Zanzibar. Sounds far away, right? Not only is it off the coast of Africa, there are two Zs in the name. Might as well be a world apart from the USA. Well that’s where we planned to spend Christmas, along with Courtney’s sister Bebeth and brother in law Mark. We thought that because we were in the same country (Zanzibar is an island off the coast of mainland Tanzania, and part of the United Republic of Tanzania) it would be easy to get there. We were wrong:
1: Our house to Songea bus station. At 5:15 am the taxi driver arrived 30 minutes early with his horn blaring and lights flashing. On the way to the bus station the car ran out of gas. Not all that unusual, but also not a great start to our trip. Also, Courtney had been feeling sick for a couple of days, so we were hoping for relatively easy travel.
2. Bus from Songea to Iringa. Two weeks before, this drive had taken 9 hours. This time, our driver tried to make it in 6. He drove so fast through the windy mountain roads that we were forced to put on our seat belts just to stay in our seats.
3. 100km from Iringa: We would have made it to Iringa in 6 hours, but about 100km outside the city, the bus comes to a stop. Up ahead, two trucks had crashed and completely blocked the road. During the two hours that it takes to clear the accident, Courtney, who all of a sudden feels much sicker after our roller coaster ride through the mountains, is on the side of the road throwing up.
4. Overnight in Iringa: Leaving Courtney sick in bed, I went to buy the tickets for the second half of the bus ride. The bus company messed up our reservation (you can’t purchase over the phone or the internet like you can in the USA) so we were forced to choose between the lesser bus companies. We turned down “The Malaria Express” and opted instead for “Upendo”, which means “love” in Swahili. The next morning, found out why they still had seats available.
5. Iringa to Dar es Salaam: We were on the Upendo bus at 5:30 am. The bus was not only run down, but also had an extra seat per row (3 on one side of the aisle). We sat in the window and middle seat, praying that we would get a child next to us. We got our wish, but the child was accompanied by his very large mother who promptly took our window seat. She was too large for her seat, so she took up half of Courtney’s seat. She also did not buy a ticket for her son, who was told to stand in Courtney’s leg space. That meant that Courtney’s legs were in Arthur’s space, and Arthur’s legs were taking up the aisle. To top it off, the woman’s name was Upendo, the same as the bus.
Upendo pulled out of the station right on time, but pulled right back in. A police officer got on and told us that the road ahead was blocked by another accident, and we would have to walk down the hill while the bus “off roads” to get down. So we followed the rest of the passengers through the winding streets and down the hill, to wait for Upendo, hoping it would show up with our bags on it. After a while, it did. So we got back in our seats, nice and cozy with Upendo (who proceeds to “borrow” Courtney’s iPod for several hours without asking) and her son, and we continue on the 9 hour cramped and hot bus ride to Dar.
6. Dar bus station to the hotel: Standing in the pouring rain with our bags, we ask a taxi driver if he knows where our hotel is. He says yes, and we agree to pay him 11,000 Shillings. After driving for 100 yards, he tells us he actually doesn’t know where our hotel is. So we give him the address, and he says he will have to charge us 20,000, because it’s very far. We tell him no way, and he grudgingly keeps driving. Once we finally arrive, he tells us that we need to pay him more than 11,000, because it was farther than he thought, and he had scraped the bottom of his car on the crappy roads. We say no way, knowing that we’re paying him a fair price. The hotel tells us the normal rate is 8,000.
6. Dar es Salaam to Zanzibar: So we made it to Dar. Once we’ve met up with Bebeth and Mark, we get on the 2 and half hour ferry ride to Zanzibar. Even though Zanzibar is the same country, they still stamp passports upon arrival. Bebeth and Mark got through just fine, but they took our passports and held them. Courtney started to stress because, despite 20 trips to the immigration office, she still doesn’t have a volunteer visa and her tourist visa has expired (that is for another blog post). After waiting a while, they pulled us into the office and told us we hadn’t paid enough for our visas. We kindly point out that the fee went up after we had purchased our visas. They look and say “ok” stamp our passport and let us go, not staying anything about the expired visa.
