And I thought the trip to Lushoto was long. Oh my, oh my, oh my. Catching that early bus out of Lushoto really didn’t make a whole lot of difference. Apparently, if you were driving by car, the trip from Lushoto to Moshi, my next big destination, should take about 3 hrs. On the same kind of normal sized bus that I swear to goodness was only in constant motion once for longer than 15 minutes, it took us another 6 hours. I don’t know what I was complaining about before. At one point, a lady and her little girl in addition to several bags had an entire bedroom set disassembled and waiting to be put under the bus. I think it took half an hour before all of her stuff was loaded and she got on the bus tsking at the fact that there weren’t many seats left. Chick, we are moving your HOUSE, just get on the bus and shut the hell up. Besides stopping more times along the highway than any regular downtown city bus and sitting next to the annoying leaner, can-I-have-your-email guy I mentioned before, it was a fairly uneventful trip. I was counting my blessings. Good highway, not too much traffic, really, I couldn’t have asked for more. And we arrived in Moshi.
Moshi is the starting point for most people who do the Kilimanjaro trek, hence… tourist trap. That being said, it reminded me a little bit of say, Banff, back home. Some tacky tourist bits but so very pretty. Plus, being confined to island nothingness over the last several months, I was quite happy to see some simple luxuries catering to our white needs (like familiar name brands. ***sigh*** I’m so pathetic.)
The touts here are much more accustomed to white faces stumbling off a bus so they were ready for me. As my bag was pulled out from under the bus, 6 nasty buggers pushed at each other to grab my bag with the pretense of helping me. I held on tight as by this point I have now once again mastered my confidence. With the most amazing “Put my bag down NOW, please!” (f**K off implied), all 6 of them held their hands up with a look of feigned innocence and stepped back. Yes! I’ve still got it! I walked into a nearby shop, asked for directions to my guesthouse, and marched the 4 blocks to where I settled in. All by myself. I’m going to be just fine.
Strange guesthouse as there wasn’t really a reception area and common bathrooms were in plain view of the staff who were just lounging around but secure and overlooking the main street. The noise was a bit much but a little balcony gave me the perfect view of all of the crazy comings and goings. Two locals latched on immediately as they were obviously part of the hotel hanger outs. One was a tout, or course, the other a local artist. Dropped my bag and asked them to find me a good place for food. Across the street, local vendor, great food. The tout sat with me, chat, chat, chat, sell me this, sell me that, until the artist guy came over and shooed him away, telling him to let me relax. Are you kidding me? Really? … Thank you. And he continued to shoo away anyone else he saw harassing me as he was visiting with other people up and down the street. He reminded me a lot of one of the guys I worked with back home so I had that sense of awww... you’re kinda familiar so I like you… but besides that, he was genuinely respectful and courteous. The only request he made as I was leaving was to come and look at his work if I had time. I had every intention to, but being the scatterbrain that I am, I didn’t even remember it until I was on the bus heading out of town. Disappointing. Crap.
Wandered town and was assaulted with shouts coming from every group or creepo I passed. A variety of hellos, how are yous, friend, and blah, blah, blah. And as a note for those of you who think I’m being a nasty cow by being frustrated with all of these kind, welcoming people, please understand that there is nothing kind or welcoming about it. Firstly, it’s men, only men who shout aggressively and do what they can to demand your attention. And second, they get in your face. They follow you, continuing to shout as you try to ignore them. They come right up beside you and get within inches of your face. Twice, I was sworn at in rage and called I’m not sure what for not stopping to engage them in what I’m sure would have been a riveting discussion about what? Why you’re on the street shouting at white women instead of working or helping your family? Or why your breath smells like rotting meat? Or how about the current state of your exceptionally corrupt government? No?? ? Again, way to ruin my experience folks. Thanks very much.
The women are lovely. Those who did say hello were speaking in a normal volume and were in no way aggressive about it. Lovely, lovely, lovely. It’s nice to watch the mixture of Christian and Muslim populations here. Covered or not, the women seemed genuinely empowered and modern. Mind you, I’m sure that’s only because the conservative fundamentalists were behind locked doors at home, but the women I did encounter on the streets, same as everywhere else, seemed to be the kindest and the hardest working of the bunch, by far. By far. How they tolerate the oafs that surround them is beyond me.
