All Roads Lead to Dar-Es

Into Tanzania

We've traversed this continent in many a vessel – plane, train, boat, bicycle, and every manifestation of bus imaginable – but until recently one mode of transport was noticeably absent off the list: the automobile. (Okay, so we've caught cabs, but for the sake of this introduction's success, let's say those don't count.) Lucky for us, a pair of Israelis with a pickup truck offered to give us a ride across the Tanzanian border to Mbeya, where we were planning on taking the train to Dar Es Salaam. Turns out they were headed to Dar as well, and while a train ride offers a certain romanticism lacking in a four-door Isuzu, logic outweighed sentiment and we joined Adam and Aviel on the 900km journey that comprised our triumphant return to coastal Africa.

"Guiness in Malawi!" I thought, but it was a strange non-alcoholic malt drink tasting like carbonated Ovaltine.

Crossing into Tanzania we left the lake views behind in favour of lush, deep-green hills dense with crops of banana, tea leaves and the ever-present maize. It also meant moving from a country of zero traffic-law enforcement to one with police roadblocks every half-hour. Up until now we'd seen self-driving as a glorious and carefree method of travel, but after contemplating the risks of flaunting foreign license plates through a continent rife with corruption, we realized how much potential hassle we were avoiding by choosing public transport. But we can happily report no incidents, and most of the traffic police were more amusing that intimidating (“the family of Jesus!” one officer exclaimed, upon learning Adam and Aviels' country of origin).

road-trip compatriots

We stretched the drive to a leisurely three days. Our two stopovers served more as refill stations (stomach and wallet as well as gas tank) than anything else but that didn't mean they weren't memorable: Mbeya will hold a special place for introducing us to the avocado milkshake (sorry, guacamole, but we won't be seeing you around the house much anymore) and at our hotel in Iringa we encountered a most puzzling breakfast: a small bowl of beef soup, followed by a plate of plain white bread, half a boiled potato, spaghetti, and a slice of watermelon:


On top of getting across the entire country in comfort and under budget, our Israeli hosts were great travel companions, both generous and entertaining. Adam (in the middle) piloted a tank in the Israeli army for three years only to fail eight consecutive driving tests – he points out, with a tinge of disappointment, that pedestrians and drivers react differently to an automobile than they do to a rolling piece of war machinery. Needless to say Aviel does the driving (though we caught him discussing the four-way-stop as this strange and irrational concept, possible only in a society of wussies, and it showed). The two funded their travels selling cosmetics at a department store – “easy money,” apparently – and much of this wealth seems to be spent on ice cream. In their company we settled into a happy habit of seeking the stuff out two or three times a day.

One advantage to catching the train to Dar Es Salaam, we'd believed, was that it passed through Mikumi National Park, and that wild game was often visible from the tracks. We were pleased to discover the highway bisected the park as well, and for a short section of the drive on our final day we zipped along with buffalo, zebra, warthog, baboon and elephant visible from the road– and all for free! What helped make the moment a highlight (and an extra touch unavailable on a train) was having Paul Simon's Graceland playing on the car stereo, setting the mood oh-so immaculately. I mean, it wasn't a safari or anything, we were traveling at a good clip, so the animals are sort of tough to spot in the photos:




The transition from wild African highway to urban congestion was quick – one moment we were cruising through valleys of baobab trees, next to alone on the highway, and then all of a sudden we found ourselves sandwiched among the slow churn of semi-trucks and minibusses destined for Tanzania's most populous city. The sides of the road were still thick with foliage, but we sensed we were near (the gps helped, naturally). The freight drivers are basically suicidal in Tanzania – they jostled among each other on the narrow road with bold disregard for the wellbeing of everyone involved. If I'd been driving, I would have given up, pulled over, burst into tears and possibly vomited out of anxiety, but Aviel navigated the situation admirably, and with limited expletives.

Dar Es Salaam

skyline from Cousin David's hotel

Once in the city, we found our hotel tucked among a busy cluster of auto-spare dealers doing business out of shops barely larger than the vehicles they carry parts for. We spent two nights in 'Jambo Inn' before moving around the corner to 'Safari Inn,' basically an identical hotel (same noisy ceiling fans, cold showers, and friendly staff) for less money. For such a major city, Dar Es Salaam has almost zero tourist draw. Nevertheless we spent a total of six nights in the city, doing little else, now that I think about it, other than eating curry and walking to the post office and back. At Mushroom Farm in Malawi we spoke with a traveler whose main qualm about the city concerned the amount of mud flicked onto the rear of the leg via sandal, and he was right. The roads are often just big long potholes and every morning, April being the rainy season, a short-but-brutal downpour ensured everything stayed good and frothy – we'd return from our daily post-office jaunt with chocolatey veins crusted down our calves. (The locals seem to have modified their flip-flopping technique to avoid this, as everybody's legs but ours were spotless, but their method escapes me.)

being smart, concealing our valuables

Though Dar is not all mud and boredom – in fact out of the cities we've visited it was one of the more memorable. Over the centuries, with nods to the ivory, spice and slave trades, East Africa has garnered a strong Indian and Arab presence, and Dar Es Salaam could at times be mistaken for somewhere in the Middle East. You feel as though you're in the shadow of a mosque wherever you go, and all of a sudden chapati and roti have replaced maize porridge as the starch of choice. Plus everyone is wearing robes. And did I mention it's hot? A heavy, tropical humidity that ensures the flow of sweat out of your pores is as steady as that of blood through your veins. Cold showers in our hotel, yes, but we wouldn't have it any other way.

After many anticipatory emails, Dar Es Salaam is where we finally met up with my second-cousin David, who is currently amidst a sort-of-crazy, pretty-much-everywhere-in-the-world motorcycle odyssey. Alanna and I graciously accepted his offer to buy us drinks at the rooftop bar of his hotel (pretty swanky, a/c and all the rest, but no Safari Inn). We were able to introduce him to Adam and Aviel, and they exchanged some gps software doohickey, the cause for more celebratory beers. That's what friends/relatives are for! It was good to see a familiar face, even if you haven't seen that face in several years and that face is covered in notably more facial hair than you remember.


Dar Es Salaam was christened (allah'd?) as such by a Zanzibari Sultan in the 1860's, and means “Haven of Peace.” While it may have been the case at the time, it is a slight misnomer at present. Not that Dar is an unpleasant city, but after a while it just got tiring, for the same reason it's appealing: its density, its hustle, its energy. I had to sort of psych myself up just to walk to the bank. We visited the nearby mall – and the movie theatre within – three times, for respite just as much as to pass the time. I could get used to it all, yeah, but I could also get used to a mud hut, and at least then I'd have a good excuse for having the stuff all over my legs.