Finally, 58 hours after leaving Songea, we had made it to Zanzibar.
1: Our house to Songea bus station. At 5:15 am the taxi driver arrived 30 minutes early with his horn blaring and lights flashing. On the way to the bus station the car ran out of gas. Not all that unusual, but also not a great start to our trip. Also, Courtney had been feeling sick for a couple of days, so we were hoping for relatively easy travel.
2. Bus from Songea to Iringa. Two weeks before, this drive had taken 9 hours. This time, our driver tried to make it in 6. He drove so fast through the windy mountain roads that we were forced to put on our seat belts just to stay in our seats.
3. 100km from Iringa: We would have made it to Iringa in 6 hours, but about 100km outside the city, the bus comes to a stop. Up ahead, two trucks had crashed and completely blocked the road. During the two hours that it takes to clear the accident, Courtney, who all of a sudden feels much sicker after our roller coaster ride through the mountains, is on the side of the road throwing up.
4. Overnight in Iringa: Leaving Courtney sick in bed, I went to buy the tickets for the second half of the bus ride. The bus company messed up our reservation (you can’t purchase over the phone or the internet like you can in the USA) so we were forced to choose between the lesser bus companies. We turned down “The Malaria Express” and opted instead for “Upendo”, which means “love” in Swahili. The next morning, found out why they still had seats available.
5. Iringa to Dar es Salaam: We were on the Upendo bus at 5:30 am. The bus was not only run down, but also had an extra seat per row (3 on one side of the aisle). We sat in the window and middle seat, praying that we would get a child next to us. We got our wish, but the child was accompanied by his very large mother who promptly took our window seat. She was too large for her seat, so she took up half of Courtney’s seat. She also did not buy a ticket for her son, who was told to stand in Courtney’s leg space. That meant that Courtney’s legs were in Arthur’s space, and Arthur’s legs were taking up the aisle. To top it off, the woman’s name was Upendo, the same as the bus.
Upendo pulled out of the station right on time, but pulled right back in. A police officer got on and told us that the road ahead was blocked by another accident, and we would have to walk down the hill while the bus “off roads” to get down. So we followed the rest of the passengers through the winding streets and down the hill, to wait for Upendo, hoping it would show up with our bags on it. After a while, it did. So we got back in our seats, nice and cozy with Upendo (who proceeds to “borrow” Courtney’s iPod for several hours without asking) and her son, and we continue on the 9 hour cramped and hot bus ride to Dar.
6. Dar bus station to the hotel: Standing in the pouring rain with our bags, we ask a taxi driver if he knows where our hotel is. He says yes, and we agree to pay him 11,000 Shillings. After driving for 100 yards, he tells us he actually doesn’t know where our hotel is. So we give him the address, and he says he will have to charge us 20,000, because it’s very far. We tell him no way, and he grudgingly keeps driving. Once we finally arrive, he tells us that we need to pay him more than 11,000, because it was farther than he thought, and he had scraped the bottom of his car on the crappy roads. We say no way, knowing that we’re paying him a fair price. The hotel tells us the normal rate is 8,000.
6. Dar es Salaam to Zanzibar: So we made it to Dar. Once we’ve met up with Bebeth and Mark, we get on the 2 and half hour ferry ride to Zanzibar. Even though Zanzibar is the same country, they still stamp passports upon arrival. Bebeth and Mark got through just fine, but they took our passports and held them. Courtney started to stress because, despite 20 trips to the immigration office, she still doesn’t have a volunteer visa and her tourist visa has expired (that is for another blog post). After waiting a while, they pulled us into the office and told us we hadn’t paid enough for our visas. We kindly point out that the fee went up after we had purchased our visas. They look and say “ok” stamp our passport and let us go, not staying anything about the expired visa.
Finally, 58 hours after leaving Songea, we had made it to Zanzibar.
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