On Wednesday I left Dar es Salaam, Tanzania on my own and with no money in my pocket, of any currency whatsoever. I boarded the Tazara train to its last stop Kapiri Mposhi, Zambia... a solid 41 hour train ride (according to the schedule.) Just as the cab driver pulled away from me at the train station, I realized I had no money to pay for my meals on the train or my $25 visa at the Tanzania/Zambia border. Cash machines are few and far between, and my train was to leave in 30 minutes. What to do? Find some other backpackers and beg money off them. And thats exactly what I did, and made some friends in the process...
The train station was absolutely packed with people, men with huge sacks of rice and potatoes, women with giant woven plastic bags as suitcases and children... soooo many children. Once I wove my way through the chaos, with my big red duffel back over my shoulder and my little purple rolly bag trailing behind, I went to claim the ticket I had reserved several weeks prior, and to my absolute shock and awe, they actually FOUND my reservation, and I bought my ticket. I then wove my way through the 3rd class seating area (which was anywhere not occupied by a bag), through 2nd class seating area (the same but with fewer chickens squawking), and and finally found the first class seating area. I would usually not take advantage of class division, but considering it was the only class with sleeper cabins, and I was about to spend 3 days and 2 nights on a train, I thought I would splurge. I sat down, and found that there were 4 other Mzungos waiting for the train- a Swedish couple and a British couple. I introduced myself to the Brits, enticed by their fluent English. I met Marie-Claire and Jamie, a Irishwoman and Scotsman on a 4 month journey around the world. We got along really well and boarded the train together in a bid to share one of the 4-man cabins. We found one, spent the first 24 hours of our trip in a private cabin, listening to music on our iPod shuffles while reading novels, telling stories about our journeys thus far, and laughing so hard we cried when MC and I spit up our toothpaste all over the train after a the train jolted and threw us across the hall. We realized that we were all headed to Livingstone and were even booked at the same hostel Friday night... So finally I broke down and told them I had no money and would be carried away by border police later that afternoon, and as we were going to the same place and would definitely hit some ATMs on the way, they agreed to spot me for the time being. Basically, they saved my sorry butt.
Anyway, sometime during Thursday afternoon our private cabin was invaded by a Zambian woman and her two little girls. Within 15 minutes, another Zambian woman -- a very large, floppy one with major B.O. also joined our cramped quarters. This equalled 7 people in the very very small room. I made a pathetic attempt at negotiation with the conductor in Swahili to allow Jamie and I to stay in this room which was originially only assigned to MC, and we ended up retreating to the bar car. Although we started off reading quietly, we were somehow sucked into a conversation about anal sex with some young Zambian men and women. I can now safely conclude that the opposition on this topic between men and women is of a universal nature. And alcohol universally facilitates this type of discussion (though I had none as I was dead broke). It was good for serious laughs and astonished looks on MC's face, if nothing else.
We finally arrived in Kapiri Mposhi on Friday morning, only 1 hour later than expected -- 42 hours on a train, and not a bad experience at all! The train was very safe, clean, had good food, and fun people (except the invaders), and really great scenery to boot (see pictures). Tazara comes highly recommended by me!!!
However, the journey was hardly over. We were in northern Zambia, and needed to get to the southern border between Zambia and Zimbabwe -- Livingstone, home of Victoria Falls. Again, this was a moment I was extremely grateful to have met my friends, as negotiation of this trip was extremely stressful and I could not have handled it alone. We started by getting a taxi to the mini-bus/coach stop -- a dusty parking lot filled with people falling over eachother to sell something to the only obvious tourists on the premesis. This included fried caterpillers, salted. Yum. We didnt have enough cash to get on the 'luxury' coaches, so we had to book ourselves on a mini-bus. At 9am we loaded onto an empty mini-bus, completely oblivious to the fact that these buses won't leave until they are packed completely full. We waited for 2 hours as people slowly trickled in, stressing us out in a big way, as this bus would only take us to the capital Lusaka, where we would then have to catch another bus to Livingstone. Finally we left, packed to the gills with people, chickens, and more giant plastic bags... feared for our lives as our driver took curves at terrifying speeds and frequently struck the center divider, eliciting screams from the passengers. Thats when we realized this was not just the African way, our driver was well and truly crazy. Finally, 4 hours later we landed in several pieces in Lusaka. We immediately ran to the bus rank, but soon found out that the last coach had just left for Livingstone, so we were resigned to taking ANOTHER mini-bus to Livingstone, a 6 hour journey. We finally found a half-full minibus, and left poor MC with all our bags and Jamie and I literally ran around Lusaka to find both Visa and Mastercard compatible cash machines to pay for the journey (and to reimburse the two of them!). By the time we got back, the bus was almost full, we paid for our tickets, bought ice cream cones, and were off within 20 minutes.
This journey was slightly more leisurely, as the bus was bigger and I managed to wedge my legs comfortably between my bags and the seat in front of me. We made a couple of pit stops for gas and toilets, but I didnt leave my seat once out of fear that the bus would be gone when I returned. I bought popcorn, bananas, and juice from my seat, through my window and had a nice little dinner. However, our trip was not all peaceful, as we were plagued by fear of the rumor that once it gets late, mini-buses park on the side of the road and wait until morning to finish the journey, despite the objections of passengers. We were not emotionally prepared to spend the night on a bus, as we had been travelling straight since Wendesday afternoon, so we pestered the driver to continue on until we got to Livingstone. Finally at 12:30am we arrived at Livingstone, and took a cab to our hostel, wearily pounded on the gate until the doorman came and showed us to our rooms, where we passed out on the first beds we had seen in days.
Finally in Livingstone, for the rest of my trip to begin...
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