This is Africa!

So... wow. It's been a while since i've updated this blog... quite a bit has happened in between, but I'll admit that I just haven't had the heart to sit and write. Something about being home drains me... it's peaceful, and comfortable, and yet a bit... numbing. As soon as I get more time, I will definitiely go back and finish up my last post about India, I have quite a bit to say... but for now, on to... Africa. Internet access has so far been about as variable as the bus schedule, so I'm going to have to summarize the past few days in a single post, just to catch up... but I promise even more details ( and photographs!) later.

Wednesday, Feb 13
I boarded a plane for England, my stop-over on the way to Tanzania, and a sleepless 7 hours later found myself wandering around London. I had about 8 hours to kill in between flights, so I figured I would use that time to peruse cobblestone walkways and drink some of that famous tea (not poured by the queen herself, but, close enough). Let me begin by saying that London is hellishly expensive. A one day pass for the tube (their cleaner, softer version of the subway) was 7 pounds - that's more than $14! Insanity. I shelled it out, and about an hour later disembarked in central London's Lancaster square (it sounded appropriately regal for my first official visit with the Queen's folk :). One thing that struck me immediately - and was actually quite disconcerting - was the insane fashion scene. Everyone - I mean, every single woman - on the streets, the metros, in coffee shops... had clearly spent at least an hour that morning getting dressed. Now, I understand fashion (or, at least, the draw of it) - i mean, I live in New York! But London was in an entirely different class - possibly even different planet. Carefully matched berets, hair clips, fashionable pointy boots and nearly identical sweaters with knee-length spandex trousers graced every woman I passed by - it was exhausting. Walking around in cargo pants and a beat-up North Face jacket, I actually started to feel frumpy... doesn't anyone in London go out for groceries or coffee in jeans and a turtleneck? Clearly, I was way out of my element. After a bit more wandering (heavy backpack and two purses in tow), I finally decided on an, er, ethnic cafe that was guaranteed to be homey... ahh, thank you Starbucks. Skim Late, $5. Biscotti, $3. Remembering that there are still places where it's ok to wear sneakers? Priceless.

Upon returning to the airport (exhausted, cold, and significantly poorer) I had one more fun surprise before I got to fly off - during the security check, I was lucky enough to be selected for an "extended protocol". I sighed, and assumed this would mean savagely rummaging through my underwear and healthy groping by an unnatractive middle-aged woman; but, in addition to all of that, they wanted to take three x-rays! Before proceeding, my tormentor asked briskly if I was pregnant. Aha! I thought fast - "Oh, well, I may be. I'm not certain". I smiled hesitantly, looked nervous. She eyed me for a minute, and then let me jump the cue - they couldn't take an x-ray of a potentially pregnant woman, and they weren't going to bother doing a pregnancy test when there was plenty more unsuspecting prey standing in line. Victory!! And I wasn't even wearing a beret.

Thursday, February 14 / Friday, February 15
I'm on a plane again, a nearly 9 hour flight to Dar es Salaam, the capital of Tanzania. Its name in Arabic means "Haven of Peace", and as I left the airport, I understood why. Everyone's response to my African trip has so far been "Africa!! It's just insanity over there!" (or, you know, that same thing in Russian with an extra dose of hysteria...). Well, maybe my standards have been significantly lowered, or perhaps i'm that much more laid back these days and happy to just roll with whatever comes, but Dar es Salaam, though dusty, and yes, a little bit ugly, was absolutely calm. Compared to Mumbai's slums and Delhi's chaos, Tanzania struck me as almost eerily peaceful... I sat in the cab thinking, "this is Africa?".

My hotel, the entirely inappropriately named 'Safari Inn' (it would have been more honest to call it the 'Abandoned Bunker' or 'Large Drab Structure') was, um, uninspiring, but for $15 per night with hot water and no cockroaches, I wasn't about to argue. As soon as I had brought my bags upstairs, I walked downstairs to the lounge area and was welcomed by a small color TV blaring... Bollywood music. Thousands of miles, and the high-pitched voices drowned in sparkling Saris have tracked me down. Damn. Looking around, I noticed an attractive looking guy in an MSF t-shirt - !! - I struck up a conversation, and found out that he was an ex-MSF logistitian from Italy (yes, sexy accent and all) now running a business importing African art. He had a few hours before he was headed for the airport, so we sat down for a drink at a nearby restaurant (no exaggeration for this one - it was actually pretty nice) and he told me about his work and the city. He had spent the last 10 years working primarily in Africa (mostly in Malawi, Kenya, Tanzania, and Zambia) - first as an ecologist, then on and off for MSF, and now dealing in crafts and artwork. Our conversation eventually shifted to cultural sterotypes and relationships, and I learned this interesting fact: Fabrizzion would happily find me a husband ("you arrr so, eh... beautiful! It vill be eeeesy"), but only if I learned to cook. Damn again. I did, however, get some good advice (get out of Dar as soon as possible! there's nothing to do... nothing...). That, and directions to a local craft market where I could, at the very least, wile away the time amidst large carved masks and some fairly explicit statues. So, off I went.

Now, "local" obviously referred to actual geographic distance - I was silly enough to think that was somehow related to how long it would take me to get there. After waiting half an hour, I finally managed to jump inside a Dalla-dalla (beat-up minivan serving as a public bus for as many people as could be unreasonably jammed inside, and sometimes on top). An incredibely sweet older woman helped me figure out where I was actually going (my Italian friend would hopefully be better at matchmaking than map-drawing!). I finally got the market - a dusty patch of land amidst quiet, but incrediebly muddy and fairly dirty streets - with a dozen shops selling mass-market carvings, jewellery, and paintings. After briefly considering an intricately carved spear, I decided that might not get past JFK security and settled for a large beaded necklace instead. Coming back to the hotel, I decided to skip the dalla-dalla and splurged on a taxi. I'd had ambitious plans for the evening - a shower, dinner, blogging... but instead, finally getting back at 7pm, having slept for only 2-3 hours in the past 48, I crashed. I woke up to the sound of air horns at around 2am and figured that although my haven of peace had been interrupted, i may as well go back to catching up on sleep. This was a brilliant idea, because Saturday...

To be continued in the next post! The internet cafe is closing... :(.