It may sound strange for a person with a website called the Cynical Traveller, but I am in fact afraid of flying. It hasn’t always been so. In my younger and more carefree days, I was thrilled at the prospect of being suspended in thin air in a 400 tonne mix of metal and explosive liquids. I even went so far as to go stunt flying in a light aircraft; basically what amounted to two seats bolted onto a set of wings.

It is difficult to isolate the exact time when I became afraid of flying. It would make sense that it was during a trip over the Pacific with Malaysian Airlines where my plane plummeted about 70 metres and everyone (even the stewardesses) screamed. However, my recollection of that incident is that I was remarkably clam during it, and, as I don’t have an excessively high laundry receipt for underpants, I assume that this is not the instigating cause.

In fact, I believe I can trace it to the point in my life when I broke my ankle playing that most genteel of Anglo/Australian sports, Cricket. This was the moment when my sub-conscious decided to stuff the concept of mortality deep into my heart.

Looks like onions for dinner again

All of which is an incredibly long winded explanation of why I would choose to take a cramped, sweaty 12 hour bus trip over a relatively comfortable 45 minute flight.

So, after having arrived in Tanzania and spent a few minutes checking the sights of Dar out, we had a couple of days to waste until catching a bus to Arusha.

Arusha is basically the tourist centre of Tanzania, and as such, there were several buses going there from three or four different companies. However, in order to offset the, quite frankly, ridiculous convenience of this, the companies made sure that each of them offered only 2 choices of departure time; an obscene 4.30am and a slightly less obscene 5.30 am. Additionally, all the buses set off from the same area, so knowing which bus is yours is a difficult prospect

Obviously in the confusion, we must have inadvertently telegraphed the sheer magnificence of our gullibility because two men who were putting cases into the bottom of the bus asked to see our tickets. They then informed us that the ticket price only included the seats and not our luggage. We would have to pay a further ten dollars each to put our luggage on the bus. We decided we weren’t interested in seeing Africa “Au Natural” and opted to plump for the extra cash. The gentlemen, faces beaming, informed us that they would take good care of our luggage, and escorted us onto the bus so that we could no longer see them shaking with laughter.

Top travel tip: This is a scam!

Black or white, rich or poor, kids are always happy - The annoying little bastards

The trip then proceeded to get worse as my travelling companion decided that the contents of his stomach and his doxycyclin tablets had had a rather serious disagreement and one of them was about to be kicked out. The sad thing is, we still hadn’t even managed to leave the bus station at this point.

So, while my friend sat in distress, and I sympathetically ate a bag of cashew nuts, we slowly set off.

And we slowly continued.

And we slowly, slowly, slowly continued.

For some reason, the Tanzanian highway department have decided that the best way to ensure safety on their highways is to put speed humps every 5km or so. So, there is very little chance of your bus breaking into more than a trot. However, fortunately the bus drivers attempt to make up as much time as possible by overtaking on blind corners.

Having said that, the slow bus speed did offer me the opportunity to poke my camera out of the window, engage the motor drive and take an extraordinary variety of blurry, poorly composed pictures.

Such as this:

And this:

This proved to be amusing right up to the point where we entered our first town and the bus actually stopped. Then, the rather angry individuals I had photographed suddenly seemed a lot more menacing and I slid back into my seat below window level and decided that the back pocket of the seat in front of me was far more fascinating than it had any right to be.

Anyway, there’s only so many hours you can take photos for, particularly once it gets dark. So it was music on and staring outside until we rolled into Arusha, where luckily our hotel had organised people to pick us up.

Bus to Arusha highlights:

1. The ability to take photos of locals with a large measure of impunity
2. The fact it wasn’t a plane
3. The rest stop which was selling chicken and chips
4. A bottle of free Krest Lemon, Tanzania’s most delicious softdrink
5. The bus arriving at Arusha

Bus to Arusha lowlights:

1. The inability to take photos of locals with a large measure of focus
2. The fact that even though it wasn’t a plane, it had a higher probability of crashing in a ball of fire.
3. The rest stop toilet
4. A packet of free biscuits that came with the Krest
5. Trying to find the people who were picking us up when the bus arrived at Arusha

Africa. The birthplace of humanity.

The name resonates with a primordial beauty. Africa has everything. Millenia of history. A harsh, unforgiving and yet beautiful landscape. An abundance of varied and dramatic wildlife.

What it didn’t have, was a fat, sweaty white man making cynical, slightly humorous comments (well, actually it probably did, but allow me this conceit).

