I'm keeping a tradition alive: doing something crazy in celebration of every New Year. I rang in 2008 by taking the Polar Plunge - jumping into Lake Michigan's freezing waters on New Year's Day. This year, I found myself stuck on a train in the middle of Africa.
Five of us girls - Jenn, Jillian, Cathy, Kristen and I - decided to spend Christmas in Tanzania. Away from our families at the holidays for the first time in our lives, we had to do something to keep up our spirits. So we visited some neighbors - Tanzania borders Malawi to the north. Taking an overland bus for some 27 hours (yes, that is as uncomfortable as it sounds), we arrived in Dar es Salaam and spent two nights. I really liked Dar - I loved the mixture of Indian, Middle Eastern and African cultures, a result of old trading routes. I enjoyed wonderful Lebanese street food, the best curry I've maybe ever had, served with cottage cheese nann, at an Indian restaurant and sipped Tanzanian coffee at a café across from our hostel. We spent a leisurely day wandering the city, checking out arts and crafts and enjoying being a tourist for a change. Our favorite part? SUBWAY! (As in, the restaurant.) After not having fast food for seven months, that oven-roasted meat trio on herb-and-cheese bread sure tasted good.
We then took a ferry from Dar to Zanzibar, traveling up the island to Matemwe beach. I wish I could say I enjoyed it more, but never in my life have I missed my family, my boyfriend or my friends so desperately. My cell reception was limited, but thank God at least my family finally got through on Christmas. Still, I went snorkeling for the first time in the most beautiful, clear blue water I've ever seen and relaxed on literally snow-white beaches. Cathy, Kristen and I performed out "12 Joys of Transport," song for Jenn and Jillian and we played a homemade version of Christmas Scategories on Christmas Eve, cheering everyone up.
The day after Christmas, we returned to the port city, Stonetown, where the ferries come in. Stonetown was by far my favorite part of the trip. We stayed at a youth hostel which served breakfast every morning on its rooftop. Cathy had been to Stonetown before, and the first night she took us to a hole-in-the-wall place with amazing chapatti and beans. The second day, we spent the morning wondering through cavernous alleyways into little shops, stopping to buy spices and scarves.
In the afternoon, Jillian and I went to view the old slave market and memorial. We then met up with the other girls, who'd gone to do more shopping, for dinner. We ate at a place called Mercury's (Freddy Mercury from Queen hails from Zanzibar), right on the water. We lucked out in that a local band with a fantastic guy on vocals played island-y covers all night; meanwhile, we shared drinks and shisha.
The next day, the five of us decided to split up. Cathy, Kristen and Jenn left the next morning for Dar aboard a high-speed ferry. Cathy gets seasick, and wanted the return to the mainland to be as quick as possible; Kristen and Jenn didn't care for the alternate: the overnight ferry. Basically, the overnight ferry is so-called because you depart around 10 p.m. and spend the night drifting to shore. The boat has to be there in the a.m. to pick up passengers, but can't dock before the port opens at 6 a.m. So they give tourists the option of paying less and sleeping on the boat as it floats.
Jillian and I picked this option, partly for the adventure but mostly because I wanted to save money. My logic was that it made more sense to spend $20 for the ferry and be given a bed, then to spend $40 for the faster ferry and then another $15 for a hotel. And though the air temperature dropped quite low on the Gull Express or whatever it was called, the ride overall was not that uncomfortable. It reminded me of sleeping on my Dad's fishing boat growing up, coming into shore after a long day of being out.
Had I known what was to follow in the next four days, I might not have gotten off the ferry and chosen instead to go back to Zanzibar.
Because of the uncomfortable bus ride to Tanzania, we decided to take the train on the way home. Other PCVs had recommended it, calling it a "free safari" because of its route through a wildlife preserve. So Jillian and I met the other girls in Dar, gathered everyone's stuff and took a taxi out to the station. After waiting in line, the official behind the counter shook his head at my request to buy tickets. Apparently, Monday trains no longer run; we'd have to wait until Tuesday afternoon. We'd already missed our chance at a bus leaving that day, so we booked another night at the Holiday Hotel and wandered Dar yet another day.
