Zanzibar: the journey

While a tame exercise for many people, for me, setting off on a cross-country tour towards Zanzibar was definitely the most daunting part of this whole Tanzanian adventure.

Ordinary little man goes off on big, crazy trip – it's the archetypal journey narrative and one that I'm now proud to have performed myself. Prior to heading down the long traveller's road, I read through J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit – one of my favourite books. Poor pampered little Bilbo Baggins finds himself whisked away on a quest, and is forced to harden and endure the physical and mental hurdles that await. This nice read put me in the right frame of mind on Monday morning, when I had to awake in twilight and head off down the pitch-black road with a heavy backpack and no handkerchief in my pocket (well, I did have a few packs of travel Kleenex).

So I was travelling in charted coaches, taxis and ferries – not on a pony through the Desolation of Smaug – but like Bilbo, my journey wasn't without its complications.

For one, I was forced to buy a second bus ticket at the last minute, after my first one became useless because the manager of Dar Express decided to die – leading to a temporary company shutdown. Stuck on the Kilimanjaro Express, with no air conditioning, it was a stuffy ride but the views of Mt. Kilimanjaro through my left-hand window made the trip easier. Ten and a half hours went by surprisingly fast.

Arriving at Ubungo station in Dar, I found my bearings and tried to screw my head on straight. The long drive had left me fairly dazed – not least because the head cold I was suffering from screwed with my sinuses (dropping from 1400m to sea level makes your ears pop a lot). With my useless Dar Express ticket in hand, I sought to rectify that situation and get a refund. A half hour of discussions between three staff members later, I got myself an exchange and booked a return ticket for Saturday.

Then came the Battle of the Ubungo. My guidebook – which until this point had been Word-of-God reliable – implied that a taxi to town shouldn't cost more than 5000 Tsh. I therefore spent a good 20 minutes arguing with a pack of taxi drivers (never argue with a pack of taxi drivers) over what price I should pay. They wanted 1500 Tsh. At the end, I got away with 9000 Tsh, but still felt ripped off. More-so when the driver insisted I pay half up front, at a gas stop. As it turns out, 1500 Tsh was a fairly reasonable fee, as it is the price agreed upon by staff at the Jambo Inn (who booked my return taxi on Saturday for as much).

After a night at the Jambo, I went to buy my ferry ticket to Zanzibar. This was an even more frustrating experience, as there was no distinguishing between genuine ticket agents and touts looking to charge extra commission fees. I'm pretty sure I ended up with a tout – though the sale still took place at a ticket booth. I paid 110,000 for return tickets – which is about the right price if you're travelling first-class (roughly 55,000 per ticket). I thought as much when I handed over my money, and only realized moments later that he had given me economy tickets. Secondly, and more worryingly, my return ticket didn't have a port tax stamp on it – which is mandatory. Long story short, it worked out in the end. I went to the Zanzibar ferry terminal later in the week and got a free stamp, then snuck into first-class seating on the return trip to Dar Es Salaam.

The final lap of my trip – the bus home – was satisfyingly free of any real hiccups. I had asked for a window seat, and had been assigned the wrong number, but the man next to me was sympathetic and swapped with me. Apart from that, it was smooth driving (along a bumpy road with overzealous speed-bumps). I got back to my hobbit hole in one piece, threw off my shoes, and took a well-earned night's rest.

Next - Zanzibar: the people