My Necklace Took a Trip of Its Own in Zanzibar

September 3, 2023

After one night resting up in paradise, it was time to leave the tranquil Pongwe area for my next stop on Zanzibar, the livelier village of Paje.

But first, a massage.

I’ve said before that I don’t take time to relax when I travel, and that goes for spa treatments too. Even though I love massages, unless I can squeeze it into something I’m already doing, (like getting a massage during the night markets in Thailand), it’s not a priority.

So that goes to show just how wrecked I was after climbing Kilimanjaro: Relaxation became top priority.

The massage therapist, Margaret, gave me a few minutes to undress, and I folded my clothes onto a nearby chair before I eased myself onto the table. At this point, my calf muscles seemed permanently clenched. There were knots in my back. My body was speckled with bruises and sunburn.

The moment Margaret pulled my hair away from my neck and put her hands on me, I audibly groaned with relief.

She paused for a moment and touched the chain around my neck. “May I remove this?”

I had totally forgotten about the necklace. I wear it every day and never remove it, so it hadn’t even crossed my mind. Nodding, I told Margaret to go ahead. She unlatched the chain and showed me where she was placing it, atop my pile of clothes.

As the massage proceeded, my mind wandered to other things. Like, wow, this woman works miracles and I hope my toenails don’t fall off in her hands. And finally, I have to pee.

I had to pee so bad. This is why I am bad at relaxing. Because I cannot regulate my beverage intake well enough to go 90 minutes without a bathroom break. Suddenly a toilet was all I could think about, and I willed the massage to be over as fast as possible.

Relief

The moment Margaret left the room, I yanked my clothes off the chair and dashed for the restroom, which was connected to the massage room. Afterward, relieved, I got dressed, walked out the door, tipped Margaret, and left.

I didn’t even remember the necklace until I was in Paje, more than an hour and a $50 taxi ride away.

Any stress that had dissipated during the massage returned and hit me with a wallop.

My necklace. I couldn’t think of anything else in my life that was at once so worthless but also so precious. I’d purchased the necklace in Greece, just a few nights after my emergency surgery in Athens. It was a tiny evil eye, smaller than my pinky fingernail, and it hung on the most delicate silver chain.

Fresh off a medical issue, I wanted an evil eye for protection. A talisman. But it also served as a beautiful reminder of Greece, the place that lives in my heart. I’d worn it every day since.

Maybe I could find something close, I thought, and scoured the internet. Somehow there were approximately 78 million evil eye necklaces on the world wide web, and none of them were similar to mine. I remembered how my family and I walked through dozens of tourist shops until I found the perfect one — and when we found this necklace, it was just 15 Euros. It was the only one like it.

Even if I could find another, this one was irreplaceable.

Lost and found

I messaged the hotel on WhatsApp, but I didn’t have much hope, because I didn’t even know if my necklace was there.

I assumed that when I yanked the clothes off the chair, I launched the necklace somewhere. But where? What if it fell behind something? Or what if another client picked it up? What if they threw it away?

“We have located your necklace!” someone from the hotel replied.

Next we had to figure out how to get it to me.

I’d hoped that Pongwe to Paje was a well-traveled route. Perhaps another hotel guest was coming this way?

They weren’t.

The hotel employee suggested I take a taxi back to Pongwe, pick it up, and return to Paje. But I couldn’t stomach the thought of paying $100+ to go back and forth.

I was still weighing the cost when I received a message with good news: There was a taxi driver who was headed my direction, and he could bring me the necklace. I’d have to pay for the trip and for his time, but it would be far less than $100.

The lesson

I remember hearing a story once about how Cher hired a separate limo just for her wigs. It sounded like the height of decadence — not only did Cher have these exquisite wigs, but the wigs had their own driver, and they traveled without her. Think of all the adventures Cher’s wigs must have!

Now my necklace was the broke girl’s version of Cher’s wigs, traveling around Zanzibar before returning to me. I loved thinking about that, imagining all the places it might go.

Here’s the other gift I received.

The hotel couldn’t tell me what time to expect the driver, and I didn’t want to miss him, so I agreed to hang out at my place in Paje and wait. Luckily, I was staying at Mr. Kahawa Waterfront Suites, a stylish and comfortable boutique hotel that also happens to be located on the most picturesque, pristine stretch of beach. When I tired of watching the kitesurfers, I could take a cool dip in the pool.

Hours into my wait, as I lounged by the water, read a book, and luxuriated in solitude, I realized that my necklace was forcing me to stay in relaxation mode. So maybe that evil eye gave me some protection after all, and protected me from myself.

And yes, I’m wearing the necklace right now.

I named her Cher.

•••

Chasing rest and relaxation in Zanzibar

September 2, 2023

I couldn’t go all the way to Tanzania without making a side trip to Zanzibar, an archipelago boasting white sugar-sand beaches, lush forests, and turquoise water.

So after I summited Mount Kilimanjaro, I made the quick hop from mainland Arusha to Unguja Island, Zanzibar, a zippy flight that took about 90 minutes.

