Arusha bound. This was way too easy. I knew there was a big proper bus that went from Moshi to Arusha as I had checked the day before. I also knew that leaving early on a Sunday morning would play in my favour as the vultures wouldn’t be out in full force quite yet. Still, they were there, waiting for me and my ginormous backpack. Yes, yes, I’m going to Arusha, I want the big bus. Oh no, no big bus to Arusha, you take minibus. I know there is a big bus going to Arusha. Oh no, no big bus, only minibus. I KNOW there is a big bus. Oh, BIG bus, yeah, big bus, but big bus not coming. Maybe 1 or 2 pm. (It’s 7am) Really? 1 or 2pm? Yes, yes, afternoon. You come with me, we buy ticket. I walk away. See a sign for Arusha and lah dee dah, a big ole bus is waiting there ready to go. I hop on board, they even put my bag in the back of the bus instead of under it, we wait until we’re full which doesn’t take long, and off we go. Pushy, aggressive, and liars. Fantastic. And please, for those of you with bleeding hearts, thinking that these poor guys are just trying to make a living, stop it. Stop it now. They are not working hard nor enterprising opportunists. They are predators. Low life. Scum. That bleeding heart would be bone dry after one day of getting charged excessive amounts of money for doing the same things the same ways, being harassed to the point of melt down, man-handled, lied to, laughed at, gawked at, and treated with an abundance of rudeness simply because of shiny white skin. And don’t say payback for centuries gone by, this is no such thing. The men who hang around bus stations, train stations, airports, and border crossing SUCK BUTT!!! Every single one of them! Wow, it has been a very rough go.
Two quick highway hours and a dirt cheap ticket. You’ve GOT to be kidding me! Easiest trip EVER! Oh, little funny… it’s Sunday, right? So this very nicely dressed guy is standing at the front of the bus, clean, sharp suit, looks respectable. I figure it’s the norm, more people than seats. But once we are underway, I see him talking, but can’t really make out who he is talking to. Then his voice starts to get louder, more projected. Oh love a duck, he’s going to save our souls!!! Bahahahaha! A bus full of predominantly Muslims and this loony toon is preaching about Jesus or God or some other random spirit. I heard one or two “Amens” but they were quickly hushed by scarved and koffia’ed passengers arguing about something or other that he was saying. Oh how I wish I could have understood. At one point, a couple of guys actually grabbed him by the back of his jacket and gave him a shake but it was over pretty quickly. Apparently the soul savers are disliked even over here. A lady came on at one of the stops and took over his sermon preaching, much to his displeasure, but he soon quieted her and carried on with his bible thumping. He got one final stern warning from a few of the boys in charge about an hour or so into the trip and he zipped his lips for good. Sunday morning travel… good times, good times.
Arusha. Big city. Safari central. Located just outside of some of the most amazing national parks, it is a huge bustling centre (not nearly as big as Dar but still very big!) thriving on tourism. Lots more white faces wandering around but unlike Asia, no one is very friendly or easy to engage in conversation. Probably, like me, they all have their tout game faces on so once you’re in the zone, it’s hard to let the guard down. I understand. Really. I do.
Found my guest house with a little effort but it was early so morning girl told me that a room would be ready in half an hour. Two hours later, a different girl at the desk told me to “go check yourself” when I asked if it was ready yet. Ummm… happy much? Clean(ish) so brought my back up, went to go pee, and oh looky here, no toilet seat. And the toilet doesn’t flush. Back down I go. Grumpy Gerta said “no other rooms”. Bullshit. The morning girl showed me two to start. Then she said “why you didn’t check first?” Screw off cow. I want a room with a working toilet, please. My only other option apparently was toilet seatless as well but I don’t care, I please, a room with a working toilet. How did a toilet seat become a LUXURY?! And the toilets obviously came with a seat, you could see the knobbies where it had been yanked off. Wtf?!?! Seriously. Africa.
Now, had a map in my little travel book of this town and apparently am still dumb enough to believe that maps mean anything on this side of the world. Got so hopelessly lost wandering through the streets that I actually got worried for the very first time. Tried tourist shop after travel agency, it’s Sunday, everything is closed. I only had a couple of days so I needed to arrange a safari NOW, but for every good thing that happens (easy bus trip), I am smacked with something miserable to balance it out. I have not had one solid day of things going okay since I’ve arrived. You know how at home, you have good days and not so good days? Where everything either seems to come together or fall apart all at the same time? But on those fall apart days, you know that it’s going to be okay because you’ll wake up the next day and it’s ALWAYS better? Yeah, that doesn’t happen here. For any little thing that seems to go my way, something big usually falls apart shortly after. I make my celebrations quick and short lasted as I need to gear up for the next kick in the jaw. Bring it on, bitches!
So yes, everything is closed. By sheer luck and determined wandering, I find my way back to my guest house and pour over the deluded map trying to figure out where I was and where I want to be. Made a couple of attempts at internet, spent money to wait around for no connection, and prepared to make a safari plan early the next morning.
Well morning definitely came early as the battle of the Mosque speakers began at 5:15am. That’s okay, the sun’s not up until after 6:30am, but yeah, go ahead, yell your lungs out and praise Mecca. 5:15am.
Hit the tourist bureau to check out their blacklist for tour operators but they couldn’t be very helpful otherwise. Made some phone calls, started wandering, nothing, too expensive, nothing, ridiculously expensive. Then I stumbled into an agency, have no idea where, and the angel behind the desk said that while they didn’t have anything going, she would make a phone call to another company and check. What? Really? Gee, thanks! She hangs up, smiles, and says someone will be right over to take me to the other company. This is too good to be true, right? No way.
I’m escorted to this new office, Tanzania Private Select Safaris, and am immediately made to feel welcome while the manager was finishing up with some other clients. He takes me aside, said there’s a 3 day 2 night trip that just went out early this morning but if I was interested, they would drive me out to meet up with them for dinner and do a 2 night 2 day trip. I almost hugged him. So while he finished up, the owner came out from the back and said he’d take care of me. Ahhh, excellent. Chat, chat, chat, Indian family raised in Tanzania, Canadian connections, let’s do this thing! Papers signed, money handed over, and I hauled ass back across town to pack up the contents of my backpack that had been completely scattered over my entire room. What do I take? Camping safari… what does that mean? Will I be freezing? Will it be hot? Do I have to sleep in a tent with strangers? Hmmm… prepare for the worst, hope for the best.
Teeny tiny day pack shoved full, and I’m back at the office, bouncing on my toes, ready to go. I’m hucked in a proper minivan with my own personal driver and the safari expedition is on its way. I’m going on SAFARI!!!
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