Tanzania

Tanzania was an emotional roller-coaster. Of course, we had heard a lot about the country from other travelers -- the beautiful parks, abundant wildlife, pristine beaches, and also the large numbers of annoying touts, aggressive tour operators, and ubiquitous petty crime. The country didn't disappoint.

We arrived in the southern city of Mbeya via dalla-dalla (crowded mini-bus) caught from the border of Malawi. Mbeya was a pleasant enough city, with very little tourist infrastructure, however it was also a very Muslim city, and that means prayers blasting from loudspeakers across the town about 4 or 5 times a day, at convenient times such as 5 am.

Being in a Muslim country such as Tanzania (50% Muslim inland and almost 100% on Zanzibar) during this whole war thing is a bit of a drag. It's really not dangerous, but one just feels a little unwelcome. This isn't helped by the fact that we only understand about 10 words in Swahili, and so when you are on a bus or in a restaurant, what you hear is: "blah blah blah Muzungu (white person -- us) blah blah Osama binladen blah blah Taliban blah blah Muzungu...etc. This is more of an irritation than a real danger, but it does detract from our general enjoyment of the trip.

Anyway, Mbeya was just a stopover and from there we caught a 24-hour train to Dar es Salaam, the capital city in every way but the official one. We splurged and went first class, expecting at least some modicum of comfort -- not a chance! We couldn't believe how grubby 1st class could be, and kept thinking, if this is first class, what could economy possibly be like? The sleeper cabin was just a ratty room with 4 planks for beds. Fortunately, however, we were lucky enough to have the cabin to ourselves for most of the trip, joined only by the occasional cockroach.

Dar es Salaam turned out to be a fairly decent city -- once we were able to shrug off the taxi drivers and safari touts that approached every 10 minutes, we were able to enjoy ourselves. For one thing, Dar had the best food by far that we had seen for a long time (after Malawi anything with flavor was a treat). We made friends with a local running a sidewalk BBQ, and had delicious chicken and chipati (grilled bread), fish, etc. In addition, we ran into a Subway sandwich shop – exactly like those in the States! It was outstanding and we ate there twice. There are also a few very nice areas mainly frequented by expats that had a nice atmosphere and edible food. Dale was also able to get a haircut and a shave at the local barbers for about $3. Of course, the entire barbershop clientele stared at him incessantly for the duration, no doubt wondering if the barber was intending on inflicting some sort of deadly wound with the straight-razor.

Now it is time for an SAT analogy question: Lake Malawi is to albinos as Dar es Salaam is to what? The answer: one-legged people! It is unbelievable how many people in Dar have less than two legs. In fact, we are sure that the average number of legs in Dar es Salaam is significantly less than two.

From Dar we boarded a ferry to the island of Zanzibar -- a very Arab looking place with amazing white sand beaches, clear turquoise waters, and an active trade in spices and seafood. Our first stop was the main port of Stonetown, which looks like a transplant from the Middle East, with narrow, winding, dusty streets and mosques on every corner. We were expecting the worst in the way of touts and beggars, but really had a nice time, having great, flavorful food and meeting some nice people.

Unfortunately, while at Stonetown the US started its counterattack, and things started to heat up a bit. For instance, one day we spent wandering through town and the markets (at which we had to step over a giant manta ray lying on the ground coated with dirt), and occasionally were greeted with shouts of "Osama binladen," and "Taliban!" and so on. One young man rode by on a scooter wearing a t-shirt with a freshly ironed-on portrait of OBL himself. Most of these jeers came from young kids and adolescents, but it still added to our sense of insecurity and of course put a damper on the whole experience.

We obviously needed our own way of communicating about the locals when in their presence (as most spoke at least some English), so we've developed our own language, which is an amalgamation of the few words we know in Spanish, with pig latin and the occasional nonsensical abbreviation. So, "Is the gorda hombre a U? Dame the ameracay from the agbay," would mean, "Is the fat man a Muslim? Give me the camera from the bag. This new language has probably resulted in a more confusion for us than anything else.

From Stonetown we headed to a small resort on the east coast called the Imani and then off to Kiwengwa -- an area of the unbelievably beautiful western coastline. The beach was pure white sand lined with palm trees and stretched on for miles, and the water was bathwater-warm and crystal-clear green and blue. We splurged at a small place with great views, nice staff, and great food called the Shooting Star Inn -- and somehow after a few days of not hearing the news and wandering the beaches, we didn't feel so depressed anymore.

One interesting thing about that part of Zanzibar is that there are large, Italian-operated resorts lining the majority of the beach, so when you walk around the children and touts scream, "Ciao" and other Italian phrases that we couldn't understand. Dale figured out an effective way of dealing with most of the child touts -- as he sees them approach from a distance (they will always spot you from afar and come running towards you), he starts shouting, "AMBUSH AMBUSH AMBUSH" and eventually the kids start jumping up and down and shouting "AMBUSH AMBUSH" as well until they just confuse themselves and sit down in the sand or walk away.

