And the stories begin.
Our 8 hour KLM flight from Amsterdam to Tanzania’s Kilimanjaro International Airport was quite nice, for an eight hour flight, in Coach. Yes I am spoiled by my exposure to the “Pod Class” of flying. The plane was crowded but well behaved and the crew were fabulous. American Airlines could take a few hints. KLM’s end promotional videos was all about how they’re managing to reduce their CO2 emissions, what do you know.
We arrived on time to Kilimanjaro and the the arrival process was a zoo. About 300 people trying to fit in one small area with maybe a dozen Immigration folks to process passports. With limited signage a few herders from some tour companies made it through to aid their guests but most of us sheeple were on our on own to figure it out. We followed some young Germans on a rush to an open line labeled for returning East African citizens’ passports. A gentleman whose home is now in Tanzania, originally from Colorado, told us that we were okay in this line since it really was a general line for people who already had visas, we did. Yay. But we had cut in front of some folks who looked like they were in other lines. We didn’t give up the ground we had gained and there was little grumbling so after about 45 minutes we made it out to grab our bags, past customs and out into the night to find our driver.
Our driver, Edward, was found by asking a couple of other drivers from Asilia who had signs for names that were not Horton.
And then the fun began. Our hotel for the night was conveniently located near the airport in Arusha. Our first Bush flight to the Namiri Plains was at 9:30 am the next morning. The hotel is about 50 kilometers from Kilimanjaro International. Edward set the drive time at 2 hours. 50 kilometers is around 30 miles in about 2 hours. And the route was one of the few highways in the area. Now I’m not great at math but that sounded like an average of 15 miles an hour. Turns out we almost made that. Semi trucks evidently have a speed limit of 10 mph. Since there were only two lanes, traffic would back up until it was determined safe to pass. That judgment was a very relative thing. Kamikazes on motorbikes have a very different definition of safety generally and specifically on passing semis on Tanzania highways. We learned a new term from Edward. It was common to see three guys on one motorbike, the slang term for them is Mishikaa. It officially is the term for pieces of meat on a skewer. Also a synonym for crazy.
The ride was so long and so stressful that I think Bonnie was ready to get back on KLM to Amsterdam. The last straw was when Edward took us off the “highway” onto an unlit cow path. Google maps was not an effective tool here. After 15 minutes on the cow path we made a left turn, went 100 meters and heard young Edward curse. He had made a wrong turn or he was lost. It was only then that we thought to ask how many times he had been to this hotel. We were his first, not encouraging. We turned around, not easy on a cow path, went another 10 minutes and pulled up to a gate with a light and a guard. Strike two but closer, right place but wrong gate. Then we arrive. About 11 pm. The chef wanted to make us dinner, we wanted sleep, maybe a drink, but it was too late for a drink so we disappointed the chef and happily made it to sleep.