aknards

Hey,
First of all, let me begin by saying that the "virgin" thing evolved into a way of identification but is really getting annoying. So, from now on it's "Anita".

I'll begin my report with the necessary itinerary details but then will stray from the traditional day-to-day format. (That's in part because I neglected to keep up with my journal and also because I'm a story writer at heart.) I'll, also, do this in installments because I'm writing slowly... So, here goes.

My trip to Tanzania and Zanzibar was planned and arranged by Sharon Taylor, Shop out of Africa. Sharon plans one trip per year for herself and 11 others. She plans with intelligence, experience, care and detail. I do not exaggerate when I say that the trip was flawless.

9/8 arrived Kilimanjaro airport. Stayed overnight Moivaro Lodge.
9/9-10 Sinya Private Reserve, Kambi ya Tembo Camp
9/11-12 Tarangire National Park, Maramboi Tented Camp
9/13 travel up Rift Valley. Visit Rift Valley Children's Village (orphanage) and Maasai village on way to Ngorongoro Crater, Sopa Lodge
9/14 Ngorongoro Crater, Sopa Lodge
9/15 travel to Serengeti, mobile tented camp. Visit Oldupai Gorge and Maasai Women's Cooperative
9/16-17 northern Serengeti
9/17-18 southern Serengeti, mobile tented camp
9/19 leave Serengeti, fly to Arusha, ending safari portion of trip

OK, first story/anecdote. Hope someone enjoys...


Party at The Pond

By the time we got to Tarangire on our third day, we’d already seen a satisfying variety of wildlife - lots of eles, giraffes, assorted gazelles, zebras, birds, etc. Certainly, for a newbie, enough to keep me excited. But none of it prepared me for The Pond.

Sure, I watch Pete’s Pond and get all excited when I’m lucky enough to catch some elephants and gazelles, and the pond in Tarangire was a puddle by comparison. But it was one hell of a puddle.

At first glance, all I really noticed were the storks, dozens of them in the water flapping and fishing and bathing. Photo op. Then I started noticing the other, smaller birds everywhere, in the trees, the water and on the sand. In tiptoes a Grants gazelle, making his way to the water’s edge. Photo op. Next come seven warthogs, running on stiff little legs, tails high, right up and into the water. One immediately flips on his back, legs flailing in the air. Photo op. Next arrive a group of monkeys, picking at each other and the bright green plants by the water’s edge. Photo op. Cue stage right; small ele herd with adorable babies shuffles in. Photo op. Stage left brings zebras, startling nervously as always. Now the pond was bustling with activity and energy – in a complete state of calm and normalcy.

At this point, I realized I was in the presence of a miracle and put away my camera. Until that moment, I never understood or appreciated the true harmony and tranquility that is Africa. Yes, the arrival of a lion or hyena would have changed the dynamic, but only briefly – and, that too, is part of the harmony.

I don’t know how to express it without sounding clichéd or trite. Africa is a model, a message, a reminder. Africa is one of the last places on this planet where it is the way it’s supposed to be – there and everywhere.

aknards

Maasai Mud


On our long drive to the Serengeti we stopped for a visit at a Maasai Women’s Cooperative. The women greeted us with smiles and song, filing past us touching hands with everyone. They wrapped all of us women in traditional, colorful cloths. Then, they formed a circle and began singing and clapping, taking turns dancing in the center. The dance was simple, with two women facing each other and jumping slightly towards and away from each other in rhythm with the clapping. Occasionally a second pair would enter the circle at the same time.

I found these women to be incredibly beautiful. Their lives are so hard, full of grinding physical labor and deprivation. Yet, they glowed and I watched them with delight.

Apparently, my rapturous smile was a dead give-away because the next thing I knew, one of the women was taking me by the hand and leading me into the center of the circle. “Oh no, white women can’t dance!...I’m going to look like a fool!…Can I figure out how to move my neck like them?...Why didn’t I give my 30 pound camera bag to someone to hold?....” And then, I looked into the woman’s eyes – they make amazing eye contact – and started having the best time. When the next pair butted in I didn’t want to go back to the circle.

I got to dance three or four times, as did Bea and Sue, then the women broke ranks and began filing out to the fields. Peter, our guide and interpreter, told us they wanted us to help them carry the wood. One of the women put a woven cap, very flat on top, on my head and another one put a very light amount of sticks on it. (I really could have carried much more but I guess they think we tourists are overly pampered and physically undeveloped. no kidding.)