Zanzibar instantly did something to me. You know the sensation of wearing tightly tied hiking boots for a long time — and them taking them off? The loosened laces, the heaviness falling away, the blood rushing back. That’s what landing in Zanzibar felt like. An unbinding.

On arrival

I wasn’t interested in staying at a party hostel or bustling town, which why my first stop was Pongwe Bay Resort, perched along a shimmery teal bay near sleepy fishing villages and seaweed farms. My goal here was to unwind, which I find difficult to do when I travel. I’m usually the person who will try every activity a hotel offers, wander the area for miles, and have a long list to sights to see.

This trip, however, I knew I needed rest and recovery. The steep descent on Kilimanjaro left my feet battered and bruised. My bones ached from sleeping on the mountain. I had been cold for days; a mere 48 hours earlier, my tears were frozen to my cheeks. What I needed was comfort and quiet.

Pongwe promised nothing but sunshine, flowers, gentle ocean waves. The most popular sightseeing spot is a small, fine-dining restaurant located on its own teensy island. It sounded perfect.

I had been so focused on Kili, though, that I was ill-prepared for the Zanzibar part of my trip. I hadn’t packed any beachwear or footwear beyond hiking boots. And while I assumed I could pick up some budget-friendly flip flops and sundresses along the way, I didn’t have a chance to stop anywhere between the airport and hotel.

Was I going to be miserable?

So this is heaven

When I saw the remote location of the resort, I imagined myself clunking around a tropical paradise in my stinky boots. Then the proprietor of the place intervened.

“Just so you know, this is a no-shoes resort,” said the owner, a handsome Italian man. “All of our paths are made of soft sand or cool stone, so please do not wear shoes anywhere.”

As if that wasn’t amazing enough, I arrived at 9 a.m., well before the 3 p.m. check-in. However, my room was already ready.

“Unless you want breakfast …?” the owner said.

I did want breakfast, because I had to leave my other hotel at 4 a.m. and hadn’t had time to eat. But I don’t like spending money on a hotel breakfast, which tends to be overpriced and underwhelming.

“You know you booked a room that includes food, right?” the owner said. My stomach rumbled in response. He gestured to a room adjacent to the dining area, filled with buffet tables covered with luscious fruits and homemade dishes.

I was already about to weep with joy when he added, “We’re running a special right now on massages. Seventy-five minutes for $40. Let me know if you’d like to book anything.”

Yes. Yes, I would be booking something.

The owner confirmed that I was only staying one night and asked what time I’d be checking out.

“Checkout is usually at 10, but nobody has the room booked after you, so you can stay as long as you’d like,” he smiled. I thanked the man profusely, and I apologized that I’d only booked one night.

He shrugged, “So you must live this one day to the very fullest.”

•••

I Went to Cirque Du Soleil For the First Time. Here’s What It Was Like.

September 1, 2023

I’ve been interested in Cirque du Soleil ever since the company was founded in 1984. But I honestly never thought I’d see Cirque for a few reasons: 1. The performances usually take place in large cities. 2. I don’t tend to see shows when I travel. 3. I am very bad at making plans. (I once tried to buy same-day tickets to see LOVE in Las Vegas. It was Valentine’s Day, so … yeah. I struck out harder than my freshman year homecoming date.)

This time, however, was different. This time Cirque came to me.

For a very limited time, the touring production of Cortéo is appearing at Palm Desert’s Acrisure Arena, and I had an opportunity to attend on opening night.

Written by Daniele Finzi Pasca, founder of the Swiss clown troupe Teatro Sunil, Cortéo is the story of an Italian clown named Mauro who watches his own funeral procession. Beginning with Mauro’s deathbed, the procession unspools into a carnival atmosphere with dreamy scenes that look back at childhood memories but also take the viewer into otherworldly, ethereal realms.

First off, I’ll admit that I was nervous about taking my 9-year-old son to the show, since he is a vibrating ball of existential dread. I wondered how Cortéo would tackle mortality and how the show would present concepts of death/ the afterlife. I worried it would leave us feeling melancholy or distressed.

Would it be scary?

Worse, would the clowns be creepy?

Now I can firmly say my biggest worry is that my son will run off and join the circus. He was CAPTIVATED.

“This is so joyful,” he whispered as the performers leaped from one oversized bed to another, showing off gravity-defying acrobatic skills.

“Please don’t be joyful at home,” I whispered back. His bed doesn’t have good springs.

Photo: Cirque du Soleil

I also didn’t know if a circus would feel relevant today, when we have access to so much and can watch fantastical stories with jaw-dropping special effects on our own screens. In an era of AI, what did acrobats, aerialists, and some Italian clowns have to offer?

Well, I don’t want to give it all away, in case you end up seeing Cortéo yourself, but I was surprised and delighted. The show was far funnier than I expected but also weirder, like a Fellini fever dream. There were big, remarkable moments with gymnasts in spinning hoops and aerialists on swinging chandeliers (“That is not safe,” my son said). But the small, quieter scenes made an impact too.

