... in Tanzania

After two months in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, my skin was suitably burnt, and I had enough new carvings, clothes and assorted trinkets to fill a small suitcase (along with the requisite accompanying insight that such material possessions weren't really the keys to happiness after all).

And the stories! I had so many stories that it was hard to pick just one that I could rehearse over and over again in hope that someone would eventually want to hear about my summer.

"So, like, what was the craziest thing that happened to you in Tanzania?" my friend Sarah finally asked one day.

"Oh, man, Sarah..." I said with a smile, shaking my head knowingly. "Where do I even start?"

Sarah had spent the summer in France and presumably had many crazy travel stories of her own. So it was important to open strong, lest my summer seem lame in comparison.

"Dar es Salaam was just ... crazy," I continued, chuckling to myself softly for effect. "Crazy! I mean, geez ... even everyday stuff - normal stuff, like just getting around town - was totally insane."

"In Dar, they use these little vans with vaulted roofs called dalla-dallas, and when it's really busy, you get in them, and there's 20, 25 other people squeezed in there with you, and..."

Sarah interrupted before I could finish my story. "Oh my god, that's just like the Metro in Paris! You have to practically shove your way on during rush hour!"

I can see how, on the surface of things, one could draw this parallel. But with all due respect to Sarah and her Metro, dalla-dallas are really in a class of their own. I'd even venture to say that they're the most awesome form of public transportation ever invented.

What makes them so awesome? Well, for starters, let me tell you that dalla-dallas don't just look like any old van. No, they look like a very special type of old van: the tricked-out, customized hippiemobiles of days past. Just trade psychedelic flowers for, say, sparkly lightning-bolt decals, and you've got the idea.

No two are alike, inside or out. One dalla-dalla's interior might be plastered with Manchester United stickers; another might feature a quilted, red-velvet ceiling. One's bumper might carry a hand-painted slogan praising God, while another's might give big ups to Tupac.

Some looked ludicrous, and others were Ludacris. Because dalla-dallas have names! And not boring ones like "Line 12" or "The L-Train." These were high-impact names, designed to lure as many customers as possible.

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"Barack Obama." "Super Man." "Black People." For the equivalent of just 25 cents, they could take me anywhere I wanted to go.

"Vatican City." "Kandahar." "Bosnia." Without even leaving Tanzania, I could step into a dalla-dalla and be transported someplace completely new.

As far as rush hour is concerned, having to stand really close to fellow passengers is awkward. I'll give the Metro that. But logistically speaking, it's not nearly as challenging as having to crawl over complete strangers to get the last free seat in the back of a dalla-dalla, all while said vehicle has already started weaving its way through the streets of Dar es Salaam.

But while getting onto dalla-dallas can be tricky, there's rarely the kind of aggression and hostility you find when shoving into a train. Dalla-dalla passengers are a harmonious bunch: Once, I even saw a standing mother place her infant in the lap of a complete stranger when a ride got bumpy. That's just heartwarming.

Now, I'm going to New York tomorrow, and being a thrifty college student, I'll of course be taking the subway to travel around. But this time, when not I'm fighting tooth-and-nail to get on the damn train already, things will be different. This time, I'll be doing so with my eyes closed, trying to remember a better way: a way that's fast, cheap and fly as hell. The way of the dalla-dalla.