On the day, our apprehension had mostly turned to excitement. After six weeks of preparation (and we still don’t know our route!), we left the UK aboard an Emirates flight destined for Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania, albeit with a connecting flight in Dubai. I couldn’t believe my luck at the departure gate in Heathrow – a well-stocked complimentary newspaper and magazine stand for patrons of the plane. I filled my proverbial boots.

Compared with the Sleazyjet-fayre that we’ve flown with in recent years, an Emirates jumbo jet is very luxurious, even in economy class:

• TV embedded into the headrest in-front with two movie channels, forty video games to play and the obligatory comedy channel with Friends for Claire.
• Hot meals. I was particularly pleased with the lamb biriyani and the mango chicken curry; Claire was less so, as she hates Indian cuisine!
• Free drinks.
• Blankets and pillows.
• Reclining seats with pockets.
• Distinctive lack of drunk, fat, abusive and obnoxious tourii with shorn heads and tattooed backs-of-necks. (Granted, there was one drunk, English bloke shouting obscenities into the air as we landed, but he was well dressed and groomed.)

Whilst the connecting flight from Dubai to Dar Es Salaam had equally impressive food as the jumbo, I have to complain that the leg room was really poor for a five hour journey. Claire found the leg room to be inadequate for her diminutive pins, so you can imagine how it felt for a bloke who is about a foot taller. Having said that, we were sat next to a couple of nice people on the plane, both of whom were experienced travellers, had been to Tanzania a number of times and imparted some useful location information to us.

After landing in Dar Es Salaam and pushing our way through the disorganised immigration checkpoints, we were happily greeted by our hotel’s welcome wagon to whisk us away to the South Beach area, a little way outside the gritty city limits.

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