Taking Tanzania in a Mercedes A170
For the 4th of July weekend, the plan is to
travel exactly 35 miles down the coast to Amani Beach for a welcome out of town
getaway. This should serve as another stepping stone for what would eventually
prove to be the longer trips to the game parks or Kilimanjaro, or so we expect.
Now, with the destination a mere 35 miles away, what could
possibly go wrong? This is the equivalent of what? Liverpool to Manchester? Los
Angeles to Long Beach? Frankfurt to Mainz?
In a third world country, you must at least triple (and I would even say quadruple) the distance when you translate it from NWM (net western miles). In the west, you are assuming a smooth ride along a modern paved motor- or highway, one that should be taken with little trouble, even when accounting for a higher traffic volume. Remember the post I wrote a few weeks ago about assuming things in a third world country, though. Now add to the fact that our vehicle of choice is not a powerful SUV like a Honda Pilot or a Toyota Landcruiser, but an economy sized Mercedes A170, a smaller car lacking the ruggedness (not to mention the clearance!) of its bigger gas guzzling cousins.
But first things first. After loading up the car with luggage and kids, we must make our way out of Dar. On a late Friday morning, this shouldn't be too much of an impediment. There is a little traffic in downtown Dar, and we can't find the access road to the ferry that will take us across the river. Fed up with driving in circles, I flag down a cab and offer to pay him to guide us to the ferry, which he duly does.
We board the ferry on the car, pay one dollar for the privilege and are finally off. There are merchants selling World Cup souvenirs and cashew nuts neatly wrapped in plastic bags. Although I am not a bank of statistics for ferry accidents, I have a theory that most of them happen simply because the vessels are overloaded, as they are in our case. It takes us ten minutes to get off the ferry, and we are back on dry land and ready to roll with less than twenty miles to our destination.
Apart from the beaches, the landscape itself once you reach Dar is insignificant. There are scores upon scores of cement factories with matching catchy names: Kilimanjaro Cement, Timberland Cement, Beachhead Cement, etc. The highrises of Dar turn to thatched huts and rickety wooden roadside stands once we reach South Beach, and there are almost as many animals as there are people. With ten miles to go, the solid paved streets end, replaced by gravel strewn roads featuring hundreds of potholes, which can be death to an economy sized vehicle. Time to slow her down a bit. The kids are asleep in the back.
After a few bumps and thumps along the road as well as a makeshift toll droparm made of palm tree leaf by an entrepreneurial kid seeking to shake some money out of some benevolent foreigners happening by (that would be us; we give him 200 Tanzanian Shillings for his non-efforts), we locate the turnoff that will take us to the Protea Hotel in Amani Beach, a resort featuring thatched lodges not unlike the ones we know from Mkoma Bay.
Of course, with each turnoff the road conditions worsen. We go from rocky potholes to dirt roads featuring trenches and pools. In other words, a vehicle breakdown is not recommended here. Somehow we do manage to make it to the entrance three excruciating miles later, locate the reception area, and the weekend can begin.
Whew. God bless the fuel efficiency of the A170, but I can't wait until we have an SUV for trips like these.
In a third world country, you must at least triple (and I would even say quadruple) the distance when you translate it from NWM (net western miles). In the west, you are assuming a smooth ride along a modern paved motor- or highway, one that should be taken with little trouble, even when accounting for a higher traffic volume. Remember the post I wrote a few weeks ago about assuming things in a third world country, though. Now add to the fact that our vehicle of choice is not a powerful SUV like a Honda Pilot or a Toyota Landcruiser, but an economy sized Mercedes A170, a smaller car lacking the ruggedness (not to mention the clearance!) of its bigger gas guzzling cousins.
But first things first. After loading up the car with luggage and kids, we must make our way out of Dar. On a late Friday morning, this shouldn't be too much of an impediment. There is a little traffic in downtown Dar, and we can't find the access road to the ferry that will take us across the river. Fed up with driving in circles, I flag down a cab and offer to pay him to guide us to the ferry, which he duly does.
We board the ferry on the car, pay one dollar for the privilege and are finally off. There are merchants selling World Cup souvenirs and cashew nuts neatly wrapped in plastic bags. Although I am not a bank of statistics for ferry accidents, I have a theory that most of them happen simply because the vessels are overloaded, as they are in our case. It takes us ten minutes to get off the ferry, and we are back on dry land and ready to roll with less than twenty miles to our destination.
Apart from the beaches, the landscape itself once you reach Dar is insignificant. There are scores upon scores of cement factories with matching catchy names: Kilimanjaro Cement, Timberland Cement, Beachhead Cement, etc. The highrises of Dar turn to thatched huts and rickety wooden roadside stands once we reach South Beach, and there are almost as many animals as there are people. With ten miles to go, the solid paved streets end, replaced by gravel strewn roads featuring hundreds of potholes, which can be death to an economy sized vehicle. Time to slow her down a bit. The kids are asleep in the back.
After a few bumps and thumps along the road as well as a makeshift toll droparm made of palm tree leaf by an entrepreneurial kid seeking to shake some money out of some benevolent foreigners happening by (that would be us; we give him 200 Tanzanian Shillings for his non-efforts), we locate the turnoff that will take us to the Protea Hotel in Amani Beach, a resort featuring thatched lodges not unlike the ones we know from Mkoma Bay.
Of course, with each turnoff the road conditions worsen. We go from rocky potholes to dirt roads featuring trenches and pools. In other words, a vehicle breakdown is not recommended here. Somehow we do manage to make it to the entrance three excruciating miles later, locate the reception area, and the weekend can begin.
Whew. God bless the fuel efficiency of the A170, but I can't wait until we have an SUV for trips like these.
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