We settled back into Dar Es Salaam like an easy chair. This had become our main base of operations here in Africa, and we knew the grounds well. We checked into one of our two mainstays, the Econo Lodge, and headed to dinner with Mukada. He took us to “Chef’s Pride,” a delicious barbeque restaurant where we would later use any excuse or opportunity to drop in for some chicken skewers and mashed potatoes.
We spent a week in Dar (this time), mostly because Beth needed to be near email for at least 5 hours a day, industriously working on getting her financial aid in order for when she returns to law school in the fall (Harvard still leads the pack, for all who are following this decision). Each day, we would trek to an internet café where Beth would email her parents millions of questions about her W-2s, tax information and what mail she had received, and I would work to upload the million pictures we had taken so far in Africa. (more…)
Lauren: During our first glorious dip in the fountain of youth (the beach in Zanzibar), we were floating along in the water and noticed a gorgeous, muscle-bound man talking to our friend Kerri. “Whoa, look at HIM!” I said, “he’s like Michaelangelo’s David!” And in he walks to the water with Kerri, and then over he swims to Marjona. We all start talking, exchange names and other formalities, and then we learn that he’s a famous Tanzanian DJ (Marjona’s weakness) from Dar es Salaam. We exchange glances that say, “This was meant to be.” (more…)
The ferry ride to Zanzibar was supposed to be two and a half hours. We knew that it would likely take up to four hours. Five hours into the trip, someone told us that it was going to take six hours. Another hour later, the sun had set and we thought we could see the island, but it was around 8pm - eight hours later - that we were finally pulling up to the dock.
Before the ship had even fully docked, we saw dozens of touts (hustlers who prey on tourists), possibly upwards of fifty of them, crowding the pier, some jumping over the railing to get on the boat and get to us. There were only maybe 15 or 20 tourists on board, so we were outnumbered nearly 3-to-1. (more…)
The walk to the Zanzibar bound ferry was an interesting one indeed. As soon as we stepped on the scene, we were accosted by a crowd of touts, all wanting to show us where to go. We said “no thank you” over and over again, but we couldn’t shake them. We ended up at the “Aziza Ferry” boat counter because we couldn’t find the “Flying Horse” counter we were looking for. While paying, we had to take out our passports… (more…)
Back in Diani Beach, we had realized that my video camera had ceased to function. We could record sound, but no pictures, and despite Beth’s technical assistance and my shaking and banging to try to beat the imagined broken piece into place, we could not get it to work. In Dar Es Salaam, we made it our mission to either get it fixed or somehow get another one, fearing that if we didn’t have something our big video project at the end of our trip (which many of our visitors have already participated in) might not be possible.
We toured around Dar in the morning, stopping into video stores and were happy to find good cameras but distressed to find US prices. We showed the camera to a few folks, but no one could figure it out. Instead, they sent us to another store, and then they sent us to another, until finally we found a store that took great pains to explain to us how to get to the Sony Headquarters here in Dar. They printed off maps, gave us contact names and phone numbers, scrawled addresses, and even drew out directions. We were skeptical that anyone could fix it, and even more skeptical that we could just walk into a factory and have technicians at our disposal. But it was either try or dish out $600 (and maybe shorten our trip), so we thought we’d give it a shot. (more…)
We took what was supposed to be an 8-hour bus ride across the Kenya-Tanzania border and into Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania’s capitol. But just our luck, the bus broke down in a small town with no electricity just over the border, and we were confined to sitting outside in the scorching heat of mid-day, while men scrambled to fix the bus.
Traveling with the daughter of a mechanic has proved its benefits: Beth entertained us by guessing what was wrong. The brakes were air powered, and when the brakes were applied, the normal hissing sound sputtered and the bus jerked. She surmised that one of the tubes had a hole in it, causing air to leak out and lessening the power and force of the brakes. We watched as no less than seven men toiled underneath the bus, pulling out a hose from the engine and emptying liquid from the tank. “The break fluid,” Beth stated. (more…)
Lauren: You know what they need here is bats, to come and swoop down and eat all the bugs.
Beth: Yeah, but I don’t want to know what size bats come in Africa.
The morning after our night in the brothel, we went downstairs and caught a matatu to our awaiting bungalow. Two matatu money collectors actually ended up fighting over who was going to take us there, and one of them, so disappointed that we chose the emptier matatu, slapped the back of Marjona’s bag. We were shocked.
When we arrived at the Beachelettes, an older Australian woman checked us in, giving us the run-down about the key deposit, how the beach boys were not allowed on the premises and to beware of the monkeys.
“We had one monkey break into someone’s bungalow this morning,” she told us. “They raided their kitchen. They’re very smart. They know how to open refrigerators.” (more…)
Our way south to the beaches of the Kenyan coast brought us in contact with what would be our main mode of transport, the matatu. These rickety minivans roam the streets acting as a combo of a taxi and a city bus, picking up anyone standing on the side of the road and cramming as many people as possible into the small seats. There is a driver and a money collector. The money collector harvests people from the street, banging on the roof when he wants the driver to stop and go, hanging out the sliding door yelling at passers by and jumping in and out of the van while it’s in motion. The driver follows the directives of the money collector and winds back and forth on the road at incredible speeds, darting around massive (BG: enormous, tire-popping) potholes, other traffic, and livestock (BG: and once, some monkeys).
After crossing a ferry from Mombasa, we were assailed by a matatu money collector as he grabbed our bags before we could open our mouths and began stuffing them into the tiny corners of the van. Despite mild protests, Marjona and I ended up in the back seat holding our bags between the back window and the backseat with our necks and shoulders. Beth sat in front of us with her big bag on her lap. (more…)
We decided we needed a little beach time before heading off to the bush for a safari, so jumped on an overnight train to Mombasa. We booked a 2nd class ticket, securing our own room, bedding, and two meals served in the dining car. (BG: We were really excited because it was supposed to be a “white glove” experience.) Once we were settled into our room, it began to get dark and we searched in vain for the light. Just then, a conductor came around with a large, battery-operated lantern. No electricity. (BG: So much for white glove…) (more…)
