Dar

Dar es Salaam. The first impression is a bit like walking into a festival Portaloo in the hot summer sun; the humid, greasy air a fetid mixture of sewage, rotting vegetables, body odour and diesel fumes. It hits you like a pap snoek in the face as you get out the bus, and like snoek juice, doesnt seem to really wash out too well, either.

Of course, it is in fact Eid. So all the Muslims that have spent the whole month dodging any kind of strenuous activity like drinking or eating or heavy lifting, now rest for a further two days. Of course, in Dar, this means EVERYONE. The entire city shuts down, for TWO DAYS. Every shop is closed, from the watch repair fundi's to the bookstores. I am in Dar for two days. Coincidence? Ha! I thought Eid would be a huge party. Last time I trust the Muslims!

Days are spent sitting about in the YMCA, just a stones throw from the YWCA, where I have taken my lodging. The YWCA is cheaper, by half, but does not serve beer. It gives the impression of being a converted jail; the rooms, while cheap, are scarcely big enough to tickle a cat, let alone swing one. The toilets are a similarly gloomy affair, and the receptionist seems more disheartened with every new arrival checking in.
Which brings me to the people of Dar es Salaam. Miserable, thieving bastards. It is here that, no doubt, many mzungus must get their first impressions of Africa. As one of Africa's biggest cities, in the country that gave us the word "safari", it seems like everyone here makes a living ripping people of. I can't wait for Malawi.

I book my ticket at the Tazara station, the 24 hour train journey that will take me through the Selous National Park, a vast wilderness that Tom Robbins himself has rated highly. Animals galloping past the window of my dining car carriage, elephants tootling merrily while I politely nod my head at them, toasting them with a cold Kilimanjaro, as I speed along on my timeless, romantic train journey West. Next stop, Mbeya, and then, Malawi!