Crowded town but not for tourists sake. At any time of the day the streets are full of people coming and going. Coming from where? Going to where? Do any of you have to work? Streets full of people driving erratically or strolling slowing. What they lack in their sloth like pace on their feet they compensate for once they’re inside a vehicle. Sidewalks full of people who have laid out anything under the sun that you could ever want or need but it was geared for locals, not tourists. And lots of drinking. I’m sure it has to do with the fact that I simply haven’t seen civilization in ages, but African men like their beer. 10am, noon, after noon, whenever. Most places that sell beer are usually pretty full. I’ve been told the drinking & driving statistics here are pretty high. Ya think?
So blah, blah, blah, always try to be in shortly after dark because it really does get nasty but this makes for lonely, quiet nights. I haven’t had a proper conversation with anyone in ages so poor English speaker who decides to make my acquaintance anytime soon. Poor, poor sucker.
It wasn’t nearly as cold in Moshi but it was cloudy. Lots of rooftops to take in the view of Kili but cloudy skies mean no view. Not having luck with views.
Had made a plan to visit a nearby town to see what had been mentioned as a pretty nice walk through some small villages that led to a waterfall. Sorted out the local minibus to take and set out early in the morning. Was so obscenely harassed as I stood waiting for the bus that my head almost exploded. I don’t know about you, but unfortunately, I have that horribly frustrating reaction of when I get really mad, I can start to cry. Pisses me off to no end because, believe me, you are NOT defeating me. I just want to drive the closest sharp(ish) object so far into your heart that I can actually feel the satisfaction I would get from it just by thinking about it. Pure rage. So I left. I couldn’t do it. I honestly think I was on the verge of hurting someone and I could feel tears behind my sunglasses. So I went back to my guesthouse, did some laundry, gave it some time, and tried again. Much better handled the second time around. Not sure there was any less harassment, but I was in better control of my rage.
Minibus was full beyond capacity, but I’m used to that, no biggie. I counted 18 in what should have sat 11. Not too bad. But then we started to drive. And we keep stopping. People on laps, standing in between the seats, being pushed in by the guy who was taking the money, all in all, I couldn’t even turn my head side to side. Not so great considering I had a guy’s crotch less than two inches from my nose. I think he was as uncomfortable as I was, well, maybe not AS uncomfortable, but yeah, I figured that after that trip, I qualify as a porn star should I ever feel the need to change careers. Wow.
Again, wildly attacked as soon as I stepped off the bus but bee-lined it out of their reach and breathed in some clean foothills air. It’s so funny because as soon as you’re maybe 10 metres away from where the buses stop, they all seemed to be turned back by some sort of invisible tout force field. Just…need…to…make…it…across…the…line… Ahhhhhh… I’m free.
Managed to find the right way all by myself, despite the directional retardation, and just like before, the further I got from minibus central, the nicer the people became. Down a directly vertical and very slippery mud path to the bottom of a waterfall where guides were waiting to take me to the base of the waterfall through the river. Umm… no thanks. Hung around for a bit, felt a little awkward, then made my way back. It was pretty, but yeah, it was a waterfall. As before, it was the walk and the people that made the trip worthwhile.
Another harrowing trip back to Moshi but I noticed that it wasn’t nearly as cloudy by late afternoon. Made for a rooftop patio across the street from my guest house and found apparently every single white person in town. Even though I sometimes really miss so many things about home and need to reconnect with the white girl in me, I tend to avoid most of the touristy hotspots and try to rub elbows with the locals when I can. So as I hung my head over the side of an incredible patio, the clouds slid down and the snow covered top of Mount Kilimanjaro was in perfect, clear view. Even though I couldn’t share in the bonding experiences of making that climb as it seemed everyone else was doing, I was equally in awe and felt very fortunate just to have seen the top of that magnificent mountain. Maybe one day, I can come back and make that seven day journey to the top of Africa… maybe one day…
The perfect ending to my busy couple of days in Moshi town.
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