On with Dar es Salaam… 12/29/2018

Greetings

Has California seceded yet? From this distance, it just looks either comic or pathetic. But on with Dar es Salaam.

Probably already guessed that we didn’t get up at 5:00 am to get to the fish market by 6:30 am to see the big fish auctions. But once we did get up and have a quick breakfast, we took a taxi from the hotel directly to the Kivukuni Fish Market which is an amazing scene (and quite different from the Tsukiji Market in Tokyo, which also has the early morning fish auction and complicated buying and selling of fish). The taxi driver dropped us off and we began to roam. There are a series of stalls inside of which are large tables that can probably seat about 40 people around. Since the major auction was already over, all sorts of fishermen seem to have designated tables and they are selling the fish to women (all the buyers are women) who are seated on upside down plastic pails (all in brightly colored garb; all Muslim). They say a price or they toss some money to the fisherman who stands at the opposite side and then he scoops up an amount of fish equal to the amount of money they tossed… or at least this is what I think was going on. Even though it is supposed to be an early morning event, the place was pretty packed but definitely not with chefs from major restaurants; rather it was packed with very low-income locals getting fish for their families.

The men fish; the women buy the fish. As you might imagine, the smell is pretty strong. Many of the fisherman and those scaling or chopping the fish with amazingly large and very sharp knives, were happy to have their photo taken; the women less so.

We moved from area to area and finally wound up in a section where there are scores of women, dressed in white cooking the fish. While it was tempting, we held back – mostly because the area where the cooking is done made the temperature soar about 15 degrees warmer than it already was.  Once we had our fill of the fish market, we began to stroll outside the center of it to find a “bajaji” (the three wheeled motorcycle outfitted to carry two – and sometimes more – passengers; just like the “tuk tuks” we used throughout Asia for short distances). But before we could get to the street, we found ourselves in a little passageway with stands selling amazing seashells. No sooner did we look than we were taken… and at each of five stalls in a single row, we purchased a few shells. (I hope this doesn’t become our story in Turkey of NOT buying a rug.)

Each of the sellers has shells displayed and then “special” ones in little bags made of newspaper. Naturally they thought we’d like those special ones. Not sure what we will do with these shells, but now we have them. At least we stuck to little ones. Each seller also has an incredibly worn/torn yellowed copy of an American-published book on sea shells, and they can turn (well most of the pages are no longer bound in the book, but they do keep these books and seem to have pride in owning them) to a page with each of the shells and tell you the name of the shell.  As we walked, we spotted groups of men playing some version of mancala (which I recognized because this used to be a popular–perhaps still is–game played by kindergarteners in the Berkeley schools. Our god-daughter, Roberta played it many years ago and taught both Mike and me to play. But here in Tanzania, their version is like a double board of the game and it seemed a lot more complicated. The men were totally into it and moving fast.

With our little (but bigger than I had hoped) bag of shells in hand we finally emerged from Kivukoni Market and hopped into one of the bajaji.

We decided to head back to Kariakoo Market because there were whole sections we hadn’t seen. Actually we hadn’t yet been inside the three story structure at the center of Kari. The bajaji drivers can meander their way around crowds and traffic since they are so much smaller and nimbler than cars and taxis. We were up for the challenge because the sun didn’t seem as strong as yesterday and if you can find shade (from buildings or the umbrellas shading the vendors, we figured we could withstand the heat and humidity). This part of the market (the indoor section) sells all sorts of equipment: old fashioned pedal power sewing machines, rain or maybe fishing boots, hardware, and lots of seeds for growing vegetables; outside the building and going on for several blocks they are selling vegetables and also bras and women’s underwear which several vendors kept offering to me.

By the way I think there are more tee shirts with NY or other US trademarks here in Dar than there are in New York.

We hopped in another bajaji that we found near Kariakoo and (after doing a little iPhone research in the shadow of the market) asked to go to “Chef Table” which was listed as an old-time restaurant serving both Chinese and Indian food. Not sure where the name came from, and the sign at the front just says “Chef”.. but we went inside and got a covered outside table. We were the only non-Asian, non-African customers. Took us a little time to figure out the menu, which is problematic here since the waiters here generally give you a menu and then wait for you to place your order. If you don’t know what you want in about 60 seconds, they move on and it’s not so easy to get them back. I think it was Muslim owned because they didn’t serve any beer. Funny thing, as we pondered the menu, some older guy just sat down at one of the empty chairs at our table for four, ordered immediately, got his food and ate it (not sure what he had ordered), before we actually ordered. We got barbecued boneless chicken kabobs, rice, and some naan. We wanted fried bananas, but they were out of them. Everyone drinks Coke, which we don’t so we just opted for bottled water. It was quite good, too much food, and very very spicy, which was also fine with us.

We finished and headed to find another bajaji, but saw a local street taxi (you know they are available because they keep the back passenger door open. And we headed back to the hotel for some cool air and very fresh, very cold, homemade watermelon juice.  I put the bag of shells on the bed for about a second and suddenly smelled fish… so now all the shells are sitting in soapy water in the bathroom.. Don’t know how long that will take. But certainly don’t want them in our luggage until they are nice and clean and dry. But, I will admit, they are quite beautiful.

I’m signing off now, as I’m going to do some real work (that I am woefully behind in), and then in a few hours we are going to try an Ethiopian restaurant (the one everyone raves about is closed for the week); will let you know how it is. We are suckers for Ethiopian food, but I’ll have to assess the place before deciding whether or not to try the kitfo. Also have to pack to go to Zanzibar tomorrow. We will leave by ferry at about noon. We end the year in Zanzibar. But you’ll hear more from me on each of the coming days.

One piece of good news (for us). We got word, finally, that our box of winter clothing arrived at our Brussels hotel. Our return flight was making a stop in Brussels – a city we have not been to in decades – so we decided to pop in for about 48 hours before continuing on to SFO. It all sounded great when we were making the arrangements—a sort of intermediate stop to acclimate our return. But as the departure date got closer we realized how cold it would be in Brussels. No way was I going to lug boots and a down coat through Africa. We remembered that this had been a problem on a few other trips where we had extreme climate changes, and we had shipped a box of clothing. And while the option of shopping would certainly work for me, the thought of going shopping in sandals in the snow wasn’t so appealing. So we packed a box with winter needs – coat, hat, scarf, boots, sweaters, etc. But as we tracked the box, it was taking really long – in part due to strikes in Europe. Anyway we got word now that the box is safely in the hands of the hotel. So we just need to make it to the hotel after we land without getting frostbite.

All the best on these final days of 2018.

Fern