Africa's crossover of "Tour De France" and "Masterchef" failed to strike a chord with viewers

So, Tanzania. Our first port of call was Dar Es Salaam and from the moment we touched down at the Julius K Nyerere airport, and spent 90 minutes in immigration, I knew we were in for a treat. The moment we tried to take our first taxi and it required jumper leads to start, I could sense this was the beginning of something special. By the time we drove in from the airport, and noticed a truck with 15 men in the back, one of whom was holding an AK-47, I was positively shitting myself with excitement.

Dar Es Salaam is the capital and largest city in Tanzania. However, coming from China via Dubai, Dar had a slightly more humble feeling about. Suffice to say, that I could probably urinate over the tallest buildings in Dar without splashing on the walls.

Likewise, don’t expect a sea of neon lights. I’m pretty sure London was better lit than this during the Blitz.

That’s not to say that Dar doesn’t have its charms. There’s a lively fish market, a bus station and even a choice of 2 supermarkets!

Our hostel was located on Libya street, possibly not the most auspicious of omens with which to start a trip. However, it turned out to be a very respectable establishment with good food and nice people.

Coffe and a smoke - the perfect start to the day

This turned out to be a metaphor for our whole time in the city. It was never quite as scary as we thought it was going to be.

Despite Tanzania being one of the safer countries in Africa (an honour akin to being named the prettiest girl in the women’s shotput), we were constantly warned not to go out after dark for fear of violent crime. It was only after we went outside after dark, that I realised my legs were are so white that they actually glow with a slight fluorescent light. Suddenly, I felt very conspicuous indeed, and each passer by looked like a potential mugger preparing to perform an emergency walletectomy.

However, our time in Dar passed without us being mugged, raped or abused in any way. The worst incident involved my travelling companion discovering that he had a problem with doxycyclin after popping a couple of Malaria tablets five minutes before catching the 10 hour bus to Arusha.

And to think I was worried about the locals!

And, for the duration of my Tanzanian posts, I will include a highlights and lowlights of each place I visited.

Dar Es Salaam Highlights:

1. Not actually dying
2. Discovering “Tangfastic” lollies in the Supermarket in the town centre.
3. Watching fishing boats by the bay.
4. A very nice Chinese restaurant with an “all you can eat and later regurgitate” menu
5. That moment when you touch down and realise “Shit, I’m in Africa!”

Believe me, I was

Dar Es Salaam Lowlights:

1. Interrupted electricity supply frying my ipod charger.
2. Being terrified of going out after dark for the first two days
3. Mosquitoes the size of small hummingbirds
4. Being pestered by the touts near the docks
5. That moment when you touch down and realise “Shit, I’m in Africa!”

Next week: The Bus to Arusha

Having lived in Japan for nigh on 5 years, I have attended what can only be described as a plethora of festivals. The Japanese appear to have a festival to celebrate everything. There are festivals to celebrate successful harvests, turning three years old, the winning of a battle or successfully brushing your teeth without cutting your gums.

However, as colourful and as dynamic as many of these festivals were, I could not help the nagging feeling that they could be made inordinately better by the inclusion of a giant cock being carried by 4 drag queens through a crowded street. Thank god then for the Kanamara festival!

You can't stop... Can't stop the cock

Literally translating as “Festival of the steel phallus”, the Kanamara festival has an interesting history; at least according to Wikipedia. Apparently there was a sharp toothed demon hidden within a Vagina who castrated two men on their wedding night. The owner of said vagina then asked a blacksmith to make an iron penis for her to use to “break the demon’s teeth”.

As stories go, it’s certainly one of the more imaginative ways to explain the existence of a dildo under your bed to your parents.

And people complain that family events don't draw a crowd

The festival itself celebrates fertility, but is mainly a chance for the normally socially reserved Japanese to indulge in some good old fashioned phallical frollicking.

And seeing as this a festival easier seen than described, I’ll let the pictures do the rest of the talking. They’re funnier than I could ever be.

After the success of "Saturday Night Fever", Travolta was forced into accepting a succession of roles in soft porn films

The future Mrs Cynical

It's enough to make the best of us feel insecure

I'm sorry, this is just way too easy

A light to guide you home

Oh, the agony of choice!

I don't remember ever doing this as part of art and craft class at school

Even when using woodcarvings as textbooks, students still found time to grafitti

They say there's a type for everyone

Sad to say, this dog has a far superior haircut than I.