i sit perched between a turkish family. the father to my right and his son and wife to my left. the reason for this rather peculiar sitting position i never learn. the boy has apparently a weak stomach. everyone speaks turkish and i don't understand a word.
when the aircraft comes to a halt, i am relieved - and frequenting the nearest toilet immediately.
unfortunately, there is no free wifi here. i have lived in norway so long that i nearly don't believe it, and walk around from one end of the airport to the other, and even stop next to a starbucks, everywhere else a sure guarantee for internet, but no, nothing. it is not so much a problem yet as on my way back. twenty hours is a long time to pass without the possibility to skip through buzz feed articles. i hope that daudi, the manager of the hostel in moshi, which is supposed to send me a taxi to the airport, did not forget his mission. i really look forward to lying in a hostelbed right now.
fo my entertainment in the mean time, i have two books, one half-destroyed tagesanzeiger, a notebook (unfortunately without a pen) and an ipad wit no connection.
i refill my waterbottle in the lavatory, although i am not sure whether one is really supposed to drink from the tap.
i feel like buying chewing gums, but since i am broke it would be contra productive.
the variety of people around here is amazing - i think every culture is represented somehow. what i represent i am not sure of.
i guess the whole disconnectedness has its perks. it is like what it must have been before the age of the internet, before smartphones and whatsapp. they did manage. and i am not really bored, for that matter. i am just - a little uneasy. i guess it is a natural reflex that you want to contact familiar people, when you are travelling and have to stop at a place you do not necessarily want to stop.
i do not want to be here, admittedly. there are too many people and no possibility to escape the masses. to yearn for something familiar is natural. a little more than two hours to go.
i might just check where my gate is, switch this thing of and start reading. my only escape, it seems.
ps. i need to buy more such trousers. they are by far the most comfortable thing i have ever worn.
--
shortly before my departure from istanbul, a faint flicker of hope concerning the wifi was sparked by two british girls who sat behind me. apart from their highly annoying conversation "oi think 'at bri'ish people aa the only ones in europe who can undastand saacasm." bet you are.
but they also complained about the wifi that was not there, until the one sittting behind my left ear obviously managed to connect. i did not eavesdrop, she might as well have been telling it to me and all the other 300 people on the waiting room, judging by the height of her voice.
i, however, was not able to profit, since the sms code never arrived on my mobile phone. the more i hated the british girls. but i guess i was just tired.
i will spare you a description of the six hour flight. it was tedious, and the noise was so high that i could only watch movies while not understanding any of the spoken text.
the landing was sudden and in darkness.
i headed for the visa office, only there were dozens of people heading before me.
from desk one they sent us to desk two and then to desk five, where i finally got my passport back for good and could collect my luggage. the blue rain coat wrapped backpack was already standing solitarily on the conveyor band.
i approached the exit and something i had already feared, came to pass. my transport to moshi was not there. but that was okay, since dozens of other sign waving and trustwirthy looking men wanted to drive me there. i hesitated and looked on my phone, although there was nothing to look at but the passing minutes. finally, i took the offer, since i could not really do anything else. the driving style of tansanians is rather homicidal. the street are not lit by lamps, and every approaching car blinds you with the flashlight, so that you have to hope that you are not heading towards the light. once we stopped before a parked truck and men were approaching, mustering our faces. my driver lowered the window and talked with unexcited calmness. i thought that thats it, now he is going to sell me off to a some gangsters. but it was just the police, as he replied at my enquiring after we had driven off again. i relaxed a bit while taylor swift sang on the radio that it is gonna be forever or it's gonna go down in flames.
after 35 minutes i arrived at my hostel. people had to be woken and called, but eventually i was driven to another hostel ( because mine was - naturally - fully booked) and could lie down under the roaring ventilator.
