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On the Road with Fast Eddie
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On the Road with Fast Eddie |
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| Our safari phase was over. We were glad we’d gone toLake Manyara and Ngorongoro Crater and
were more than satisfied with AAH Safari and Tours Ltd. Now it was time to lay out some kind of action plan for
the balance of our trip. We knew that we wanted some time both in Zanzibar and to explore the northern region of
Tanzania near Mt. Kilimanjaro, but we also needed to be back in Nairobi, Kenya in about two weeks in order to fly
out. We were also clear that we would prefer to avoid hanging out much in Dar es Salaam, the major Tanzanian city
and port to Zanzibar. Not that Dar, as the locals and travelers call it, had nothing to offer. We just didn’t want
to spend any more time than necessary in the larger African cities, mostly for safety reasons. To ignore the fact that African travel has an element of danger in it is to be a fool, and the larger the city the greater the risk seems, although less populated areas seem to have their “incidents” as well. Arusha, the second busiest city next to Dar, was making us somewhat nervous. It didn’t help that we were boarding on Sokoine Rd., the one street in town actually singled out in our guidebook as being “unsafe at night”. We were constantly being warned by locals to be careful. At around 9 pm as we were leaving an Indian restaurant which was less than five hundred meters down the road from AAH’s guest facilites, we were told by the owner, “You’re not going to walk home are you... are you crazy? For goodness sakes, take a taxi!” Back at the guest house, after our 90 second taxi ride, Heide commented, “Isn’t strange that I could walk in the parks among the wild animals and feel safe, but not here?” Of course using common sense and paying attention can minimize one’s chances of getting mugged, but we were also strongly advised to leave all our valuables, passport and cash we didn’t need for the day in our hotel room (something I generally do not do), and it was suggested to me that I take off my less than expensive watch while walking around. There are many, many desperately poor people everywhere and apparantly “snatch and run” is almost a cottage industry. This is not to say that robbery is accepted by locals. One day we saw a stream of people running down the street, some carrying rocks, and I asked a guy standing there what was happening. “They are chasing a thief,” was the response! “And if they catch him?” “Oh, they’ll kill him. If they catch him they will definitely kill him,” we were assured. We pictured the terrified thief actually running TO the police to be rescued! I think it needs to be kept in mind that huge numbers of visitors come to East Africa each year without getting robbed, and statistically it’s still safer for Americans to come to Africa than to live in New York City! But clearly, you should keep your wits about you, make copies of your important documents, be careful after dark, take taxis when in doubt, and try not to do anything really stupid! For sure this doesn’t make for easy, carefree traveling, but “easy, carefree traveling” and “Africa” don’t really belong together in the same sentence. We spent a lot of time walking around Arusha, and besides the aspect of personal safety, two other things struck me about this city - and the same could be said of nearly every city in East Africa we were in. First there’s the fact that nothing looks new... virtually nothing. In fact it was hard for me to picture hardly anything actually EVER having been new. The second is the absolute mass of people everywhere. There always seemed to be so much going on, even if that “going on” was people just sitting or standing around talking to each other. The streets, sidewalks, storefronts and occasional park were all focal points of something apparently purposeful, although that purpose was not always clearly apparent... at least to me. There are many vendors selling food (cashews, dried and fresh fruit, roasted corn cobs, etc.), newspapers, local crafts, bootleg music tapes and CDs, and what have you. Zooming either up or down the street or across it, are trucks, cars, bicycles, dala-dalas (more on them later), men pushing wheelbarrows, carts being pulled by donkeys, children in their school uniforms, the rare tourist, and women gracefully carrying just about everything you can possibly imagine on their heads. You name it, and they carry it... strutting like a high-fashion model on a Parisian runway. Can you picture Naomi Campbell modeling a sarong with a gigantic pile of firewood balanced on her head, or a few kilos of bananas? If so, then you’ve got the picture! Men very seldom carry anything - as in Asia, women are usually assigned that task... stuck with all the menial work. And we almost never saw men and women walking together, either in pairs or within groups. We didn’t observe a big difference between the cultures of the two countries, except that Tanzania has a significantly larger Islamic population (33% vs. 6%), especially along the coast and in Zanzibar. We did notice that the women in Tanzania were much more colorfully dressed, usually wearing their amazing sarongs, often with matching headscarfs... truly stunning! Both before and while traveling there, we were often told that Tanzanians were friendlier and “less crude” than Kenyans, but in both countries we were treated