Buying snow online in Dar es Salaam

Buying snow online in Dar es Salaam

Buying snow online in Dar es Salaam

Buying snow online in Dar es Salaam

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Buying snow online in Dar es Salaam

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The TAZARA Train: An Unforgettable Overland Adventure from Tanzania to Zambia

Buying snow online in Dar es Salaam

I was the only one in the hostel, so we ended up chatting with each other extensively over the next few days. I told him about my plans to travel overland all the way down to South Africa, a more naive and optimistic version of myself that had yet to be jaded by corrupt land border crossings and entire days spent in chaotic, cramped buses. There were only whispers among travelers, many have heard of it, but few have actually seen it. Even as I was entering Tanzania, the immigration agents were not buying my story about taking this train that even they, as Tanzanians, knew nothing about. For that reason, I had to book a return flight on the spot at the airport. I was starting to give up on the train. The website put out a press release that they would start operating again. The schedule seemed to align perfectly, and I left Zanzibar for Dar es Salaam with a few days to spare. The hostel was happy to help, calling the station to try and reserve my spot for the first express train in nearly two months. That train was full, but there was another train leaving on Tuesday. It was the ordinary train, and it would make stops at dozens and dozens of small towns that the express train would breeze past. I said fuck it and booked a bed in one of the first-class sleeper cabins. This turned out to be a great stroke of luck, as the Friday train ended up being cancelled, and I had already secured a bed in the inaugural train. Floods had washed out part of the railway on the Tanzanian side, resulting in over two months without a train running. I had six days to kill in Dar es Salaam before the train, not exactly a favorite stop among travelers. There are nice neighborhoods, but the restaurants and bars come with a Western price tag. The four months I had given myself to make it down to South Africa were disappearing quickly, but if everything with the train worked out, then I would be able to cover a substantial distance in a few days. My six extra days in Dar-es-Salaam passed uneventfully, but finally, it was Tuesday. I checked out of the Slow Leopard hostel and sat my bags in the restaurant area. It seemed like everyone knew something about this train, but no one had actually been on it. I took their advice and loaded up on snacks, water, and toilet paper from one of the nearby shops. I spent the last bit of my time in my usual air-conditioned cafe having an iced coffee. I ended up cutting it close by ordering a sandwich, not realizing they were going to make a fresh, hot one and not just hand me the sandwich in the display case. This sandwich ended up feeding me for three meals, so it was worth the wait. I rushed across the street back to the hostel and ordered my Bolt to take me to the train station. Having arrived in Dar during the evening, this was actually my first time seeing the city center in the daylight. The heat was suffocating as we sat in the traffic jam leaving the city center. I bought a bag of nuts from one of the street vendors while stuck in the caravan of vehicles, hoping for some extra sustenance on the train and spending my remaining Tanzanian shillings in the process. My driver directed me to the line for the tickets where only a handful of passengers stood ahead of me in the first class line. I had already ordered my tickets on the phone, and the ticket vendor immediately picked my ticket out of a list without even asking for my name. I scribbled my information onto the registry before heading upstairs to the waiting area. It seemed like everyone had packed their entire lives for this journey. Each passenger was carrying three or more bags the size of my large backpack. I tried to charge my phone in every available outlet, to no avail. After only two minutes, people started trickling onto the platform. This was it. After nearly two months of anticipation, I was actually getting on this train. I strapped on my two backpacks and started walking to the train to find my car, number Here we go. After all the trouble this train has already given me, did I really think it was going to be that easy? I got to my cabin and there were four women sprawled out on the beds. Not sure what to do, I set my bags down and sat on the steps of the train. I waited for the crowd surrounding the attendant to dissipate, but it seemingly never did. Then, I heard the voice of an angel, the elderly Chinese man who would become my roommate before too long. The attendant followed him to our cabin, and I snuck in behind him to see if the problem would be solved. The attendant and the women exchanged words in Swahili. We claimed the bottom bunks, making our introductions. He was a year old man from China with poor eyesight and a penchant for traveling. Most of the time, he shared the experiences with his wife, but this time, he was riding solo. We made our beds and got comfortable. Before long, the train started moving. It left only 23 minutes late, which is a miracle by African standards. I watched the cityscapes of Dar-es-Salaam transition into rural villages as the melodic chugging of the train propelled us towards Zambia. Not long after, our new roommate waltzed in. White people, I swear to god. I tried my best with what kidogo I had learned so far, and before long, he opened up and revealed that he spoke pretty damn good English. He lived in Mbeya and was making the journey back. He spoke very highly of Mbeya, and mentioned a few beautiful places that I needed to visit, like the crater lake of Ngozi. He insisted that I get off the train and come visit him, and in hindsight, perhaps I should have. It was a tempting offer. I definitely would have done so had I known the outcome of the train journey. We passed the time chatting until a train attendant walked in looking to take lunch orders. I opted for the chicken and rice. He came by with a wash basin for my hands before