So, finally – when the moment finally came and I couldn't choose, I opted for both. A hot shower WITH a cold Kilimanjaro lager is the new 'best cure for tired legs' EVER. Well, barring a hot tub, massage, and so on – but still, it's in the top 5.
I must have crashed around 7 and slept right through til morning.
The next day I fell victim to 'Kili legs', where every step was punctuated by a little “ow” or weird involuntary old guy noises whenever I did anything as strenuous as getting out of a chair. It was only fair. On the safari, I had roundly heckled some of our team who were suffering from their own climbs – I was definitely getting a bit of my own back. Stupid poetic justice.
Anyways – I ended up just hanging out at our hotel and in Moshi the next day. I wouldn't say it was a destination town by itself, with wayyy too many touts angling for your business, but there was a great cafe called the Coffee Bean that supports the local orphanage. Fresh passionfruit juice (the locals often call it passion juice – which always prompts an inward chuckle) and fresh bagels are a great remedy, plus just relaxing in the shady courtyard getting caught up on the blog.
The rest of the afternoon was spent poolside at the the hotel – it was pretty funny, since some Western girls reading on the balcony above had found admirers in the local 10 years old boys, who kept trying to outdo each other dancing for their attention over the wall.
I also had a chance to 'pay it forward' – passing on the good tips I learned about hiking Kili to an American girl who was going up the next day. Travel's funny like that – there's a constant grapevine chain of advice that is passed from traveller to traveller; surprisingly accurate – it's a great resource since we're all generally in the same boat, arriving or leaving foreign destinations.
The next day was a transit one – I had decided to stop off in the Ushambara Mountains on the way down to Dar Es Salaam and Zanzibar for a few days.
I gotta admit – I wasn't really looking forward to the journey. Unlike most cities I've been to, where the long distance bus companies have their own offices, Moshi opted for a more free-flowing approach.
Some would call it chaotic/insane, but I'll just stick with, um, interesting.
Moshi central bus station is a multi-acre scrum of everything from multi-colored daladallas (local minivans/trucks) to buses of every make and state of repair. Add in dozens of taxis, plus hordes of food vendors, touts and passengers and it's more exciting that the Tube at the peak of rush hour. Any Westerner generally gets swarmed with enthusiastic offers for lifts, marijuana, and everything in between.
Sooo – I wasn't really looking forward to it.
Fortunately – I got a great assist from the Zara Tours, who I had climbed with. Mpemba gave me a lift over there, and then, recently broken foot and all, went out and lined up a good bus company for me. What a great guy – and a classic example of the warm hospitality I would experience over and over again in Tanzania.
The bus ride was pretty forgettable, and I got dropped off at Mombo – a transit junction. The plan was to catch a local daladalla to Lushoto – and Lonely Planet said that the hotel that served as a bus stop would have a stream of them coming by.
Alas, no.
NOTE: They love love love Obama here!!
One of the occasional problems of using LP is that it become quickly outdated as local conditions change. In this case, I ended up getting out and meeting blank stares when I asked for a ride into Lushoto.
But again, the warmth of the Tanzanians came to the rescue.
One nice guy offered to go out to the main road (in the rain no less!) to flag a ride to the NEW meeting point – while the manager of the restaurant kept me company and solicited the best info from the other locals. All the while, I'm just catching the odd “Mzungu” (term for foreign white person) and “Lushoto/daladalla”, standing there with a hopeful and kinda plaintive smile on my face.
Awesome. It all worked out and I was on my way.
Now, I probably should paint a better picture of your typical daladalla. They serve locals for the vast majority of travel, and are generally some sort of Toyota minivan. Now, orginally designed for the average family of 4 or 5, a dog and some groceries, these have been converted into holding no less than 17, in VERY tight quarters.
Add in the fact that the bus leaves only when full (and that's when the driver is sure that one more person can't be squeezed in somewhere), and you've got an interesting trip ahead.
I met a local chemistry teacher on the way over, and we can had a good chat comparing education systems – equipment is critically short in Tanzania, with 60-80 students a class, so his job made my worst day student teaching seem like a walk in the park!
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