Taking the train

So far on our trip Claire and I have utilised a variety of different modes of transport. We had arrived in Africa on a plane and used one to get from Rwanda to Tanzania. We’d also been driven around in taxis, minibuses and coaches. We’d hitch hiked in friendly strangers’ cars, jumped in the back of pick up trucks and we even shared a couple of tuk tuks in Bagamoyo where they are referred to as ‘bajajis’. On top of this we had been carried around on the back of motorbikes, with both of us sharing one boda boda in Uganda, or with a moto each in Rwanda. We’d also made our way across a few bodies of water, canoeing our way across Lake Bunyoni in a hollowed out tree trunk, stupidly making our way to Zanzibar in a wobbly dhow and making the return trip in a 100ft long catamaran ferry.

We had covered many different aspects of public and private transport, but we were yet to get a train. Until we saw that there was a train that ran from Dar Es Salaam on the coast of Tanzania, right the way to Zambia. Claire and I jumped at the chance to experience train travel in Africa and booked ourselves on the Tzara Express. Rather than going all the way to Zambia, a trip that would take roughly three days, we decided to go to Mbeya, right near the border with Malawi – the next country we were to visit. This trip would see us leave around four in the afternoon from Dar and end up in Mbeya around the same time the next day. There were a variety of options for cabins, but Claire and I decided that it would be best to book all four beds in a 1^st class cabin so we would get to share one to ourselves. If we hadn’t done this then we wouldn’t be allowed in the same one, as men and women are not allowed to share cabins unless they are a couple and have one to themselves. So, we paid the extra thirty pounds for the two extra beds and climbed on board.

The train was fantastic. Incredibly modern, compared to what we were expecting and our little cabin was delightful. We had two bunk beds on either side, with the lower two bunks doubling up as couches on which to sit during the trip. We also had little reading lights, plugs for charging phones and laptops and we also had a working fan. Not only this but the train also had a bar, stocked with cold beers and sodas, nice working toilets and a deli where you could purchase food.

After sitting on the stationary train for around an hour in the station, excited about the trip to come, we then slowly pulled away. The train plodded along at a slow but steady pace and we made our way out of the capital. The first hour or so saw us pass many small villages of varying degrees of roughness. We passed mud hut villages, brick building villages and everything in between. And every time we trundled by, children came running to the side of the track to wave to us as we went. Occasionally we’d come to a halt, for some reason, and locals would sell food and drinks through the windows, even when we stopped for what we assumed were repairs at four in the morning.

So we were on our way, with nothing to do besides gaze out the window as the world whizzed by and talk to one another. During a long trip like ours we have often felt guilty on the days when we’ve done very little. With so many things to see and do across east Africa, you can’t help but feel bad if you spend a day sitting around reading a book. However, when you’re forced to do nothing all day, the feeling is bliss. Claire and I loved the ride, and were jealous of those people going all the way to Zambia.

As we made our way we passed villages and many different landscapes. We saw miles of undisturbed land, covered in forests, shrubbery, trees of different varieties, fast running and dried up rivers, and some gorgeous mountains. We crossed extremely high bridges with nothing on either side, so when we looked out of the window it was as if we were slowly flying through the sky. And, we saw a lot of people along the way. Most of the locals we passed would wave, especially the children. However, one boy proudly held up his middle finger as the whole train passed, a large grin plastered across his face. It goes to show that kids are the same the world over. We laughed.

There were a number of buttons on the wall of our cabin that we had yet to test out. So we took some time to press them all. Some were boring, like the light and the fan. Whilst others didn’t work. But one allowed us to listen to the in-train radio, which essentially played an eclectic mix of truly awful music. It was slightly more interesting than the music you would find in an elevator. Some of it was gospel music. Some of it was obscure Tanznian rap music. Some of it was gospel music combined with obscure Tanzanian rap music. And, some of it was random covers of strange songs from Boys to Men, to Dolly Parton’s ‘Islands in the Sun’. We have noticed that for some reason American country music is very popular around East Africa. However, most of the time we aren’t lucky enough to get to listen to great artists like Dolly Parton, but instead are treated to generic cowboy music, that is most probably much more popular in Uganda and Tanzania than anywhere else in the world.

