Solo Travel in Tanzania

Dar es Salaam

I flew in to Dar es Salaam from Muscat in the late afternoon and got picked up by a driver from the Mediteranneo Hotel, where the above picture was taken at sunrise the next morning. It was a great resort, but better if you're with your family units and you want to spend a quiet, uneventful vacation in the pool, on the beach, in the pool or on the beach. There was nowhere close by to walk to unless you either rented a car or got a taxi, but the atmosphere at night in the bar was cosy. I only stayed one night, as it was rather steep for this budget camper at $110/night, especially since I wasn't having $110 dollars worth of fun. 













_________________________________________________________

After I checked out of the resort, I asked Acra, the same driver who picked me up from the airport, to take me to a hotel that was close to the bus station in order that I could leave early the next day for Moshi and I stressed for him NOT to take me to the most expensive hotel, as is usually the case if I'm not specific. Nevertheless, I wasn't specific enough as I got dropped off at the most expensive hotel in the area and had to traipse around in the dust and heat until I found another less expensive one. It was pretty grim on the streets but the hotel, the Kibadamo, suited my purpose and it was only $20/US a night. As you can see, I was right beside the bus station without having a bed at the station itself. These shots are taken from all around the bus station and from my hotel room.










______________________________________________

That afternoon I strolled around the station looking at the buses (being paranoid about buses after my experiences in South America) and it seemed the best ones were from the Kilimanjaro Express or the Dar Express lines. They were the only ones not stuffed to the roof with sausages (er, people) as they roared off in different directions. A tout following along beside me pointed to the offices where the different bus companies sold tickets and I told him I wanted a ticket on either of the two bus companies I mentioned above.

'Oh yes, yes, no problems. No problems.'

It's hell when you can't speak the language, and English speakers are few in Tanzania, Kishswahili being the main language. I was led into a small office.

'Dar Express?' I asked.  'You're sure this is the Dar Express because I only want that bus.'

The lad behind the desk nodded and wrote out a ticket for Arusha.  Thirty thousand shillings later, twenty-five dollars American, I had my ticket for 7:00 the next morning on what I thought was the Dar Express. 

What a morning it turned out to be.



It was still dark when I took a taxi to the bus station at 6:30. Yes, a taxi to go 200 yards because it was deemed too dangerous to walk. I wasn't sure whether it was because of the atrociously potholed roads that you could fall into and cripple yourself for life, or muggers lurking in them, but for a dollar I took the ride because it also meant not having to drag my suitcase through the dust and dirt. 

It was a fight to stand still when I got out of the car, touts were on me immediately and people of all colors pushed past me with their bulky suitcases, squeezing through narrow turnstiles to where buses stood rumbling and smoking at the back of the station and falling back as buses roared out of the lot to the jammed highway, where cops with whistles directed traffic through the swirling dust, waving buses out of the station with one hand and holding back traffic with the other. I held my hand over my mouth for the grit while I dug into my purse for my ear plugs.


A tout reached for my suitcase after I showed him my ticket and said, 'come' and I ran after him through the turnstiles, pushing and shoving my way through the throngs of flesh in order to keep up with him. He stopped in front of a roaring double-decker orange bus and pointed.  'This your bus.'  The 'Video Express' was jammed to the ceiling with people and luggage, but nevermind, I had to put my earplugs in because the roar from all the buses was deafening.  A huge, burly fellow strode over and looked at my ticket and jerked his thumb to the door of the bus.

'Moshi! Moshi!' he turned, shouting to the crowds.

 
'Is this the Dar Express? Hey, is this the Dar Express?' I shouted. I stepped up and looked inside the bus and there wasn't enough room for a starving chicken to sit down. I turned to my tout.

 
'This isn't the bus I wanted! I want to go back to the office! There's no way I'm getting on this piece of shit!' 

I watched as the bus continued to fill, with lackeys carelessly throwing more suitcases into the hold until it was full. Sweat mixed with dust poured down my face and I fought through the mob back to the office where I'd bought my ticket. I didn't recognize anyone in the office.

'I was sold this ticket but it's not what I asked for.  I want my money back, please. I didn't pay for this bus and it's already full.'

I gave him my ticket and he glanced at it and shrugged. 

 
'You going to Moshi. This bus go to Moshi. This is correct ticket.'

'Yeah, but the bus is full and it's the Video Express. I asked for the Dar Express busline and yesterday the guy in here sold me this ticket and it's not the ticket I asked for. Oh my God!'

He shrugged again and I wasn't into arguing so I stalked out and down the boardwalk with my tout dragging my suitcase to the Dar Express office where I bought another 30,000-shilling ticket. Finished. Done. But as I sat there quietly in the Dar Express office I got to talking to the fellow behind the wicket who spoke English.

'How can I get my money back for this ticket? Now I have two tickets. I told them what bus I wanted and they sold me this ticket. It's the wrong busline.'

 
'Yes, they do that all the time,' he said.  He shook his head and sighed. 

 
'Really?'

'Yes. They make money from foreigners this way.'

'So what can I do about it?'

'You can go to the police station. They might help you.'

 
'Where's that?'

 
'He'll take you,' and he nodded to the tout that hung around the door who was still waiting for me to pay him.


I trudged into the tiny police office beside the parking lot of the bus station and complained to the cop sitting behind the small desk about my ticket. He nodded to another cop to go with me and we pushed through the crowd to the Video Express bus. Burly dude was still trying to suit up the bus. They argued while I stood there looking on when all of a sudden I was being handed 25,000 shillings, along with a filthy look by your man.

The cop shrugged. 'Take that.'  I didn't argue and thanked him profusedly for his help. They still made 5,000 shillings, but at least I didn't come in for a complete drubbing. I gave the tout half of it. 

I boarded the Dar Express at 7:30 and everybody had their own seat and I sat back happily as I awaited the bus to pull out of the station. I felt smart about getting my money back, smiling when I thought about those mothers who thought they could sell me a ticket for the wrong bus with no seat available!  Standing up for hours! I snapped pictures and said hello to my neighbor and tucked myself in for the ride, but feeling the air-conditioning come on and the overhead speakers crackle with sound, I thought - uh oh. 

Perhaps it was karma, but on the way to Moshi from Dar es Salaam I had to endure seven hours of  Celine Dion singing her greatest hits on a tapeloop and air-conditioning that would have frozen the ass off a polar bear. It was so excruciating I wished I had taken the Video Express bus after all.