The day today was one of trying to get off Zanzibar and into Dar in preparation for my train departure tomorrow.

Another hour-and-a-half on the dala-dala to Zanzibar (and a downpour that thoroughly drenched me – one of the locals said that I got a free shower today!), then a two hour ferry ride to Dar, where I caught a cab to the train station to pre-book my ticket to Mbeya.

My taxi driver from the ferry station took me directly to the train station, as I had heard that train tickets sell out early. I wanted to make sure I got one so that I wouldn’t have to take the next train four days later (yes, there are only two trains a week, so if you miss one, you’re stuck for half a week).

We arrived at the train station, and since it was so quiet there, my chances of getting another taxi out of there were slim. I asked the driver to wait, with the promise that he would earn more by taking me to my hotel afterwards. He agreed.

The train station felt somewhat Soviet – old, run-down, quiet (as there was no train today) and decrepit.

I went in to buy a ticket, and a very bored looking woman began to review her books to see if I could get a first-class sleeping ticket. It took her at least five minutes to look at the one page of the booking manifest. Her furrowed brow communicated that she was in the process of making a decision that would affect international relations for decades to come. At first, she only offered me a second class sleeping berth, but after a spell, decided that I merited a first class sleeping berth after all. I got my ticket, but only after she meticulously wrote out the details on the ticket and then into the manifest. The railroad still hand writes passengers names into a master list. I’m not sure, but I have an unsettled feeling I may not have been issued the right ticket. We’ll see tomorrow….

I came back out of the station and told my driver I was ready to go. Anywhere in Aftica, one should always negotiate a taxi fare BEFORE you get into the car so there are no misunderstandings. Especially confusing in Tanzania is the interchangeability of shillings and dollars. When a quote is given, you have to be very clear. When a driver says “forty”, you want to make sure it’s forty thousand shillings (about $20), not $40. They will sometime play the game by quoting 40, you get in the car, and then there is a huge bruhaha when you’re thinking shillings and all of sudden he says he’s expecting dollars.

My driver had me over a barrel because he knew he had me already in his cab, so we agreed to another 40,000 shillings to get me to my hotel.

After I got back into the taxi at the train station, he got into his car, but it wouldn’t start. The ignition was somehow related to his door-lock clicker, which he kept pressing, but it wouldn’t activate the car’s ignition system. For 15 minutes he sat there diddling with the fob, at one point going into his toolbox in the truck to unscrew the clicker housing and check the battery. No go.

He then resorted to asking some random guy leaning against his motorcycle if he could help. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how my driver identified this other dude as a “door lock / ignition specialist”. He came over, said a few things in Swahili, and then reached in and jiggled the ignition collar on the steering wheel.

The car started.

As we were leaving the train station, the driver in all seriousness, looked at me and said “10,000 shillings for waiting”. I was incredulous. I replied, “Wait a minute, Mr Said, I waited for YOU while you couldn’t start your car. That was much longer than the time it took me to buy a ticket!”

“No, you must pay me 10,000 for waiting.”

This went on for a few minutes until I realized I was not going to win this argument, and I didn’t really feel like being dumped somewhere in the middle of a not-so-hospitable-looking Dar.

He finally found my hotel, and insisted that I be ready at 6:00 am the following morning so he could take me back to the train station. It was clear he wanted me to be ready at 6:00 am because it was convenient for him, not me. His reasoning was that there would be a lot of traffic (three hours worth when I reality it only took me a half hour the next morning). He gave me his mobile number, and was very friendly as he drove off. I got to give him credit, he’s got some unmitigated chutzpah.

Later that night I called to tell him my hotel had arranged a car and that I didn’t need his services. I would figure out a taxi in the morning.

I spent the night in a downtown hotel in Dar. Complete with an hour and a half of evening prayers being sung by a man and a woman and blasted from the PA speakers on the mosque next door. Fascinating.

And one last sign I saw on Zanzibar that I think is a wonderful thought: