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Published: November 30th 2017
'The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.' Proust
Appropriate words for the two of us at this stage. Monica and I spent six years backpacking the world together through some of the roughest regions of Myramar, Bolivia, Nepal, Laos; to languishing for six weeks on a luxury cruise ship. However, for the past three years we have been settling ourselves anew on the far left coast of Canada and travel has been set aside. It is time to start up again. So East Africa it is with hopes of finding Monica's coveted silverbacks. A little older; a little softer. I know I packed a little less but when I hoisted up the backpacks they felt a little heavier. Older? For sure. Wiser? That will be the test.
Our flight was scheduled to leave Vancouver at 7:00 Tuesday with stops in Toronto, Zurich, Nairobi before finishing in Dar es Salaam. We said goodbye to Gabriola Monday morning - double ferrying it across to Nanaimo and then Horseshoe Bay. We then scrambled onto an express bus that took us to the City Centre in downtown Vancouver. From there, we connected with the subway/skytrain that took us to the airport. A short shuttle got us to our hotel where we enjoyed our last Canadian dinner of the year and a beer in a White Spot. Total transit time was around eight hours, however, with our flight the next morning, it was stress free.
Tuesday was going to be a long day. Up at 3:30, we staggered downstairs to catch a 4:30 shuttle to the airport. Checking in through security, my bag suddenly got a little lighter. It seems the blade on my Swiss army knife was one centimetre too long so customs confiscated it. That artifact has travelled with me through South America, Central American, three separate trips to Asia and countless escapades through almost every province in Canada. Well it was lost now. The Air Canada flight to Toronto was uneventful but the day was waning. A four hour flight, three hour loss of time, half hour hike from domestic to International in Pearson and then another three hour wait until we boarded our flight for Zurich. We spent this time exploring the International gate area at Pearson. It is very impressive - filled with multi-ethnic cuisines and an overall high class atmosphere. A pint of Stella, Goose Bay or Mill St. goes for over $12.
We left Toronto at around 18:00 and arrived in Zurich at 6:00 Wednesday morning. The flight was six hours and we lost another six hours on top of that. Again, it was Air Canada and Monica and I amused ourselves by binge watching season seven of Game of Thrones. I got the feeling we were gorging ourselves on a culture we sensed would be lost to us for a time. In Zurich, we wandered the empty airport in the early morning hours trying to re-find our legs. Watches, chocolates, cheeses, coo-coo clocks, traditional alpine clothing - all was for sale at exorbitant prices. Small dresses for young girls were tagged at $200 and up. It was here also that I noticed the large number of currency machines. One could exchange just about any currency in the world and get most of the major world moneys in exchange. For a fee of course. I smiled to myself at the irony of the Swiss. Such a peace loving society but such ruthless bankers.
We flew out of Zurich on Swiss Air on a connector flight that landed in Nairobi around 19:00. We stayed on board for an hour during a re-fueling and arrived in Dar es Salaam around 22:00. Although fatigued and getting impatient and in desperate need of a real bed to sleep in, we cannot speak highly enough of the service and especially the food on Swiss Air. Real pieces of Swiss cheese and Swiss chocolate and an infinite supply of hot steaming buns topped with freshly whipped butter. This was not your usual flying food.
Going through customs in Dares Salaam reminded me very much of Casablanca. One's greatest virtue had to be patience. It was a tedious process filled with eye scans and finger print taking and everything written by hand. All the officers in their heavy, dark uniforms were courteous and polite, but the process was tedious and slow. The building had little to no air flow and the heat and humidity made the atmosphere stifling. In minutes, many of us waiting for our passports and visas were beginning to sweat profusely. It tended to make us all look guilty of something. Meanwhile the officers in their heavy uniforms just smiled and nodded and looked as cool as cucumbers.
Once through, I was delighted to see that our backpacks had actually made it all the way from Vancouver to Dares Salaam. Sometimes it is good to disappoint my inner cynic. We then grabbed a taxi to our hotel, the Iris. At least thirty or forty cab drivers were clustered out front, all dressed the same in white, short sleeve dress shirts and dark pants. A boss man came forward with a clip board that listed each hotel and the set rate to get there. He selected a driver who walked us over to a clean, modern SUV and helped me load. A half hour later, at the Iris hotel, he helped me unload and then disappeared. Another boss man with a clip board appeared to collect the money. The room, the hotel, and the area are nothing special but they will do for three nights as we catch up on our sleep, adjust to the time change, and get our bearings. Rajahm helped us move into our room. He showed us all the little tricks concerning the fans, the TV, the shower etc. I thought he was going to cry when we tipped him 10,000 tan. shillings (sounds like a lot; actually about $5 US) He told us the area is safe during the day but better not to walk the streets after dark. We have a ceiling fan and an AC unit, however, our main window that faces the street is only made of metal bars and a screen. There is a lot of activity at night but not in a western culture sense. This area is heavily Muslim so alcohol is almost non-existent so drunken behaviour is nil. The call for prayers occurs at about 4:30 in the morning.
We plan to bus to Lushoto on Saturday and stay there for a week. Now is a period of adjustment. Segregation appears to be the norm - not just by colour but by gender as well. When eating dinner at one of the many BBQ street sites, it was obvious how all the women sat together while the men sat either alone or with male friends. Monica and I were the only mixed couple sitting at the same table. Also the only caucasians. In our hotel, when the female concierge is working, the lobby is empty and she is most helpful with any questions one may have. When the concierge is a male, the lobby is filled with men - like a good ol' boys club. And when asking for info, they often answer with questions of their own. One begins to suspect their sincerity. Is one being fooled with in front of a male audience? Why is a straight answer so difficult to obtain? As Proust would say, part of adjusting to any culture is in finding the 'new eyes' of understanding.
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Karina
non-member comment
Customs
Sorry about the loss of your pen knife ?