For a certain breed of travelers, such as that of Eugénie and myself, there inevitably (though luckily only occasionally) comes your better-to-avoid towns. Not that these are places to avoid for fear of danger nor political unrest ("bullocks says I!"); nor for savage beast or hungry ghost; nor for principle or ignorance alone. There goes an aged but ever-wise saying back in the 'old country,' which goes "where in bushels find ye white men scattered about thy route, turn thee with haste for the odder bearing, and SCOOT." My trepidations for such spaces where tourists flood to Africa's lonely horizons comes as a devastating but inevitable result post-colonialism has played on the myth of dependant economies. There are places where mzungu has no identity with human face, but evokes the same response as a piece of paper with dollar signs scribbled about it's pine scented ass. Eugénie and I have become less and less able to cope with our being misrepresented not only as dollar bills, but as dollar bills laying about the curb just waiting to be picked up by the first hungry eyes who meet ours. This representation is more a function of the history of post-colonial aid than it has to do with tourism, but in spaces where both have been sources of great profit, I understand why it is difficult to make the difference between the two.
Arusha and Moshi are two such towns, if you are anything like Eugénie and I, better-to-avoid. But if you just cannot die if you haven't earned your t-shirt proclaiming "I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro," then these are towns you must be prepared to visit! Tanzania's
Take the price of the Kili as an example of such policies. Of that $1000, around 65%-72% goes to the government. The rest goes to the guide company (for each person climbing there are around seven workers who need to get paid, plus lodgings and food for each)which is later taxed again for that money as income. A safari of four days in the Serengeti and its surroundings should cost around $700. Plus foreigner travel tax and port taxes for island trips. Plus tourist visa fees (some of the highest in the region). And at the end of the day, with all the money made by the Tanzanian government for its nature, very little needs to go back into preserving it. Nor does much make it back to the communities for aid, education, or development (since Tanzania is one of the most development funded countries from foreign sources). This means that every tourist that can pay such prices, reciprocates the sentiment that the government already sends to its citizens, that foreigners are here to pay for us.
The horrible swarm of begging bodies which jump all over you as you descend the bus into either of these towns is inescapable. All battling for a piece of the action by bringing you to one of the seemingly infinite companies "offering" tours, safaris and guides. These people are called "flycatchers," and they get a small cut from the companies for each head they bring. Hakuna Matata is the motto here, and the more someone says it, the more they expect you can buy. Avoiding the gangs of “businessmen” and pushers in the street is as impossible and exhausting as ignoring them. The problem is two-fold: there are no regulations in place to make it impossible for illegitimate 
Though, being the heartland of Massai peoples, there are quite a few shops and museums detailing their infamous identity in the country. Of the not-so-traditional crafts most Massai shops have to offer, one can choose either an enormous knife, a made in China pair of Massai sandals (certainly not made of a quality that would bring a Massai far on her/his pastoral trek), cell phone protectors, wallets, Massai passport cozies and poor batiks (not a Massai art form historically). The dense clouds of tourists in caps and khakis is astonishing around such shops. And always nearby is one of the seemingly never-ending rows of tourism offices. If you so feel the urge to buy an iphone while on vacation, fear not, for any of the tens of thousands of electronic stores shelve them for over $1000 each. This is not the place for we thrifty few. This is a region which can be likened to the golden goose of touristic economy. You would never even suspect so as you cross the more than 400 km of arid land and dust to the south. But those who live here have the opportunity for richness that is unrivaled anywhere else outside the region, and they take every chance they can to not let that opportunity go to waste. After all, its the only thing which keeps the country afloat.
Le Mont Kilimandjaro : un rêve à laisser dans les livres.
Pour les voyageurs que nous sommes, chaque pays dispose d’une ou de plusieurs zones classées dans la catégorie "à éviter". Ces endroits ne sont ni dangereux, ni peuplés de tribus cannibales. Le fléau est tout autre, il s’agit du tourisme de masse. Ce qui était à l’origine un atout culturel ou naturel exceptionnel est devenu un véritable enfer. Louxor en Egypte ou encore la Costa Del Sol en Espagne sont peut être les exemples les plus éloquents. La Tanzanie a la chance originelle de compter le mont Kilimandjaro dans ses frontières. Deux villes, Arusha et Moshi, situées à l’extrême Nord du pays au pied de ce sommet mythique, sont des villes qu'il faut aborder avec un certain état d'esprit. Arusha est le lieu d’arrivée de milliers de touristes venus souvent exclusivement découvrir les merveilles de la nature qui se trouvent dans les environs. Les safaris dans le parc national du Serengeti ou dans le cratère du Ngorongoro ont tous Arusha pour point de départ.
Arusha est un vrai joyau situé au cœur d’une région poussiéreuse. Personne ne s'attend vraiment à cela en sortant d’un bus rempli de poussière qui a tout de même mis 7 heures pour parcourir 400 km. Le tourisme est une véritable poule aux œufs d’or pour le pays et les sommes dépensées ici atteignent des sommets. Pour une ascension du Kilimandjaro en 5 jours, le voyageur devra dépenser $1000 et pour un safari de 4 jours dans le parc du Serengeti environ $700 (les taxes gouvernementales atteignent souvent 65%). La guerre entre les guides, les rabatteurs gracieusement nommées flycatchers, les vendeurs de dagues massaï very good-price good-quality hakuna matata* my friend est sanglante. 
Moshi, qui est pourtant une autre base arrière du tourisme de masse, ne compte pas autant de parasites. Mais ici aussi il faut savoir rester ferme pour éviter les guides et autres "artistes-fabricants-d'instruments-de-musique-traditionnels" à la recherche de bons clients. Moshi est une petite bourgade calme, très pole pole*, beaucoup plus tanzanienne en somme. Chaque rue compte au moins un vendeur de pastèque tirant sa grande charrette en bois et une rangée de tailleurs installés sur les trottoirs. Pas grand-chose ne se passe à Moshi, mais l’on y prend du bon temps. Le mont Kilimandjaro que l'on a l'impression de pouvoir toucher du bout du doigt est bien souvent timide. Seuls les plus chanceux ou les plus matinaux auront l’occasion d’apercevoir son sommet toujours enneigé, mais la plupart du temps caché par d’épais nuages eux aussi d’une blancheur parfaite.
* Petit lexique kiswahili pour novice :