Dale also went scuba diving off the coast (Dana passed) -- the dive was incredible, with over 60 feet of visibility. He saw massive sea turtles swim within 2 feet, blue spotted rays, octopus, moray eels, and an amazing array of tropical fish. We haven't had much experience in scuba but we've snorkeled all over the world and this was by far the best place to dive we've seen.

Going back to Dar from Zanzibar we encountered what could be considered the first significant glitch in an otherwise (relatively) glitch-free trip. Dale cannot fit his hiking boots into his backpack so when he wears his sandals, sometimes he ties his boots to the outside of his pack. Usually he will only do this in contained situations, but it was so hot on the ferry back to Dar he decided to risk it, though all the while he would obsess and ask Dana to keep an eye on them as they walked.

When the ferry docked at Dar, there was the usual amount of hubbub and harassment from taxi drivers, etc. Our usual method of dealing with this kind of traffic is to escape from the activity and go to the street, where we can be sure to get a "real" taxi instead of some drunk with a dilapidated car (though in Africa the lines are blurred). So we moved our way through the crowd until reaching a taxi. Dale negotiated a fare for a minute and started to load his and Dana's large backpacks into the trunk, as Dana climbed into the back seat. Just then, someone started shouting, "Your shoes! Someone has stolen your shoes!"

At this point, Dale was not sure that this person was talking to him, and also was careful not to get distracted with all of his bags in hand. He also glanced at his shoelaces still tied securely onto his bag and thinking that the shouting was meant as a trick, continued loading the trunk. However, the yells continued, "Someone is running away with your shoes!" and when Dale finally examined his laces, he saw that his boots were no longer attached! He then looked up to see two people running away from him down the street in opposite directions, each with one boot.

Once Dale was sure that his bags were secure in the taxi, he took off after the closer of the two thieves, but it was far too late (and in any case, Dale is not exactly known for being swift of foot).

As you can imagine the whole thing was quite a spectacle and now Dale is back at the taxi swearing and screaming, "I am an idiot!" and examining the pieces of shoelace still tied to his backpack in disbelief. Dale then tries to enlist the help of a nearby policeman, but he just stares blankly at Dale and shrugs. A crowd has now gathered but everyone is saying that Dale may as well forget about ever seeing those boots again.

Now of course this little snag is not the end of the world, except that it is challenging enough to find hiking boots in Dale's size in the US -- in Africa it would be practically impossible, and we had a number of hikes and treks coming up. So Dana had an idea -- offer a $50 USD reward for return of the shoes. This is a huge amount of money to the locals, but is far less than the hassle and cost of buying a new pair of decent boots.

So Dale wrote down "$50 USD" in big letters on a piece of paper and went up and down the street shouting about the reward. No other explanation was really necessary as everyone around had witnessed the theft and had done nothing. Just then a huge man in a turquoise polo shirt appeared with about 4 others and is interested in the offer -- they think they know the culprit. We give them the name of our hotel (to return the boots to us should they find them), and leave in the taxi for the police station to fill out a report (for insurance purposes).

At the police station, no-one is very interested in what Dale has to say and even less interested in creating any sort of report (in fact they are amused at the prospect of any work at all). But finally, Dale convinces them to give him some kind of written document and so one of the cops starts asking him some basic questions and translating the answers into Swahili:
"Name?"
"Tribe?" (when Dale answers "none" the interviewer shouts something in Swahili to the other policemen and they all laugh hysterically)
"Religion?" (Dale again answers "none" -- what business of theirs is it? -- and again they laugh hysterically)

This questioning continues for about 30 minutes as Dana waits outside in the taxi. Just then the large man in the turquoise shirt barges into the office with his 4 friends, carrying a plastic bag. His friends are carrying a skinny adolescent male by the scruff of his neck and toss him behind the counter to the cops. The man in the polo plops the bag in front of Dale and he looks inside -- his boots are there, in perfect condition except for the lacerated laces. The police know the man who returned the shoes -- he is allegedly an undercover cop.

Happy to have his shoes back, Dale tells the police (to their surprise) that he doesn't want to finish his statement, and starts heading toward the door. At that point it becomes clear that the boy the gang had brought in was supposed to be the thief, even though he was certainly not the one Dale had chased a few yards. The police start slapping the boy on the head with an open hand -- almost like playful slaps. But then it gets much more brutal, with the police (including a female) punching him in the head and whacking him on the back with their clubs. Dale and the taxi driver make a beeline for the door.

Outside Dale pays the $50 reward (to the cop) and we head off to the hotel (though we changed hotels at the last minute due to the fact that the whole town by that point knew where we were staying). On the way Dale asked the taxi driver what would happen to the boy. The driver scratched his chin as if it was the first time he had considered the question, and then answered, "Oh that one? That one I think will be killed."
"Killed?"
"He will be killed tonight."
And then after some further discussion he said to our relief, "Or maybe he will just get badly beaten and his hand broken."

Of course at that point we didn't know what to feel. Was it our fault for stupidly dangling these goodies in front of the crowd like a carrot? But this is their system of justice -- not our idea. In fact, it is clear that the police wouldn't have done a thing without a reward, and then were more than happy to exact some physical punishment when given a reason. Needless to say we were in quite hurry to leave for Arusha the next day.