We carried the wood a short distance to the huts where three women were making preparations to work on an unfinished hut. When a wood structure is completed, it’s covered with a mixture of dirt, cow dung and water. This “mud” hardens into a solid, insulating exterior. Sue was already digging into the mound of dusty soil as one woman dumped a huge bucket of dung on top. Water was added and the women plus Sue began kneading the mix. Bea and I worked our way into the circle. Hey, this is why I got that HepB, isn’t it?

The dung broke up fairly easily and when the mud was smooth, two of the women climbed up on the roof while the third began hauling up handfuls of the stuff. Sue and I joined her, slapping piles of the mud up on the front edge of the roof. But, where was Bea (the youngun’ of our group, in the “under 40” category?) She was up on the roof.

Not to be outdone, I walked around to the “ladder” that had about three cross sticks/rungs between ground and roof and began my ascent. Tripping ever so gracefully on the cloth wrapped around me, I did manage to get to the top. Since Bea was working with the woman nearest the ladder, I crossed over and began working with the farthest woman.

Without Peter, there was no chance of communication between us but it didn’t matter. The technique was pretty self explanatory. Smooth the mud into as thin and even a coating as possible, flicking any lumps of dung off the roof in the direction of your choice. Good times. The peanut gallery below - our fellow safarites - was having a field day taking photos and cheering us on. Bea and I had mud past our wrists and were actually helping the women. We made real progress in short time.

After about 15 minutes, Bea stood up and said to me, “I think I’m going to go down, now. I really don’t want to ruin my pants.” (Because we had a scheduled day of driving, she’d worn white capris and jacket.)

“No.”

I looked down at the Maasai woman Bea had been assisting, (presumably who understand no English), and who was still hard at work. I cracked up. “Did she just say ‘No’?”

“I think so, but really, I’m going down now so I don’t ruin these pants.”

“No,” again, this time unmistakable.

Now I was hysterical. The woman had moved her body to actually block the ladder. Bea looked at me and broke up laughing, too. I looked at the woman, who was still bent over, and saw the hint of a smile. She then moved away from the ladder, clearly having enjoyed her little joke.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have ever imagined a scenario like this: me, standing under the bright African sun on the roof of a hut sharing a joke with Maasai women. How cool is that?!

aknards

My First Ele

We set out on our very first game drive before sunrise. None of us had ever been on safari before. We listened quietly to our guide, John, and said very little. The excitement, however, was palpable and my heart rate was definitely elevated.

For the first 20 minutes we watched the sky lighten over Sinya – and saw absolutely no wildlife. Then, as we entered a slightly forested area we saw a tree in the distance covered with birds. John immediately recognized their silhouettes. Vultures. They didn’t move as we approached and posed silently for photographs.

We asked the obvious question: why were so many vultures gathered here? The wind shifted and we were overwhelmed by the stench of carrion. John drove around a bend in the road and we got our answer.

The elephant had fallen on its left side during the attack. Both the front right foot and entire face had been chopped off. We stared in horrified silence at the mutilation. It was incomprehensible.

John talked about the problems of poaching; why the entire face was removed (because the tusks are embedded deep within the facial structure); how ele feet are sold in certain countries as décor items; and why these poachers only took one foot (probably because they were about to be caught.)

As he drove away, John “apologized” for this being our first elephant sighting of the trip. We did, of course, see lots of healthy eles and thriving herds on our drives. But I never forgot my first elephant, its image embedded in my mind – not so much in a morbid way but as a positive, puts-things-in-perspective kind of way - an added reminder of how truly priceless and extraordinary Africa is.

twaffle

Thanks Anita for your trip report, I am enjoying your reminiscences. Loved the story about helping the Maasai women, priceless.
Looking forward to more.

atravelynn

The Pond and the Maasai Mud are both winners, even if the capri pants were not.

Wonderful start.

ShayTay

Wow, I feel like I'm on the safari all over again! Yes, Anita, you have a wonderful way with words and I LOVE the stories. I'm also looking forward to your photos, given your talents in that area, as well.

Sharon

Leely2

Great start. I like the style of your report.

aknards

Thank you, everyone and hi, Shay! I really appreciate everyones positive feedback. I'm glad at least a few of you are enjoying my indulgences. I'll keep the stories coming and I continue working on the pics..........

aknards

Lake Manyara

Our guide, Peter, and two Maasai warriors led us on an afternoon walk to Lake Manyara, famous for its vast flocks of flamingos (in addition to a huge array of other birds and mammals.) Both warriors carried long, ceremonial spears traditionally given to Maasai men on their wedding day.

Along the way the warriors pointed out plants used by the Maasai for medicinal purposes and answered our many questions relying on Peter as a translator. They were reserved and very pleasant. One of them reminded me of Shia LaBeouf.

