with the sweetest of coconut water.

Of course, the ride is not entirely smooth and in patches even rough, but what the heck, that�s the fun of it. Besides, there are wheels like the Landcruiser and that helps.

Once on the coast you realise Nungwi is one long beach with many accommodation options ranging from US $10 a shack at Cholo�s to an exclusive US $ 550 Ocean Suite at Ras Nungwi Beach Resort. And to think just ten years ago there was hardly anywhere to stay. But I guess, the clean white sands, almost like fine flour, turquoise sea, beautiful sunsets, swaying palms and very many bars with hospitable hosts have today made Nungwi the most busy beach areas of Zanzibar.

The mode of transportation out here is walking. Everybody walks. Primarily on the beach and then cutting into town or the inland. I preferred to hire a �taxi�. A mini dhow. That was unique. To go slowly sailing down the coast, close enough to check out all the action, yet away enough to let distance lend enchantment to the view.

At one point when I turned in to �park� at a popular watering hole in Kendwa, three kilometres away as the dhow sails, I saw a swimmer disappear under water only to re-emerge with something orange glistening in his hand. Wow, that was a cool bit of starfish diving that had just taken place!

The popular place right on the beach is owned by a likeable guy called, for some strange reason, Chiao. A restaurant and bar dominated by a busy pool-table bang in the middle of the place and an atmosphere that spelled instant nirvana. The beach this end is comparatively quieter. Tour done, I returned to Smiles Beach Hotel, my abode for the night, with rooms in one storey bungalows situated in an arc around a garden with one of the pathways leading to the charming thatched roof restaurant. The young owner, Ismail, who was roused from his slumber (at 6 p.m.) to meet the visitor from far away India, was an England-educated MBA, savvy and well-spoken.

Through him I learned about the local yuppy life in this part of Zanzibar. You wake up just before the glorious sunset, shower, change into some comfy Bermudas and a cool, cotton, colourful, shirt, and head towards one of the cheerful eateries along the beach. Here you catch a bite, spending as little as two dollars fifty if you prefer and then lazily head towards Cholo�s Bar and Restaurant, which in this case is very close to Smiles. There you stay until 5 or 6 in the morning, returning home at dawn to catnap, work, then sleep the afternoon, to wake again at sunset. Island culture, I am told, with a smile.

Cholo�s! Now that�s something else. More a bar, less a restaurant, Cholo�s is the place to be. It�s funky, it�s rustic, it�s unpretentious, it�s home to anyone who has been there even once. Named after the creative owner, who has sacreligiously used a commode as a money box, philosophising that ultimately everything goes down the flush, Cholo�s is a public bar-on-the-beach. The closest to any water anywhere in the world that I have ever seen. It has an atmosphere hard to describe, it has soul. A spirit which comes not from what�s in the innumerable bottles placed on the shelves over the bath-tub full of assorted junk, but from the mix of diverse people who come there with one thing on their mind: to let their hair down, live and let live.

The bar set in a half boat has ongoing pumping music, with tree trunks for bar stools, an upturned little canoe for a table, hammocks tied to trees, one an owners special, tied way above head level, but right there in the thick of the action, just over the bar counter. Not accustomed to island life, me the big city slicker, climbed into it at the witching hour to promptly fall off to sleep.