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.
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