Woken in the early hours by the muezzin from the many mosques that surround the hotel. One of the mosques has an air raid type wail. It’s sunni not shia (or vice versa).
Woken again in the early hours by very heavy rain. Which lasts a matter of minutes. This is repeated a couple more times over the next half hour.
Not much sleep.
Wander through the alleyways of Stone Town to the former Slave Market. A church’s altar now marks the spot of the old whipping post. Slave monument is adjacent. Consists of a pit with five slaves shackled with chains. The school is busy with the chatter of excited school children.
Stand in the doorway to peak inside the classroom. The children’s backs are to me but one soon realises there’s a white giant in the doorway and they all turn about to giggle and wave. Teacher is not amused. Disrupting class again. Somethings never change. External walls painted with upper and lower case letters of the alphabet with pictures of various objects. Young boy is having to write on the blackboard with chalk. Not seen a blackboard and chalk since I was at school. Chalk was often used as a missile by a certain teacher back then.
Sit in a cafe for a drink and watch the world go by. Locals pull up on their mopeds and grab a quick breakfast before chugging off again. Couple of young lads sitting in cafe next door busy working. One is peeling spuds from a large sack, chopping them into chips then deep frying in a pan of boiling oil over a charcoal fire. His mate is de-scaling small fish and gutting them.
Everyone relaxed and friendly.
Great deliberately getting lost in the alleyways and exploring. All the doors are big heavy wooden things intricately carved with brass knobs and spikes which I’m told are to protect against elephants. Not convinced there’ll be any elephants thin enough to stomp down these narrow alleys though.
Arrive at Jaws Corner. Full of locals meeting and drinking coffee from the sole seller in the corner. In the middle a palm tree with an old 80s style telephone handset and a short rickety wooden ladder about 3ft long running up to it. The whole set up being about 10ft off the ground. The sign says you can make free international calls from the phone…..if you can reach it. Despite my height, I can’t do an ET and phone home.
Find Freddie Mercury’s old apartment block.
It’s a bit bohemian and can’t stay for long as I want to break free as the show must go on. Don’t groan….it’s free….
Late afternoon flight to Dar Es Salam. Walk into aiport but stopped by security. He wants to see ticket. Don’t have ticket as booked online. It’s an email confirmation. Told to get a printed ticket from the ZanAir office two steps to his left. ZanAir office print out a booking confirmation on A4 paper which is folded into thirds to look vaguely ticket shape. Hand vaguely ticket shaped paper to security who checks it and allows me to pass.
ZanAir check in desk is basically a cabinet. The weigh scales are one of those old fashioned big dial scales that you see in markets of old. Boarding pass is handwritten. Any checked in bags are dumped on the floor behind for manual collection by porters.
Bypass the departure tax window and immgration as flying domestic. Bag is X-rayed and after all the airports I’ve been flying through the past few weeks with bottles of water etc I find my water bottle confiscated on security grounds. There is absolutely no common arrangement with this rule.
Aircraft is a flying coffin. Can tap pilot on shoulder and ask him the time it’s that small.
It’s about 15 seats and we skim across the water at 2,500ft before descending into Dar Es Salam. Great view of the landing over pilot’s shoulder.
It’s now 1800hrs. Am to be met by transfer for the cruise train. Rail station is 5 miles away so a matter of minutes transfer. Except no one there to meet and greet. Ask taxi manager if he’s seen the Shongololo transfer. He makes a phone call and told it’s just left and will be returning. 1815hrs ask how long it will be. He makes another phone call and I am put on to speak to the guy at the other end. Told he’s at the International terminal picking up other guests and will be 2 minutes before he arrives at Domestic terminal. 30 minutes pass. Patience is a virtue but not tonight. Tired, hot and hungry. Taxi manager rings bloke again and phone is handed over. He’s still waiting for guests at International and Shongololo have sent another transfer to pick me up at Domestic. How long? 8 minutes. Hmmm. 1900hrs and still no transfer. Sod this for a game of soldiers. It’s now dark and taxi drivers are few and far between now that domestic arrivals have dried up. Find a taxi driver to take me to the rail station. It’s only 5 miles away so will only take 5 mins won’t it.
It takes 45mins stuck in traffic. Unbelievable gridlock. Horrendous traffic jam.
Have to turn right at a major intersection then turn right again after a few hundred yards into the oncoming traffic which is stationary. Driver negotiates with lorry driver that he’ll let taxi through when things start moving. Sit there for 15mins waiting for a gap. Wonder how far station is? Taxi driver motions with hand over hand and says, “1….2…3…4….5…6”. So. Is that 6 streets, kilometres, blocks, what? Decide to stay in car.
A minute gap appears in the oncoming traffic and driver gingerly makes his way across the two lanes of traffic which is actually four lanes given the non adherence to the Highway Code by the locals. In front is a mass of darkness and a large metal gate which is opened by a security guard when the driver pips his horn. Presume this is a short cut across some industrial area. Can just make out a very large building to my left but it’s pitch black. Driver tells me this is the station. You what? It’s not exactly St Pancras is it. Are you sure this is the TAZARA station? There are no lights on. It’s like something out of Scooby Doo. Assured this is the station. It becomes clear he actually meant 6 steps away. Drive across some waste ground to the large building and see that it is the station. All the doors are locked. A large blackboard with chalk writing confirms that Friday 30-Aug-13 departure is cancelled. It’s the once a week departure south. Glad I didn’t book that or I would be stuffed.
There’s a solitary light on across the cavernous hall with a security man sitting on a plastic chair. Doors are hammered and shaken to attract his attention and he motions that we’re to go to the side. Finally some sign of life. Can make out a train with lights on. A lad in baggy jeans, t-shirt and stupid baseball hat remonstrates with driver that he’s not allowed to drive down here. Sod that sunshine I want a cold beer. A brief argument between lad and driver ensues. Young lad with baseball cap is apparently a policeman. Hmmm. He escorts me to the train. At last. It’s now 1945hrs. So much for 2 minutes.
So here I am. On board the Shongololo Express on the Dr Livingstone tour. Shall be travelling from Dar Es Salam to Victoria Falls over the course of the next 12 days. It’s a private cruise train with dining car, bar & lounge car, ensuite cabins. It’s the original 1952 heritage carriages from Rhodesian Rail.
We only have two power cuts tonight.
