News Flash: I'm White

Our first full day in Arusha included a walk around the city and some less than cultural tourism. And rain. B, being the prepared traveler, pulled out a emergency poncho from her magical backpack--almost Mary Poppins style--for me to wear. We went to the Tourist Information Center even though B had the itinerary pretty much packed. Outside the office we were all but accosted by safari operators trying to get us to take their business cards or book a budget safari with them. Note to self: learn how to say I'm NOT interested in Swahili. For a town whose based primarily on tourism there sure weren't a lot of tourists walking around. We booked two cultural tourism tours and headed back out into the mob of Safari operators.

A curio shop provided a much needed break from the hassle of politely rejecting the many offers. I walked around the shop mesmerized by the wooden sculptures--nervous that I was going to turn and knock everything over--and memories of Mali came flooding back. The rest of the day progressed more or less similarly and consisted of ducking into curio shops to escape street vendors and randoms following us. Not an altogether amazing city. In fact, quite the opposite. On the search for colorful kangas, we were approached by a man who claimed to have the best kanga shop in town. Not so much. After promising not to charge us mzungu prices, he did quite the opposite, quoting 75,000 TSh (around $70) for two pieces of fabric! After we walked out on the negotiations--a fair price is 15,000 TSh--they followed us down the street and firmly demanded we "give them money." Caught a little off guard, and frankly a little scared, "I'm going to die", we pulled out 15,000 and that was that.

Lots of exhaust, which provoked my allergies, and "Wazungu" calls which after a while are pretty annoying. I know I'm white. I know I look a little lost. I know my Swahili is minimal. But is it really necessary to announce it to the entire world?

High spot: Learning to play cribbage (my newest addiction--Dad would love it, it's all about strategy) with B in The Lounge at L'Oasis.
Low spot: Arusha in general.

Arusha: City of Exhaust

I loved Lushoto. Everything about it screamed authentic and doable--except the absence of a working ATM. Our entire stay had gone so smoothly but after two nice nights it was time to head to Arusha. Little did we know the bumps ahead.

Bump #1 was the bus ride. We headed back down to Mombo and then the usual mob at the bus station commenced. Everyone is trying to sell something, pears (which we actually ended up buying), bus tickets, samosas, shoes, radios. We were in the market for bus tickets but before buying any I thought it best to actually see the bus and make sure we would have a seat. We ended up on the only bus headed to Arusha that was actually there. We sat in the front row for awhile until someone asked us what our seats were (by asked I mean pointed to our tickets with a questioning look) and we were moved to the back of the bus, B with her backpack on lap, mine shoved with all the force in me into the overhead compartment. The bus ride was anything but smooth and the "I'm going to die" refrain rang again.

My hatred for bus stations was only reaffirmed upon arrival in Arusha. Before we even disembarked, the taxi drivers were all over us. "TAXI?! Come with me! Give you good price." "Need a hotel? Safari?" No, thank you. We were followed by a good number of drivers, safari operators, and hotel spokesmen for a good block and a half. At which point I approached a taxi driver, asked is he new where L'Oasis was, and negotiated our price. He affirmed that he knew where the hotel was, but once we were semi-comfortable in the cab our driver had to inquire with other drivers to figure it out. For once, we didn't get ripped off, probably only because our driver didn't know how far out of town our hotel really was.

Short on cash and ready to explore a new city, we headed for the Barclays (which is one of the few banks that will accept Mastercard). Afterward we headed for an early dinner at Spices and Herbs, an Ethiopian restaurant. Nothing like Addis in Dar, but not disappointing, we had a nice dinner which included a good amount of people watching. Mostly wazungu bickering over the price of a hotel room and children running around like mad.