The Long and Winding Road...to Victoria Falls

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Well that was a mammoth of a journey! Since my last entry, I have travelled roughly 2500km from Dar es Salaam on the east coast of Tanzania, to the Zambian town of Livingstone on the Zambian/Zimbabwe border. After being in a place where a trip "down the road" is a 3 hour journey, the UK is going to feel like a very small island indeed. If it's still recognisable by the time I get back. Seriously, I leave home for 2 months and we're leaving the EU; we have a new PM whom every aspect of the media is insisting on comparing to Maggie T; and now the Welsh are officially better at football then us. I suppose it was expected for the country to descend into chaos in my absence.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. On Friday lunchtime, I arrived at the TAZARA Train Station on the outskirts of Dar. The terminal building itself was a huge building that followed the same cold-war era, communist architectural mistake of confusing aesthetic grandness with size. It was a towering shell of concrete that looked very out of place with the surrounding industrial estate. Across the top of the dome roof were the words "TAZARA, DAR ES SALAAM" in huge blue letters. Although I'm sure the railway had seen better days, it now all seemed a bit too much for a train that only ran twice a week and was notorious for running hours late.

As soon as I climbed out of my taxi, my bags were grabbed by a deaf porter who took me inside the station, rushed me through the proletariat masses waiting for 3rd and 2nd class, and took me to a side room with the words "First Class Lounge" poorly painted above the doorway. He didn't even check my ticket to see if I had indeed bought a first class ticket but I like to think he knew because I was someone that just oozed class and style; admittedly it was probably more because that was what every Westerner did. For a 2 day train, a first class ticket consisted of a sleeper compartment for 4 people; a second class ticket was for a compartment of the same size but they squeezed another 2 folder beds onto the walls so it slept 6; and 3rd class was just a seat. As my first experience travelling in first class anywhere, I was left a little underwhelmed. The windows were broken, and there were pigeons flying around; more London Marlyebone than Eurostar St. Pancras. There was also a bar but did not have any drinks nor a barman behind it; there probably hadn't been for decades either.

Astonishingly, we were allowed to board on time, which consisted of the gates to the platform being opened and masses of people trying to rush through as quickly as possible, like horses being let out of the traps. I was even more surprised when I found my compartment was in very good condition and the bed was of a nice size. I was sharing with 2 Tanzanian gentlemen, and a Polish guy who was just travelling around for a few weeks, all of whom would be getting off the train before me. I would be going all the way to the end, a Zambian town called Kapiri Mposhi, about 3 hours north of the capital Lusaka. We left precisely on time at 15.50, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all!

I quickly realised why the train took so long to get to it's final destination; it was very slow and trundled along at roughly 50 miles per hour. As the train would be home until Sunday, I decided to go and explore. There was obviously very little to explore, but I did come across the bar, which was already filling up, and the restaurant car which sold meals for roughly 2 dollars each. The next morning, I would discover the African interpretation of a "Full English Breakfast"; a couple of frankfurters, 2 slices of brioche bread and an egg which I couldn't figure out was either fried or scrambled - or somewhere in between. I resisted my English urge to throw it back at them and calmly reminded myself that it wasn't their fault that some Chinese bloke had told them this was what an English breakfast should be. The toilets were also a nice little discovery. They were just a hole in the floor.of the train; we weren't allowed to use them when the train came to a stop. I decided that maybe I should limit my meals anyway just to avoid using one. In every carriage, there were signs for China Aid so that we knew who was funding the railway. I thought it was genius that the Chinese were building something that benefited them (ability to transport goods to and from the ports on the coast) and yet were able to pass it off as aid. Of course the Chinese aren't the only ones guilty of this.

The Zambian border was where we encountered the most delay. We stopped on the Tanzanian side where a few immigration officers came on (when they eventually decided to show up) and exit stamp everyone's passports. Then, the train rolled on for 2 minutes and we were in Zambia. Again, the immigration officers took their time in turning up, and even when they did, it was only just the one person who had to go through and check the whole train. As you can imagine, we were stuck there for a while. By this time, it was well into the Saturday evening so once I had my Zambian visa, I settled down for the night. The next morning, I could instantly see the difference in landscape between the 2 countries. The mountainous plains of Tanzania had been replaced by the highly-forested, flat lands of Zambia. The lack of hills and mountains therefore allowed us to pick up a lot more speed in Zambia, and we arrived at Kapiri Mposhi that afternoon, only 5 hours behind schedule. That's about as on time as you can get here.

In desperate need of a shower and some food, I rushed onto the crowded bus that would take me to Lusaka. As a very tall man, using the buses is perhaps the most unpleasant parts of African travel but sometimes it is unavoidable. However, 3 hours later, and a lot of moving about in my seat, I was in the Zambian capital. Lusaka is the closest to home I've felt so far on this trip and was a lot nicer than Dar es Salaam. I was still getting used to warm showers again but yet I now was in a place with washing machines, shopping malls and I even found a fried chicken shop down the road to my hostel. In fact, I instantly got the feeling that Zambia was far more affluent than Tanzania, and had a lot more infrastructure in place. All the roads were perfectly tarmaced, trains were a common form of transport, and landline phones were in use. How Zambia has achieved this without the same level of tourism as Tanzania (it's safari parks are not that good, and the only real attraction is Victoria Falls), or any obvious exports, I could not quite figure out. I feel it probably has something to do with the British who historically had a lot more influence in Zambia than Tanzania.

However, like Dar es Salaam, there still was not much to do in Lusaka so I was glad to be leaving for Livingstone after only 2 nights. Waiting for the bus at Lusaka's Inter-City bus station was a joyous experience. At 8.30 on a Tuesday morning, I was waiting with everyone else whilst a load of locals tried to sell us items before our 7 hour bus journey. Some of the items were sensible, such as food and drinks, but I got the feeling that some of the entrepreneurs hadn't quite grasped the concept of catering to your target market. I was approached and offered a wallet, a black woman's wig, and an electrical cheese grater. In a country where neither cheese or electricity are common place. I couldn't help but smile whilst the sellers tried to figure out what was so funny. The bus soon arrived (with a driver who looked exactly like Tyrone from Snatch) and I was on my way south again to Livingstone...and Victoria Falls. The ticket sellers had even given me the front seat so that I had plenty of leg room, and I didn't even ask for it! Can't beat Zambian customer service.

Having now arrived in Livingstone, which I will update you on in my next entry, I am so glad that I chose the long and difficult journey south. I knew that if anything was to go wrong on my trip, it would have been on this leg, but it's been completely drama-less and I have had a much more authentic experience than if I had just flown to Livingstone. The train ran smoothly and I was able to interact with more of the locals, many of whom were happy to see me make the effort to integrate into the lifestyle here. They also looked after me, advising me where is safe and what dangers to look out for. After 2500 km and 4 days travel, I am now just a short drive away from one of the natural wonders of the world.

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Photos

TAZARA Cabin
My home for 46 hours.

Life on TAZARA
Staring out of the window was top of the on-board entertainment list.