One of the most exciting moments of our train ride was when a gigantic hornet came flying into our cabin and landed on the table between Claire and I. We both got up, opened the door and stood in the hallway gazing in at it, trying to decide on the best course of action. Our first plan was to throw something at it, in order to get it flying in the hope that it would exit from whence it came at its own accord. First Claire threw a torch in its direction. It missed. The hornet was undeterred. Next I launched some hand sanitizer at it. Again I missed and the wasp stayed where it was, mocking us. Claire’s turn. This time she threw a padlock, and it bounced right next to the beast, which again didn’t flinch. What were we to do? In the end we realised that it was dazed. Perhaps it was the heat, or perhaps the hornet had become complacent. In the wild – or in train cabins – complacency can be your downfall. If a gazelle becomes complacent and feels that it is safe, it may take its eye off the horizon. A complacent gazelle will eat and enjoy its freedom without a care in the world. And that is when the cheetah will pounce and that gazelle will meet its maker. If a hornet sitting in a train gets complacent, if it fails to be bothered by the humans hurling inanimate objects in its direction, Claire will trap it using The Lonely Planet’s Guide to Africa and an empty tube of imitation Pringles before throwing it out of the window. Claire has been great at dealing with giant spiders and other bugs on this trip.

Once we had removed the deadly monster from our cabin we sat back down to enjoy the rest of the ride. For dinner we made our way through the cabins until we got to the deli. It was there that we perched up and watched the sun go down eating dinner. I went for beef and chips. It was pretty bad. Claire went for chicken and rice. It was pretty good. She deserved the better meal for taking on the hornet whilst I ‘supervised’ from a safe distance. We then grabbed a couple of Serengeti Beers from the bar before heading back to our cabin. Within minutes the sun was down. It was bedtime.

We had no mosquito nets in our cabin, and didn’t fancy getting ours out and using them. Therefore Claire got the mozzy spray out. ‘Be careful with that,’ I said. I was very aware that the spray can really get into your lungs. Throughout the trip we never used the spray in small confined spaces. Never. Until now. ‘Be careful with that. Just use a little bit’. It’s safe to say Claire went wild with the spray. She was on the bottom bunk, I was on the top bunk opposite. Claire sprayed and sprayed and the toxic mist of Jungle Strength Mosquito Spray made its way up to my bunk. Claire dozed off thanks to the gentle rocking of the cabin as the train continued on its journey. I spent the next two hours coughing thanks to the poisonous gas that had by then filled my lungs.

In the morning we both awoke and watched the morning’s rays cover the mountainous and hilly terrain we were passing. At around eight o’clock there was a knock at our door and a man came in to ask if we wanted breakfast. We did. It’s safe to say that the breakfast wasn’t the best. The frankfurter sausage and weird coleslaw were most certainly not enjoyable, but, to be brought breakfast to your own cabin was rather nice. Especially on a train. Back home in the UK I often pay upwards of sixty pounds only to spend the journey stood in the bit between the two cabins or sat on my luggage in the isle. One time, as I departed Exeter St Davids a drunk Scottish man wearing a Celtic shirt jumped on and stood next to me. “Where’s this train going?” he asked me slurring his words. I told him it was heading to London and asked him if he didn’t have a ticked. “Aye,” he said, “I don’t have a ticket. My wife is just pissing me off. That’s her on the platform.” He pointed out the window at a woman with a pram, looking bemused as her husband disappeared on the train. Where they were supposed to be heading was a mystery to me. He had had an argument and jumped on the next train to wherever. It was at that point, or when he started smoking in the train, that I got angry at how much trains cost in the UK. And he hadn’t even paid! In Tanzania we had paid just sixty pounds, we had a whole cabin to ourselves, had travelled over eight hundred kilometres and we had had breakfast brought to us in our room. As we departed we were sad. The trip was wonderful. If we ever go back to Tanzania again we will make sure we take the three day trip all the way to Zambia.