extremely well everywhere we went by almost everyone we met, and we found locals to be generally patient, polite and extremely cordial. In Arusha we asked a man how to get to a Chinese restaurant we’d been unsuccessfully searching for. He immediately reversed his direction and walked us back several hundred meters in an earnest effort to help us find it. We still never found it, but through no lack of effort on his part. This kind of genuine kindness and concern repeated itself again and again throughout our trip, and people were always advising us what to do, or what not do, regarding our personal safety. Shops and stores are usually quite small and specialized. Here and there is a mosque, church or religious school, and there are hotels of varying quality. I enjoyed visiting the local market which is a sensory barrage of colors and aromas, and where I found locals eager to chat with me, very curious about my life. Thanks to the British colonialists who fleeced these people but good for many, many decades, English is well entrenched. Cafes and restaurants are plentiful and a real mixed bag: Chinese, Indian, pizza shops, McMoody’s (hamburger joint), a couple of patisseries and several places serving up a local dish of grilled beef or goat mixed with potatoes and fried bananas that I found no less than revolting, though Heide liked it! Another culinary low-point for me was “ugali”, a maize meal which is cooked into a porridge until it turns hard. Its taste and consistency is roughly akin to wallpaper paste, and sits in your stomach much like the brick form it’s served in. We did enjoy their local equivalent of samosas which could be purchased virtually everywhere, though we were always a bit suspicious about the quality of meat in them. Let’s put this paragraph under the heading: “Restaurants with the most suspicious names”. Would you want to eat in a place called the “Sham Cafe”? And what happens to your appetite when you picture eating in the “The Golden Shower Restaurant”? I thought so... me too. No one in their right mind should go to East Africa primarily for the food, but if you are in Arusha and in the mood for Indian cuisine I can recommend two places, both on Sokoine Road. First, Swagat Restaurant, where Mrs. Shah takes deep pride in both her cooking and the comfort of her guests. In fact she pays a Maasai warrior to guard the door to “keep out any really dirty people”. At Bindya Restaurant down the street, I wolfed down the best dhal I’d had in a long, long time, and enjoyed talking with the owner Ravi Gohil, who had once been a safari driver for 23 years. He claimed to have guided famed naturalist Dian Fossey (“Gorillas in the Mist”) in Rwanda, and says he was one of several who warned her that poachers might eventually try to kill her... which they did in 1985. I cannot say that we particularly liked Arusha all that much, and yet we ended up spending one more night there than expected as Heide got food poisoning (that won’t improve your impression of a city). After complaining of stomach cramps before going to bed, she ended up spending most of the night worshipping at the porcelain altar. With sounds of her vomiting from the bathroom, I thumbed through the health section of my guidebook reviewing the symptons of all the possible causes. “Let’s see... malaria... nope, there’s no fever and besides, we’re taking Lariam. Sleeping sickness... again no fever. Rabies... impossible. Cholera, amoebic dysentary ..! hmmmm... possibly! Yellow fever, meningitis, typhoid, polio, tetanus, hepatitis... nope, got the shots for all of them. Bilharzia... nope, she wasn’t swimming in any rivers or streams. Well hopefully it’s “just” food poisoning... though dysentary still can’t be totally ruled out and I sure hope it’s not cholera!” Let me say this about health. Africa is one place you need to be prepared for and watch what you’re doing. I recommend that before you go, you get professional medical advice from the Tropical Disease Control Center nearest you and to follow it to the letter. There is a currently a controversy raging regarding malaria prevention, and there are those who suggest shunning Lariam and other drugs (citing possible side-effects) and suggesting alternative methods. I’m not big on drugs either, and I’m not going to give you medical advice, but keep in mind that malaria is nothing to mess with! Enough said about that. Back to Heide’s puking. Holding our breath that she only had food poisoning and that it would pass (so to speak) within 24 hours, we began to acknowledge that despite all our incredible experiences, a few things were starting to get to us... to wear on us. That many hotels and guest houses would be “primitive” was expected. One learns to accept that having hot water is truly a roll of the dice and a godsend when you are lucky enough to have it. Cold showers had become common for us and taking them drew no complaints. It’s an unavoidable fact that bathrooms in Africa are horrendous by Western standards. We were shocked when a flush toilet actually flushed. One of the most useful things we had with us was a collapsible, rubber wash basin that not only allowed us to handwash our clothes conveniently, but was also indispensable for flushing dysfunctional toilets. We used it constantly that way... provided we had water! Having any water at all one minute to the next was pretty iffy, and the same goes for electricity. Both of these were frequently shut off by either the hotel or government authorities with no advance