We were a bit on edge after that experience in Dar, and so even though Arusha is known for being the absolute worst city in Africa for street touts, we were decidedly not going to put up with any more BS. We took a comfy, air-conditioned bus to Arusha and they showed 3 movies during the 7-hour trip: "Dangerous Heroes" (a B-movie about middle east terrorists hijacking Americans), "Passenger 57," and "Air Force One." Do you see a theme here? Fortunately, the Americans are usually victorious in the end.

From Arusha we began a 3-night camping safari to the famous Tanzanian national parks -- the Serengeti, the Ngorongoro Crater, and Tarangire. The trip starts out strangely; our guide likes to stop along at various places along the way and leaves us alone in the car without any explanation, as he goes and talks to friends or has a cup of tea. After a few hours, our 4-wheel drive Land Rover breaks down. Again, without a word, the driver/guide stops the car and gets out and starts fixing it. A crowd of local Masai children gathered to watch -- some of whom are dressed in their circumcision garb (see pics -- more on this later).

We finally make it to the Serengeti and to our delight within about 15 minutes come across a pride of lions sleeping under a tree. Soon after we spot 5 cheetah resting, and our guide pulls alongside within 2 feet (we thought for sure he was intending on running them over). Amazingly, not long after we see a leopard hanging out in a tree. Truly an incredible amount of wildlife -- 3 of the “Big 5” sighted within a half an hour, not to mention huge numbers of zebra, wildebeest, giraffe, hippo, etc.

That night, as usual dropped off at the fenceless campsite without a word from the driver, we ate a decent meal (prepared by our own cook we brought along) and went to sleep among roaring lions and hyenas (who continually brushed against our tent, much to Dana's dismay -- she didn't sleep much that night).

The next day we were off to the Ngorongoro Crater (a huge depression created by an ancient meteor crash which is jammed-packed with wildlife) and saw incredibly passive zebra, hyena, wildebeest, etc. -- we could drive up within a few feet and they would not run away. We also saw a large number of elephants and a rare black rhino from a distance.

Meanwhile our saga with our verbally-challenged guide continues -- he never says a word the entire time (although he does speak decent enough English), and if we ask a question about the wildlife we are graced at best with a one-word response, though often ignored entirely. We also continually ask the driver to slow down or stop around the wildlife, but always in vain -- he practically mows the animals down at every opportunity, and seems to like to focus on the endangered species as well. So a great deal of our driving time is spent debating the guide's future tip (using our hybrid Spanish-Pig Latin), which fluctuates between zero and something small, as occasionally we have more warm and fuzzy feelings after seeing the great wildlife.

On the way to Tarangire Park we stopped at the roadside for lunch, and as usual, a crowd of young Masai children soon gathered around us. Eating a far-too-big lunch in front of these half-starving children was an odd feeling – how the cameramen for the “Save the Children” commercials must feel when they break for lunch. So one has to walk the fine line between encouraging a begging culture and stuffing your face in front of sick, bony, starving children – so we did share, but in return took a few pictures of them.

Aside: Some of the male children were dressed in all black robes and hoods, with white masks painted or beaded and stuck on to their faces. They look very much like they are trick-or-treating, but are actually preparing for their circumcision ritual, which works something like this: when the parent feels it is time, the adolescent boy has to wear this outfit for a few months while being subjected to occasional beatings. When it is time for the circumcision, the boy is beaten within an inch of his life and thrown into frigid water. This whole ordeal is meant to ensure that the boy is ready for manhood and also to detract from the pain of the actual slicing and dicing itself (and if the boy cries out in pain, the whole thing is invalid and he must go through it again the next year). Apparently, this ritual is so important that it defines the age of the Masai – in other words, they don’t keep track of what year they were born, only the year they were circumcised (so they don’t even know their ages). Note: it is very possible that all the above information is wrong – it is only what we deciphered from talking with various locals who spoke little English.

We visited Tarangire Park, which is known for its massive herds of elephant, and then after a muddy hike around the border of Lake Manyara, headed back to Arusha. On the way, speeding recklessly as usual, we pass countless herds of local cattle and goats. At one point, a few baby goats were crossing the road. Our driver chose to not apply his brakes and only swerve slightly and as Dana gasped loudly, we ran directly over one of the baby goats, obviously killing it. The guide didn’t flinch, say anything, or slow down even a tad. Dana as a vegetarian was especially devastated. Who goes on a safari and kills animals? He didn't get a tip.

The next day we were thrilled to board a plane and head to Uganda. We left 3 hours earlier than scheduled and made a surprise stopover in Kigali, Rwanda. It was our first flight in 3 months (we had overlanded all the way from Windhoek, Namibia, to Dar es Salaam). Read about lush Uganda in the next section...

Tanzania Pics! (click picture for full-sized version)

View from Mbeya-Dar train / View out of Jambo Inn hotel room (Dar es Salaam)