"Your true traveler finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty-his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure."
I suppose that makes us true travelers because the last few days have been mostly boring and mostly agreeable. Train rides, bus rides, crossing borders, waiting for trains and busses to leave etc. is trully boring stuff. It mostly involves waiting. Sure there is some reading, some talking, some sightseeing, but really it means having nothing to do for long hours on end. Sounds awful, but there really is a privelege to having time to do nothing but just think (or better yet not think) about anything you want. Also, I believe that we are finally letting go and getting into this. Colleen's shoulders have descended from their usual spot up near her ears to an almost natural position and I have been sleeping through most nights, I've even had a couple of afternoon naps.
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| The Tazara line |
Anyway on to the specifices. The trip wasn't all boredom. We started with the train ride. The Tazara (Tanzania Zambia Railway) line, in their wisdom,will not allow women and men to travel in the same cabin together unless the couple buy the entire cabin, so while it cost us a bit extra, we had a cabin to ourselves for two days which was really nice. The railway itself was built in tthe 70s buy a Chinese company (There would be chinese script in the strangest places and the buildings at the station stops looked oddly and incongruously oriental). The line and cars were way past their prime. It felt like they hadn't been serviced in decades and everything was in varying states of disrepair. We had 4 bunks, a small table, some provisions we bought before we left, a bar one car up from ours, a dining car 7 cars up from ours,. and an open window (literally) on to the heart of southhern Tanzania and northern Zambia. That open widow really gave us a show. From blood red sunsets over the dry dusty savannah to incredibly brilliant night skies unfettered by the pollution of city lights From little children chasing the train to wave at the weekly interlopers, to women walking home with an impossible load balanced on their head and a small child slung in their back From the pandemoniom at the station stops, to the baboons and gazelles we saw while having a drink in the bar car at dusk. It was everything you woud have expected of an African train ride. There were some surprises too. Farming techniques here involve clearing the bush with "controlled" fires, some of which would come right up to the tracks, their heat forcing you back from the window. They were especially eery at night. Also, at each of the station stops, people from the local town would rush up to the train with food to sell. Bananas, oranges, nuts, roast chicken, chapati (a type of flatbread), samosas, hard boiled eggs, meat pies and a type of fried dough, all for pennies. Really good stuff. I think that my favourite though had to be the cow on the back of the bike. The train had slowed down as we were coming into a small town and I happened to look out the window t see the better part of a butchered cow's carcass lashed to the back of a bicycle whose owner was stopped and talking to a friend. What was really surprising though was that the entire head and two of the legs, hoofs and all, were included in the package. A cows head on the back of a bike is definiterly something you don't see everyday.
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| Station Stop at Tanzania / Zambia Border |
I don't want to make it sound idyllic though, it wasn't. When I asked two of my friends that had lived and travelled in Africa about Zambia and Tanzania, there response was "there is nothing there", and "those are very poor countries". They were right on both accounts. The children chasing the train were as likely to be begging as they were to be waving, and the vilages we passed were a collection of mud brick / thatch roof houses with no electricity whose inhabitants were eeking out a living on subsistance farming. In the North, African poverty is an esoteric discussion, here it is an undeniable fact, and the injustice of it has a profound impact. I don't think that this is the right forum to describe or discuss it, but I will say that it is something that each of us should look at a little closer.
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| View from bus to Livingstone |
Anyway, next was the minibus ride and Lusaka. The drive from Kapiri Mposhi to Lusaka was notable only for the mode of transport. Mini busses in this part of the world are the main means of transportation for most people. Most are on the verge of falling apart and there is no schedule, they leave when they are full. I mean full. Our minibus had 26 adult passengers, a driver, a ticket collector, at least 8 children and all their attendant luggage stuffed into a space meant to fit maybe 20 people comfortably. It was a long, hot and cramped 3 hour drive. As for Lusaka, I'm sure we could find something nice to say about it if we stayed there longer, but our first impression was definitely negative. It is a dusty, sprawling town, frankly a little ugly, with not much to offer the casual visitor. We also had our first bout with unpleasantness outside the train station there when someone tried to pick my pockets. It was an amateurish attempt quickly foiled by a loud "hey!" and a firm shove, but unpleasant nonetheless. I don't carry anything in my pockets for that very reason, but I suppose if they had got anything, I could use Colleen's eagle technique - "hey, give me back my wallet", although I would probably have as much success with thte pickpockets as she did with the eagle.
The bus ride to Livingstone from Lusaka was also mostly uneventful. We were in a bigger coach bus (similar to greyhound but a little run down), so the 8 hour ride was a little more comfortable. We did have a close call with a cow crossing the highway. I thought we were done for, well I thought we might be done for, but that the cow was definitely a goner. However, the bus driver's skill turned the incident into a mere close call (really close, the bus skidded and felt ike it was going to tip over).
Michael
Fawlty Towers Hotel
(no joke, the hotel we're staying at in Livingstone is called Fawlty Towers)
Livingstone, Zambia
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