So it turns out that the Pugu Hills have a lot fewer day visitors from Dar es Salaam not because they're a hidden gem, but because...well, they're pretty lame. Suffice it to say there were NO elephant shrews, despite the very prominent photograph of one on the Pugu Hills website. Blatant false advertising.
It probably didn't help that our little band of travelers (me, Nina, Magdalina, and Zalha, a Tanzanian med student) got lost repeatedly throughout the course of the day, always in a situation that meant extra time being rather too hot. And we started our routine of getting lost early, right off the bat. Despite the daladala driver huffily insisting that he knew exactly the intersection where we were supposed to disembark, we completely blew by our stop without a peep from him. Zalha and the other passengers gave him a thorough tongue lashing (there's really a certain moral superiority you get when fellow riders of public transportation take your side), but we still had to ride all the way to end of the line just to double back. And pay again.
And then we got all turned around on the throughly signless walk to the Pugu Hills conservatory, missing turns and wandering through chicken-filled yards and ending up at one point at what seemed to be a gravel quarry. (Several surprised-looking ladies there kindly inquired if we needed any gravel. Not today, we replied. They nodded wisely. Sometimes one just wishes to inspect gravel, not buy.) Lots of uphill trudging in the unfiltered sun before we finally arrived, only to discover that 1) they'd given our reserved guide away and 2) the actual forest was, in fact, closed to hiking. But would we like a Coke? Well, yes. We would. Love that real sugar soda.
With no forest, we chose the next best option, an hour-long walk to a huge regional cattle market. Even in the early stages of heatstroke I tend to be delighted by the prospect of livestock, so I was happy to go. The sun was still being all sunny and stuff, but hey, at least this time we were walking/sliding downhill. But we clearly hadn't picked up on the "Getting Lost" theme of the day - our assigned "guide" had actually never walked this route before. So we spent quite a bit of time walking down suspicious-seeming paths, then stopping, then waiting as our guide had a hushed cell phone conversation with someone, then turning around to double back the way we'd come. The one upside of this was that his detours often took us through people's small backyard orchards. I can now identify cashew trees, baby coconut saplings, and cassava bushes, thanks to Zalha's instruction (and frequent quizzes).
We finally did make it to the cattle market, which I have to say was pretty exciting. These were not your typical boring Jerseys or Holsteins - these were zebu cattle! With huge horns! And these delightful fat-filled humps that kind of jiggle whenever the animal starts trotting! Man, I wanted to poke those humps. But it's rather intimidating to be stared at by a 250 kg animal with two-foot horns, even when that animal is of the bovine persuasion. The market is just a huge courtyard, with humans and cattle milling about unchecked, so most of my time was spent trying to keep an eye on all cattle in my vicinity without getting too close to any one. Plus it wasn't as if I could casually blend in - there were virtually no women at the market, and certainly no other mzungu women, so my poking would not have gone unnoticed. (Zalha was constantly fielding offers from various cattle salesmen - they'd seen our group come in and tried to figure out why we were there. Were we interested in buying this bull here? Very good price? Perhaps the Germans were looking to acquire a small herd?)
We stopped briefly on the edge of market to hide from the sun and to enjoy a small snack of Coke and Nice brand cookies (in keeping with the day's healthy diet), then boarded a long daladala ride back to Dar. We arrived at the legendary burger stand outside the Moroco gas station, the tastiest burgers in town - only to discover it was closed on Sundays. Ah, it kills ya. We stood staring uncomprehendingly at the closed serving window for awhile, stuck in that state of mind when you're too tired and hungry to make another plan of action, until we finally mustered up the energy to head downtown for some traditional Tanzanian grub. Oh, savory banana stew. We will always be friends.
So my official recommendation, if you must go west from Dar, is to skip the Pugu Hills entirely and head straight for the cattle market. If you play your cards right, I can get you a good deal on a nice steer. Though he may not fit in your carry-on.
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