I arrived last night at about 11pm.  My flight was an hour late.  I was tired and anxious to get to the hotel and book a room.  After watching the luggage carousel go round and round for twenty minutes, never producing my bag, I made a claim for lost luggage.  I exchanged some money and prepared myself for airport taxi mayhem.  I had a price in mind but was sure my exhaustion would weaken my resolve to get a price somewhat resembling the local fare.  

Twenty thousand shillings (the posted price was $50 USD or 100,000 TS) and a 15 minute taxi ride later, I was at the front desk of Econo Lodge on Libya Street.  I had stayed there once before when in route to Zanzibar.  I recognized the owner as he was leaving for the night (it was now past midnight).  He was an olive-skinned man with dark circles under his eyes and a thinning dark hair.  When he saw my taxi pull up he turned back toward the hotel. He walked with a purposeful yet relaxed pace, in a commanding, no bull-shit manner. He told the night clerk that it was all right to give me a room and warned that had I been a minute later, I would have had to look elsewhere.

Once in my room, I stripped my traveling clothes and washed my underwear for the next day (I stupidly had not put an extra pair in my carry-on).  I went straight to sleep, the ceiling fan above me whirling the warm seaside air and singing a creaky lullaby as I closed my eyes to Dar es Salaam.   

Today I had one task to accomplish: buy a bus ticket for one of the border towns between Tanzania and Malawi.  I was prepared for it to take the better part of the day and was pleased when I was back in my hotel room around 1pm.  I first walked to Msimbazi Street in search of a bus company I had found online. I was trying to avoid going to the Ubungo bus station.  Of course, the company had closed and I was sent to a hole-in-the-wall ticket office.

After chatting and waiting for the clerk to make some phone calls, I was quoted a price and given a departure time for a town I had not heard of (the buses to Mbeya and to Lilongwe were full).  He assured me it was a border town but something didn’t feel right. I didn’t have a map to reference so I told him I had to go to the bank for money.  I found a hotel with internet and proceeded to research the location of the town.  It was a border town, usually used in transit to Zambia!  I asked the staff in the lobby a few questions, which convinced me to give in to a trip to Ubungo.  I hired a taxi to take me there, wait for me to purchase a ticket, and to return me to Econo Lodge. (I paid 30,000 TS, but this time my tiredness was happy to pay the fare.)

I returned to my hotel with my 40,000 TS ticket for the 12ish hour bus ride. I tried to take a nap but my mind was awake with things to add to my “Malawi Bradt guide-update to-do” list and a bit worried my luggage wouldn’t make it in time for me to catch my 6am bus.  I decided to go out again and exchange more money (to save me from having to do so at the border on my return trip) and buy food for the bus.

On my way back, I bought fresh pressed sugar cane juice at a little stand across from my hotel, just as I had done a few months earlier.  After speed sipping down the sweet juice, I took a two hour nap to kill time.  I was waiting for the street vendors to start up their barbecues! 

As the sky was starting to soften, the streets and I were waking up.  I ventured out again to take in the bustle of the people and get some dinner.  I sat at Lazeez Fast Food, as I had done twice before, and ordered some chicken and chips.  The half chicken, curled neck, wing, breast and drum stick leg, was stained red from the marinade and lightly charred.  I pulled the meat from the bones with my fingers and watched people make their way through the barbecue smoke that floated through the street. 

Their languages filled my ears like dessert.  I sat there long after my meal was finished to have seconds and thirds of unfamiliar.  I watched the fruit vendors wheel their carts of sliced pineapple and watermelon and shout their sales pitch as motorcycles zipped this way and that, overtaking anything and everything in the street.  People tried to sell me socks and books as I watched the taxis negotiate the construction and pedestrians in a forceful, yet delicate, manner.  What lovely chaos!  

In no way can I say that I am familiar with Dar es Salaam.  My knowledge of the town is Libya Street and the ferry.  But, starting this trip off by revisiting a place I had barely known once before made me feel adaptable, resilient, and confident.  Traveling is when I feel most hopeful, inspired, and engaged.  I embrace how open and resourceful I feel when trying to accomplish something in an unfamiliar place.

When the call to prayer echoed through the streets, I thought, “not a bad first day!”

(Please follow my blog for more travel stories as I update the 7th edition of the Malawi Bradt guidebook!)