We arrived Tuesday around 2 p.m., as the train was scheduled to depart around 4 p.m. As of 8 p.m., we still hadn't left. We whiled away the hours in the first/second-class lounge, waiting. We'd chosen second-class because economy was first-come, first-serve and we wanted to ensure seats. Also, second-class cars are built for six and we had five, so we'd pretty much have our own space. As the day wore on, we realized how prudent our decision had been: behind us, in the main terminal, we saw literally thousands of people camping out. Not just in the terminal, but even outside, on the lawn. Whole families with crying babies, sacks of maize and whatever else they'd need to spend significant time in Malawi. One doesn't just go for a casual visit between the two countries; it's too expensive. You go, and you stay. (Many people have relatives in either Malawi or Tanzania, as the borders were not always defined as such.)
Finally, around 9 p.m., we knew it was time to board - only because of the stampede behind us. As I mentioned, it's first-come, first-serve. The doors were suddenly thrown open and we had no choice but to run, like everyone else. The electricity wasn't working properly, either, so this mad dash took place in the dark. (Cathy later said she felt like Simba in The Lion King, looking for his dad.)
Half an hour later, we were moving. And then, we stopped. Inexplicably, motion ceased - for the next 10 hours. We had all gone to sleep, expecting to be rolling again by morning, but no such luck. As it turned out, mechanical problems were to blame.
You can imagine, though, what a 10-hour holdup on top of a five-hour delay in departure, added to a 27-hour train ride, can do to a person. We stayed remarkably positive, in spite of the fact that, though we'd hoped to spend New Year's Eve at the Peace Corps transit house in Mzuzu, we were literally a half-day's worth of travel away when the clock struck midnight.
The worst part was the train doesn't even go all the way to Malawi. It passes through a town two hours from the border. At 5 a.m., we reached Mbeya and dragged ourselves, our muscles atrophied after nearly two days on a train, to a truck offering rides to the border. Smelling terribly and very thirsty (we'd run out of water, not expecting to be on board for so long), we went through customs and tried to find transport home.
Determined to make it to Lilongwe in one night, Jillian and I jumped aboard an oil truck headed to Mzuzu, Malawi's biggest northern city. From Mzuzu, we got a hitch from a man driving back a car to Zambia from, coincidentally, Dar es Salaam.
We shouldn't have. This was perhaps the one time I have been reckless in terms of transport. By the time we left Mzuzu, it was nearly 3 p.m. The driver wasn't even going to Lilongwe - the route to Zambia detours from the main road about two hours north. I don't know what we were thinking; probably we were just so sick of traveling. But we should have stayed in the Mzuzu Peace Corps house, because there was never any way we'd make it before dark - when Peace Corps (understandably) expects us off the roads.
By the time our hitch dropped us off at the turnoff to Zambia, the sun had set hours ago. We were in the middle of nowhere, at a gas station. By a miracle, after asking everyone who came in to fill up, we found a ride with one of the cell phone company's cars who took us all the way to the transit house door in Lilongwe. It was a safe ride, but we shouldn't have risked being stranded at night like that.
I am a firm believer that every trip, be it for vacation or work, teaches you something. With a fixed amount of time to explore, you discover a great deal about yourself: which activities appeal, what new foods seem irresistible, how much energy you have. And under pressure from your co-adventurers, how flexible are you in terms of accommodations, budget and schedule?
What I learned (or, perhaps, confirmed) about myself is that traveling gives me boundless energy, but I still need morning coffee to gear up. To me, money well-spent is on recreation (snorkeling, tours) and good meals (I practically wake up craving that hummus sometimes). Quality companionship is key; it's the conversations and jokes you'll remember as much as the scenery.
But never, ever take the train.