I appreciated the innovative use of the set in its entirety — the trap doors and swooping angels, the balloonist who floated above the audience, the trampoline that ran the length of the stage and seemed like a runway to something beyond this world. It felt both grand and intimate, a real marvel.

Then there were the performers who were so strong and skillful, they seemed to be some other magnificent species entirely. Watching them was like gazing at Beyoncé, like, are you sure we’re all humans here?

Of course, they are human. And that’s key to why Cirque resonated for me and won me over.

It’s not just that Cirque is good despite not having special effects — it’s good because it doesn’t have special effects. At a time when reality is increasingly virtual, here was something real. Here was something alive, (albeit wrapped up in a story about death).

For me, the magic of Cirque lies in the fact that it is wildly human, and what they’ve created in Cortéo embodies life in all its beauty, power, and absurdity.

And when it all comes to an end, let’s hope we go in a cloud of glitter too.

This sweet treat was born in Chicago

August 30, 2023

You might think you don’t care about the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893, which was held in Chicago.

But let me tell you about some of the now-cherished items that debuted there: Cream of Wheat, Juicy Fruit gum, the chocolate bar (Hershey’s), Aunt Jemima Pancakes, the #2 yellow pencil, Shredded Wheat, the automatic dishwasher, Cracker Jacks, the zipper, Ferris wheels.

Also America’s first serial killer.

Right. We could’ve done without that last thing.

One of my favorite books, The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson, delves into that World’s Fair and how it profoundly changed the country. The inventions! The murders! The new foods! The murders! Zippers! More murders!

It’s a gripping and wildly informative read, and it’s also a master class in nonfiction that reads like fiction.

What does all this have to do with a sweet treat?

Well, I was recently in Chicago with my high school girlfriends. As we walked around downtown, we passed by a place that sounded familiar from the book: the Palmer House Hotel.

I pulled my friends inside, not just because it’s a grand building …

And not just because it’s infused with historic details, like Mark Twain’s gallon-sized beer stein, and ostentatious lamps …

but because this is a place in food history!

Palmer House is where the brownie was invented.

As the story goes, the dessert was inspired by socialite Bertha Palmer, who was married to Potter Palmer, the millionaire owner of the hotel. She chaired the ladies’ board for the World’s Fair and tasked the hotel pastry chef with creating something that would be easy to box up and transport to the festival grounds.

Voila, the chef dreamed up brownies! (Although they weren’t called that until 1898, when they appeared in a Sears Roebuck catalog.)

The Palmer House confection is not quite to my taste, as I’m more of a crunchy edge brownie person, and this one has a gooey, fudge-like consistency. But hey, we need both kinds of brownie eaters in this world.

If you want to try it yourself, here’s the recipe. More than a century old, it’s the same one they use today.

The pink places of your Barbiecore dreams in Palm Springs (and beyond!)

July 12, 2023

Barbiecore is having a moment, with bubblegum hues showing up everywhere from red carpet fashion to home interiors. But even before the Barbie movie was a twinkle in Margot Robbie’s eye, some of the best spots to stay, eat, and play were already flush with flamingo — and there’s no better time than now to see them.

So put the top down on your Barbie Corvette, don your rose-colored glasses, and hit the open road for the most bubblegum pink places in Southern California. First stop, Palm Springs!

Tickled Pink in Greater Palm Springs

The Trixie Motel • Forget Disneyland, this pink dream owned by drag icon Trixie Mattel is the happiest place on earth.

Les Cactus • A boutique hotel that looks like the stylish cousin of the Barbie Dreamhouse.

La Boisson • This ultra-cool Palm Springs speakeasy at Fleur Noire Hotel is tucked behind pink doors and serves mostly rosé champagne.

The Pink Cabana • This elegant restaurant and bar in Indian Wells is perfect for a sophisticated brunch or chic girls’ night out.

That Pink Door • The sleek millennial pink entryway at 1100 East Sierra Way is probably the most photographed door in Palm Springs. (Stick to the sidewalk and be respectful of the owners, of course.)

In the Pink Beyond PS

La Valencia Hotel • This posh hotel is probably better known as “the pink lady of La Jolla.”

Pink Rose Cafe • You’ll be pretty in pink at this La Mesa cafe where the pink lattes are accessorized with pink rose petals.

Madonna Inn • An over-the-top institution in San Luis Obispo, this hotel is known for its themed rooms and for being very, very pink.

Hello Kitty Grand Cafe — Cool cats will love this super cute cafe in Irvine that serves up cookies, cakes, and Hello Kitty merch.

Beverly Hills Hotel • The famed pink palace in Beverly Hills that inspired my friend’s book, The Pink Hotel.

About Me.

Maggie Downs is an award-winning journalist with more than 15 years of professional writing and editing experience. She lives in Palm Springs, Calif., with her husband, a blind dog and one ninja cat.
Contact her at maggiedowns (at) gmail (dot) com.

About Me.

Maggie Downs is an award-winning journalist with more than 15 years of professional writing and editing experience. She lives in Palm Springs, Calif., with her husband, a blind dog and one ninja cat.
Contact her at maggiedowns (at) gmail (dot) com.

Date Me.

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