warning. Window screens and mosquitos nets riddled with gaping holes in mosquito-infested rooms, filth on the walls and floors, paper-thin walls with music blaring from somewhere nearby, beds that were a chiropractor’s nightmare, sinks that wouldn’t drain, floods in the bathroom, carpets that looked liked someone had changed the oil from their motorcycle on them... all these became all too common. In one guest house Heide got bitten all over her face, shoulders and arms by fleas. Neither Heide or I were strangers to traveling in so-called third-world countries, so not all this was new to us. But there was soooo much of everything all together! And we were floored by the cost for such dumps. In Nairobi, just before departing for Germany, we paid over $13 for an absolute hovel that, among many other things, had a bathroom ceiling that was half-fallen down. And we got that “reduced price” only after several minutes of sustained, brutal bargaining. Our last night in Arusha, at about the mid-point of the trip, I wrote in my journal, “I’m tired of uncomfortable beds, filthy bathrooms, feeling paranoid about getting mugged or ripped off, worrying about getting an incurable disease or sunburned to a crisp, getting hassled by touts, beggars and everyone trying to sell me something I don’t want or need, beer that’s too warm or chicken that’s too tough, having to always put on that greasy, disgusting-smelling insect repellent, lights and plumbing not working, excruciatingly slow internet connections, horrendous roads, being dirty, dusty and muddy, the constant loud music, having to negotiate absolutely everything... tired of putting up with all I need to put up with in order to travel here. It’s all become a wall I need to push through, and I better do it soon if I want to have any more fun. Man, does traveling here ever make me aware of my attachments and addictions to comfort and convenience... and my weaknesses!” I’m guessing that right about now some of you are saying, “It’s sure great to see that fast eddie’s travels aren’t always so damn perfect. I’m sick of always hearing about how great things always are for him!” Then there are some of you mumbling, “Come on, what’s up with this? It’s depressing. I want to hear more about the lions and the elephants, and when are you going to get to Zanzibar for crying out load?” With Heide not feeling 100% but game enough to give it a go, we finally headed out to Lushoto in the Usambara Mountains, which are situated in the northeastern part of Tanzania between Kilimanjaro and the Indian Ocean. Reminiscent of the Indian Hill stations created by the British during the days of the Raj, Lushoto was chosen by early German settlers as a vacation destination. Located at 1,500 meters elevation, it offered cooler temperatures, beautiful scenery and plentiful food, and the Germans held aspirations of developing it into the capitol of the colonial administration of German East Africa, which consisted of Tanzania (without Zanzibar) , Rwanda and Uganda. But at the end of WWI Germany was forced to relinquish German East Africa (along with all its other overseas territories) and until the independance of Tanganyka in December 9, 1961 this area was under a policy of Indirect Rule by Britain. In 1964, Tanganyka and Zanzibar merged to become what has since been Tanzania. We purchased tickets to Lushoto with a change in Mombo. When we arrived in Mombo about 5 hours later, we immediately encountered a minibus which the driver announced was soon headed to Lushoto. When we showed them our tickets they told us to get in. What we soon discovered was that our tickets were not valid for this bus, which is what they call a dala-dala. In fact, according to a local on the dala-dala there is no other way to get to Lushoto from Mombo! So unless this information is incorrect it appears, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that we were ripped off by Bemba Bus Service. But the good news is that the dala-dala cost us only about $1 each, and turned out to be a far more enjoyable and infinitely more interesting form of transport than the conventional bus. The dala-dala, like its Kenyan equivalent the matatu, represents an exciting and entertaining approach to traveling. For a specific cost each day a crew hires this tiny bus, which is really a large van not unlike the dolmus in Turkey, and is challenged to make as much money as they can. This crew consists of: a driver (clearly picked more for his ability to drive fast than to drive safely); a ticket collector who also is responsible for finding a way to cram in all the passengers collected; and a “mgiga debe”, or turnboy, who’s job it is to creatively and aggressively round up passengers from wherever they can be found (bus stops, busy intersections, along the road, etc.), as well as to entertain the passengers with hair-raising acrobatic stunts hanging from the door. Our mgiga debe, while we were waiting to leave, availed himself of the opportunity to fire up and smoke a joint about the size of a telephone pole. He got so stoned that in his hurried frenzy to solicit new passengers, he knocked a woman and the child she had in her arms sprawling into a ditch. If he even noticed, he didn’t show it. The dala-dala comfortably seats 15 people. With as many as 25 (!) squished passengers on board at a time, we twisted and turned up, up, up the spectacular road around hairpin turns and over stone bridges, past terraced fields, lush vegetation and cascading Soni Falls to Lushoto. The