setting the plate down on the table and I scarfed down my meal with views of green fields and tall grass. Okay, now what? With nothing else on the agenda, we all napped. It was surprisingly easy to fall asleep on the train. Despite the lack of air-conditioning, the train kept cool for the entire journey. Quite a few of the doors had the windows smashed out. When the sun set and night came, it became very chilly. There is something special about the sunsets in Africa. Once it became fully dark, the sky would erupt with stars, and I could even see the Milky Way fully etched out as early as 8 PM. Any later, though, and we might have froze. Luckily, the first class beds came with about two blankets per bed, and they were pretty cozy. I always slept like a baby, although the bed itself was fairly hard and rubbery. The train was stopped when I woke up on the second morning. I watched the sun rise and took a stroll on the train platform before hopping into the dining car for a coffee. Before too long, the train started moving. We were deep in the Tanzanian countryside now. We passed through a national park overnight, so sadly, all the opportunities for spotting wildlife had passed. However, the landscapes did not disappoint. It was green everywhere you looked. Rolling hills, farmlands, and lush forests passed by as the train crawled and curved across the country. The morning light was still basking everything in a golden glow, and I sipped on my coffee alone in the dining car gazing outside the window. This was that main character energy I was envisioning from the ride. We passed by countless small villages, and each time, it seemed like the train passing by was the biggest event of the week. Hordes of people would crowd the train, some selling snacks but most just there to watch it go by. The train would occasionally stop, and with each rolling stop, Tree would light up. The train rumbled on like this for many hours before making a long stop a few hours before Mbeya. Zibonike took advantage of this to bring back scores of snacks to share with everybody. Funny guy, this Zibonike. The train continued moving once more and the sun began to set over the endless plains of Tanzania. Baobab trees were scattered throughout the countryside, perhaps the only thing I love more than trains. Some new faces were on board, mostly children, and they were very excited upon seeing me. Dark descended on the savanna and I returned to the room for an early night. It is only a few hours to reach the Tanzania-Zambia border from Mbeya, and everything felt like smooth sailing so far. One of the train attendants came by to have us fill out some information and instruct us on what to do upon reaching the border. First up was exiting Tanzania. We got into the station, which was just a big empty room aside from a table and a couple of benches. There was no one manning the immigrations desk, and I counted less than a dozen of us remaining passengers continuing into Zambia. A few minutes later, a car drove up onto the train platform and a man stepped out. He seemed quite frustrated to be doing his five minutes of work that week, but handed out some more papers to fill out. I filled out my slip, he stamped my passport, and I was good to go. Next up was the Zambian border crossing at Nakonde station. We filed into a short line. Two Angolan brothers were ahead of me, and they requested 15 days for the visa, and the two female officers granted them only 14, which they loudly protested before relenting. They gave me a month, stamped my passport, and I was through to Zambia. I got back on the train with my newly-acquired passport stamps and headed to the dining cart for a coffee. A girl from Lusaka joined me and we got to chatting. She was proudly Zambian, and boasted about how modern Lusaka was, citing the number of KFCs and shopping malls. She was originally from Somalia, and had traveled quite a bit of the African continent. I headed back to the room to catch a few extra hours of sleep, and before long, the train carried on. After no more than five minutes, the train screeched to a halt. It was the Somalian girl asking which room the white person me , was staying in. They immediately pointed her to the right direction, and she started knocking on my door. Part of the train had derailed, potentially due to them overloading the cars with goods at the Nakonde border crossing. With so few remaining passengers on board, they were undoubtedly trying to make up for the lost profits. The train staff were visibly more disgruntled that morning, understandably unhappy about having to continue the journey with so few passengers to make it worth their time. I do admire the reverse-hustle culture and dedication to work as little as possible, though. The U. They were waiting on someone to come fix the train, an indefinite amount of time that could be hours or days. Afterwards, they would head back to Dar es Salaam instead of continuing to Kapiri Mposhi. Frantically, I scrambled to stuff my belongings into my bag. I made it to Lusaka the following day, a journey that involved motorcycles, a hour bus ride, and sleeping overnight at a gas station. It was nice while it lasted, right? In a world of bullet trains and high-speed rail systems, this remnant from the past is an adventure unlike any other for the patient and easygoing traveler. If this post helped you out, show some love and support for the blog and help keep my adventures going by buying me a beer! My adventures are entirely self-funded, so any show of support is greatly appreciated, and allows me to keep writing helpful travel guides and creating travel content to help you all travel the world on a budget. Beautiful post! I love this considering I come from Zambia and have always wanted to use this train. Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive. Type your email…. Continue reading. Skip to content. Share this: Twitter Facebook. Like this: Like Loading Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Discover more from The Partying Traveler Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive. Type your email… Subscribe. Loading Comments Email Required Name Required Website.

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