Tickets ran about $35/pp fir first-class accommodations, which consist of four-person sleeper cabins, with each compartment separated by gender. We were able to subvert that rule, however, instead sharing a compartment with another foreign couple that also didn't want to be separated during the arduous journey.
We arrived at the Kapiri station about three hours early and plopped down in some plastic waiting chairs, electing to forgo the first-class waiting area, which was merely another part of the cavernous waiting hall appointed with mismatched and well-worn couches. An hour before our scheduled departure we grabbed a bite from an establishment across the street. Meanwhile, the ticket counter remained closed and other backpackers began spreading rumors of a possible labor strike. (We purchased our tickets in advance but were, nonetheless, concerned about a potential work stoppage.)
The train rolled out of the station two hours late, but not before we were moved to a compartment other than that assigned to us: it was directly next to the toilet. From my experiences
with train travel in Eastern Europe I knew that our proximity to the loo would lead to some olfactory discomfort as the trip progressed.We quickly became acquainted with our compartment mates, a middle-aged, Russian speaking, Ukrainian couple on holiday from their jobs as doctors in a Zambian village which they have called home for the past six years. With typical Ukrainian hospitality, they shared their homemade lunch with us, while I struggled to recall the language which I hold so dear to my heart. Meanwhile, Heidi shot me looks of exasperation, as Tatyana and I both tried teaching her basic phrases.
Over hard-boiled eggs and rice-stuffed green peppers we discussed our travels, malaria (which both physicians have contracted on multiple occasions), the challenges faced working in Zambia (including nearly two years without pay) and the fact that nearly 15% of Ukraine's population works abroad, in search of a livable wage. Eventually, the conversation slowed, at last coming to a halt with the participants turning, instead, to books, magazine and silent reflection. Moments later the rhythmic rumble of the locomotive stopped, while employees feverishly navigated the darkness outside with incandescent flashlights.
After more than an hour of sitting we all started wondering what the delay was, and when it would be remedied, but couldn't get a straight answer from any TAZARA representative, most of whom disappeared during the delay. Around 8:30pm our compartment decided to try and get some sleep, despite the audible exuberance coming from the adjoining lounge car. Shortly thereafter the electricity, throughout the train, went out, throwing us into complete darkness, causing Heidi some anxiety and leading to random knocks on our door from intoxicated
revelers passing by. Nearly 12 hours later, as we were all sleeping, the train lurched forward and we continued our journey, with a new locomotive, well behind schedule.Throughout the next two days we bounced and jerked along the tracks, over rivers and ravines. Each time we stopped at a new village or town, we were met by, what seemed like, the entire population, with new passengers boarding, adults peddling snacks and belts, and children standing
outside of first-class passenger cars begging for nearly anything. "Give me money. Give me your shirt. Give me bottle," they pleaded to the foreigners sitting in their, relatively, comfortable compartments. Doctor Tatyana even went as far as making some kids dance in exchange for an empty water bottle. While she thought it amusing, I perceived it to be more than a little humiliating and uncalled for.On numerous occasions the smell of sewage seeped into our compartment from the toilet next door. At times the stench of stale urine, pooled on the stainless steel floor only feet away, became almost unbearable. Our only relief was opening the window and imploring Hilda, our attendant, to clean the filth up...or at least mask the stench with some disinfectant.
The bathroom compartment consisted of a little more than a stainless throne lacking a seat, with a hole large enough to see the tracks below. Having paid for the added luxury of first class, our compartment was issued one roll of toilet paper for the trip. Another room had two sinks, which often ran out of the (non-potable) water, while a third room housed a shower (which I elected to skip during the ride). As it's nearly impossible to go more than two days without a BM, try as I might, this ride was no exception. At the time my bowels felt as if they might involuntarily relieve themselves I went for it. I had to decide between trying to squat while bouncing down the tracks (risking falling onto the nasty floor), or going while stopped, so that the salespeople right outside could see my excrement fall onto the tracks. I chose the latter, expecting it would be the most pleasant option for me.
We crossed into Tanzania in the middle of the second night, well after we had retired for the evening. First we were greeted by customs agents with a quick stamp of our passports (as we already had visas) and then came the money changers. As passengers are required to pay for food (on the train) in the currency of the country of travel I was obligated to exchange for some Tanzanian Shillings...at the exchange rate these sharks demanded. Having neglected to check the fair market rate ahead of time, I exchanged most of my Zambian Kwacha for about an 80% return! It must be nice to be a money changer without competition! (That being said, every passenger was in the exact same boat as me.)
Finally, after about 64 hours we pulled into the bustling and chaotic Dar Es Salaam station and began our adventures in East Africa...
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