ride took about 90 minutes... we loved it! Once there, we checked into the Lushoto Sun Hotel, and after patching up the holes in the screens against mosquitos and tsetse flies with duct tape (I never leave home without duct tape), we explored the town. Many homes are built from locally manufactured mud bricks and have pitched roofs, though there are several European style buildings, some with red tiles, along with churches, missions and mosques. The market was bustling, with an ample supply of fruits, vegetables, herbs and spices, as well as livestock for sale. It was colorful and very relaxing there. At our hotel we met several American medical students who were spending a few weeks volunteering at a hospital in Moshi. They said they’d desperately needed the weekend getaway. “I’m almost ready for my internship and we’ve been trained to deal with a lot,” said Lisa, a woman in her late 20’s, “but this is unbelievable. There are so many AIDS patients who come in who we can do absolutely nothing for, and many of these are just children. And this week I watched a severely burned young man freeze to death, since we lacked the most basic equipment to keep him warm. Who would have thought we would see someone freeze to death in Africa?” Spreading out her arms, palms up, she added with obvious frustration, “It’s not some new wonder drug or the latest advanced surgical procedure we usually need to save people... normally just the very basics. There is such a shortage, so when leaving the States we all packed as lightly as possible so that we could stuff as much medicine and supplies as possible into our suitcases to bring here!” The next day we hiked 6 km to Irente Viewpoint, a walk we thoroughly enjoyed. The dirt road passes by fields filled with maize crops and purple-leafed banana trees, palm and evergreen trees growing side-by-side, a secondary school, a dairy farm and lots of small huts. Along the way we passed many women carrying fruits and vegetables to market in town, huge baskets balanced on their heads. We had another encounter with a chameleon like the one Heide fell in love with in Kenya as it crossed our path. We were constantly greeted along the way with “jambo” (hello), “karibu” (welcome) and “habari” (how are you?). The Viewpoint itself is a cliff overlooking the village of Mazinde and the Maasai Steppe almost 1,000 meters below, with a mosaic of sisal farms and other plantations spreading out for as far as you could see. It’s a splendid panorama, a terrific hike and I highly recommend it. We had thought about visiting the village of Mtae, which we were told has astonishing views from an elevation of about 3,500 meters, but we were far too road-weary to travel the four hours there and four hours back to spend just one night. But later on the way back from Zanzibar we did stop in Moshi, a city west of Lushoto and closer to Arusha. At 890 meters, it lies at the base of Kilimanjaro and is often a staging post for treks to the summit. The two shimmering peaks of “Kili” can be seen from all over town, provided they are not shrouded in clouds, which unfortunately they were during our stay. But none-the-less we liked Moshi very much and wished that we’d had four days there, rather than in Arusha. Instead, we had one day. It has a “sleepy-town” feel to it and reminded me very much of Mysore in southern India, which I’d fallen in love with almost exactly ten years prior. We took our time strolling the streets and exploring the wonderful little shops and markets. We very much enjoyed The Coffee Shop, a charming little cafe on Hill St., between Market and J.K. Nyerere Sts that has a lovely garden in back, home-made cookies and even latte macchiatos. At the Moshi View Hotel ($20/dbl with a/c and private bath), we had our own fourth-floor terrace directly facing Kili, as well as overlooking the jumble of streets, houses and courtyards below us, sprawling outwards every which way. In the morning we had a birds-eye view of the town waking up, with roosters crowing and locals stumbling outside to brush their teeth and wash up. Women washed and hung clothing, bathed their children and scrubbed the stone terraces and walls behind their houses. The streets came alive with children walking to school, men and women heading off to start their work day, and bikes, trucks and donkey carts zig-zagging here and there. Another day... probably not much unlike any other day here. Occasionally I glanced up... hoping Kilimanjaro would reveal itself... just one more time. What do you give the man who has everything? How about a mountain... the highest mountain in Africa! Well, Queen Victoria did just that. In 1886 Britain controlled Kenya and Germany controlled what is now Tanzania, and Her Majesty decided that Kilimanjaro would be the perfect birthday gift for her grandson, the future Kaiser Wihelm II. Pull out a map and look at how the border of the two countries now juts around the mountain rather than going straight from the ocean to Lake Victoria, as it once did. Now pull out your planner and circle August 3rd. Can you guess whose birthday that is? In my next and last “On the Road” on East Africa... Zanzibar... the quintessentally exotic island paradise! Until then..... |
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~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ To read Fast Eddie's adventures from the beginning, go here ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ CURRENT NEWS: ALL
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