After slightly more than nine and half hours we stepped out of our air conditioned cocoon and into Dar Es Salaam airport. The country was hidden from view as we were shepherded through the umbilical-like tunnel that had sealed onto the side of our plane, down stairs that were smooth with age and yellowed with nicotine, and into the queue for immigration.
Some of our plane-pals split off to join a separate queue for a visa - if you ever go to Tanzania make sure you get one beforehand at Tanzania House in London; the room was as hot as a sauna and the less time spent there the better.
Immigration is the same everywhere in the world, with bored, disaffected civil servants who appear to take no pleasure at all in life. We ran the biometrics - left and right hand fingerprint scanners - had our visas and passports checked, and then we were through.
Four small carousels greeted us, but they were not on a loop and so the ground staff took off and piled up the luggage on one side. I elbowed past both old and young, in no mood to mess having not slept for 24 hours...
Bags collected, we met our Coastal Air rep - we were over two hours late, but this is Africa and so they had kept our connecting flight waiting (it helped that there were about six of us on the delayed BA flight...). Our bags were collected and we were escorted out into the bright sunshine for a hundred yards or so to a knackered old minibus.
The driver hopped in, gave me a smile and a brief, 'Welcome to Tanzania' (pronounced Tan-ZAN-ia), then started up the 'bus and drove us off.
We headed only a mile or so, along a road running the outer edge of the airport to a part of the airfield for smaller / local flights. The road screamed Africa... People with firewood on their heads, hawkers selling fruit, and colour, colour, colour everywhere...
We passed through security after only a cursory check of luggage weights and contents, and were straight out again onto the airfield filled with Cessna Caravans, Grand Caravans and Twin Otters (along with some sleeker, obviously more 'personal' transport).
Another walk across burning hot tarmac and to our plane...
It took only moments to load up the bags of the 12 or so passengers; the ground staff unceremoniously stuffing them all into the hold, though making sure the weight was distributed evenly across the Cessna via the use of several doors. I kept a hold of Phillipa's wedding dress as we were told we could hang it in the back of the passenger compartment. I waited whilst everyone boarded, noting with dismay that the seat next to Phillipa was taken already. Our pilot, the spit of Robert Redford, approached with a small tan briefcase in hand wearing an open neck short-sleeve shirt with khakis and loafers. And of course, dark shades. No matter the size of the plane, no matter the country, all fly-boys love their shades!
I installed the dress carefully in the back the plane and went to board, only to be told there was now no room. I was still too jaded from the BA overnight to worry much, and meekly followed directions - to the front of the plane, where I was told to sit in the co-pilot seat...
Balls...
The pilot started the prop, gave a thumbs up to the cheery ground crew, and taxied to the runway. As we taxied, his hands flickered over the controls: Flaps Check, Trim Check, Torque Lock, Radar Check... All these checks were completed on the way to our take-off and I was fascinated and horrified in equal measure that it took almost no time at all...
We turned into the wind and Robert increased the power, putting the prop into overdrive and getting us up to take-off speed. The plane began to squirrel across the tarmac as we started to break friction and gain lift and we left the ground quickly but gracefully, but the angle felt severe compared to a jet and I was already regretting the entire trip...
I turned to check if Phillipa was ok and noted with no little annoyance that she was already asleep. My 5 point harness restricted movement and so I spent my time watching the pilot, and, as I got more comfortable, taking some snaps:
On the approach to Arusha:
We had a few bouts of turbulence, but I could see them coming on the radar, which checked the clouds for other aircraft, but also showed the changes in density - places we could expect some bumps. Robert was cool and calm at all times though and it soon rubbed off on me. He never did offer my one of his cookies from his little Tupperware container though and for that I shall never forgive him...
But he did provide a sweet landing:
So, we were at Arusha...
but we still had a way to go...
No comments:
Post a Comment