--
it is 10.25 on saturday and i am sitting in the hotel lobby with my money purse, the ipad and a towel. remembering hitchhikers guide to the galaxy, i could not be better equipped. i left my room in a hurry, because apparently i was assigned another room (identical in looks to the first one). spesiosa, the hotel receptionist, who was already here on my arrival in te middle of the night, takes me to my new lodging and i hurriedly get rid of my big and small backpack, intuitively not letting go of the towel. if i think about it, i had rather taken a book with me, to shorten the waiting time til the room is finished cleaning. i already feel very white and very european and very annoying after realising that "ten minutes" til i could move in is not measured in swiss time and i feel guilty of stressing the people here out. my apologies. the deepest.
after i was finally settled in my room, i went to the reception asking for a map of moshi, so i could go and see something of the surroundings.
i was taken on a walk by the lovely sheena, heading to a shop. the friendly looking man there wanted 20000 for a map. i was so surprised to be charged at all ( it was one of those kind of maps you get for free in tourist offices all around europe) i paid the full sum, without even considering bargaining ( or convert the currency)
on the way back i talked to sheena, who was busy rejecting the men who obviously wanted to take over the guiding. most of the time it took no more than one word from her to silence them.
neverteless i had to rest a bit when i was in my room again. so much attention from people is destructive. i decided to take a stern, emotionless look without a smile for my next time outside. together with frequent "hapana"s, i could get safely to the kilimanjaro garden cafe.
the atmosphere was great: laid back and a nice mixture of locals and tourists. i ate my samoosas and drank an iced coffee while reading treasure island. next to my a group of british people were happily chatting with eachother.
---
i was then off to buy my ticket to karatu tomorrow , intending to be back before sunset. there was i, standing in front of the bus station, having actually expected a station. ticket office was my mental goal, which i soon had to give up.
there were busses alright, many of them, parked on a large pitch of dust, sometimes with a sign of the destination. people were swarming around, some following me with a "where do you go lady?". my mistake when i had expected a ticket office. there were many small stands with placenames and fares, men who were shouting. it all seemed like yet another bazaar. only that here, i could not simply walk through with absent eyes. i needed this ticket. urgently. however, after 2 circles around the wasp's nest i decided to go back to the hostel. i was simply not prepared for this. i was already on the sidewalk of the road again, as somebody approached me. he tried to talk to me, but i was not in the mood, first not replying. then he asked, whether i searched for the bus to dar es salaam. no, to karatu, i responded. he promised to bring me to the ticket office, and i, not knowing anything better to do, followed. it was astonishingly easy. the man at the "counter" gave me a paper ticket und assigned me a time to be back tomorrow. after that i felt so inclined to thank Secky (that was the man's name)'that i agreed to visit his shop. he was an artist, he said, and some of his paintings were for sale there.
they were quite beautiful, even if i doubted that it was really him that painted them. to show my gratitude, i decided to buy a small picture on canvas as a souvenir.
how much is it?
don't you want two? maybe this one too? he said while pointing at a picture in which i had also expressed some interest.
well how much?
my first mistake. always begin with the prise when you bargain. always.
50 dollars, the owner of the shop wrote on a piece of paper.
i almost laughed out loud, because although i had not named him a prize, i had made one in my head. and it was definitely not fifty.
i said i would give him 10 for the small one.
he was not happy. at least i think so. but maybe he laughed inside about my naivity.
at the same time, a guy was in the shop, probably spanish, but he seemed to be used to these shops already.
how much are they charging you? he asked.
i told him.
then, he himself started bargaining in my place. secky, who brought me in was not happy, because surely his provision would be lessened.
the shopowner was not happy because he surely has smelled some profit in the rich, unexperienced swiss girl.
i was not happy because 3 men were arguing because of me.
the guy offered to pay any excess to the 10 dollars which i was ready to spend, which again made noone happy. the arguing between the guy and secky grew fiercer, but my painting was wrapped and the guy told me to give them 10 000 schilling. i did so. the shopowner handed it to me and mustered me. his eyes were red and he was a bit of a scary figure, to be honest. after telling him that i most probably will spend the night at the hotel, leave moshi early tomorrow and never come back, he smiled and i left. behind me they still argued and i paced back to the hotel.
it struck me that i needed to eat something and take my malaria medicine, and since eating out necessarily envolved being outside after dark, i chose te nearest restaurant and ordered pizza. of course i forgot the mosquito spray as well as te malaria pills. so i waited impatiently and hoped that the sun would take its time with disappearing. the waitress brought a toast with tomato bits on top and while i nibbled on it i hoped that that was not the tansanian interpretation of marguerita.
the clouds turned yellow, then red, and the sky went bright blue. already the mosquitoes were swarming around me and above, the swallows were chasing them through the air. go, get them all, i silently cheered.
dd
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