It became clear that the shores of Lake Manyara, (normally quite shallow and alkaline), were extremely far away having receded from a recent drought. The farther we walked, the boggier the ground became. We were actually walking on the lakebed. It was covered in a layer of crunchy, crystalline salt studded with flamingo feathers – brilliant white and very beautiful - but the crust was thin and we were beginning to sink. The decision was made to turn back.

Hakuna Matata. The late afternoon light was gorgeous, the company delightful and we were all very mellow. While disappointed about not making it to the lake, we were still quite happy. We headed back to terra firma.

Peter, however, possibly in an effort to create a substitute activity, suggested that our warriors give a spear throwing demonstration. He stuck a walking stick into the ground and asked them to try hitting the stick. It didn’t take long before the rest of us were jumping around, wanting to take turns. The warriors showed us how to hold the spears and then watched in amusement as we threw with varying degrees of success.

It was then that I had one of my many Africa “pinch me” moments. Here I was, standing on the salt flats of Lake Manyara, shimmering water and pink flamingos in the distance, watching the African sun set while Maasai warriors laughed and threw spears.

They don’t talk about that in the tour books.

aknards

Bea and the Beest

When staying in campsites, the issue of wildlife after dark is to be taken quite seriously. By sundown, the calls would begin and we would eat dinner listening to the sounds of lions and hyena close by. I, personally, found this thrilling and probably should have been more afraid. A little fear is good.

The staff at all the camps had the same rules: if, during the night, an animal visited our tent we could watch silently thru a window but we must never shine a light on it or take a flash photo of it; and, we must never walk at night without the escort of a staff member. The staff carried these wonderful torches that had extremely powerful beams of light. None of our flashlights carried as far or as brightly as did theirs. Of course, that’s all they carried. I sometimes wondered if they planned on beating off a hyena with their torch but I kept my mouth shut.

So, one night in the Serengeti, towards the end of our trip, Bea, Bea’s mother (a spry 75!), Sharon and I walked together back to our tents after dinner. We were led silently by a staffer, who spoke no English. He shined his light from side to side, into the trees between the tents and way out into the fields surrounding the campsite where herds grazed during the day. Occasionally eyes would glow back in the dark. Bea and I would grab each other and laugh like (immature) schoolgirls.

We got to Bea’s tent first, chatting away, and she was about to unzip the front flap when the staffer threw back his right arm, gesturing us to stop. We all froze and looked where his light was pointed, down at the front left corner of the tent. There, sticking out about three feet, was the bony butt of a very large animal sleeping against the side of the tent.

“Oooohhh,” Bea said, in her sweet lilting voice. “Look how cute.”
I cracked up, but was also, for whatever the reason, unafraid. “Bea,” I whispered, “this is not some little Cocker Spaniel puppy. This is a wildebeest. It could gore us to death!”

Meanwhile, the staffer was doing exactly what we’d been told not to do. He was shining his light on the beest, jiggling it back and forth and up and down to get its attention. The beest finally picked up his head (BIG horns!), looked over his left shoulder at us with an expression that said, “Bugger off, I’m not going anywhere,” and went back to sleep.

We all laughed quietly (except the staffer who seemed pretty upset. We were, after all, his responsibility.) Then Bea said, “That’s ok. He’s right next to my bed. We’ll sleep together,” and she unzipped the tent, helped her mother step in and said good night.

Sharon and I were escorted the long way around to our tent next door and I spent awhile peering through the screens trying to see the beest. I must say I was jealous. I would have loved to have had a sleeping animal – any animal – next to me. I think it would be fabulous to be able to listen to its sleep sounds and breathing; a wildlife lullabye.

aknards

Dinnertime

Dinnertime became one of my favorite things about safari - not just because of the food, which was great – but because of the whole gestalt, the whole “ritual” that was dinnertime.

Typically, weather permitting, dinner would begin at sundown by gathering around the campfire. Now, this is not the campfire from my college days, pulling up a rock and heating a can of Dinty Moores. This is a blazing fire surrounded by canvas chairs and folding tables, wine and Bitter Lemons, freshly popped corn and hot roasted cashews. I could have easily made a dinner of the cashews, alone.

Campfire time was when we talked about our day. Peter, our head guide, would ask and answer questions about the drives and/or visits we’d made or he’d talk about a particular subject of interest. One evening he spoke about his tribe and its marriage customs. That was a really good talk.

When it was pitch black and we were sufficiently lulled by wine and flames we’d head to the dining tent. At this time of night it would appear to be aglow, lit entirely by candles. Linen tablecloths and napkins, china and wine glasses were set elegantly down the table. Not exactly roughing it.

We were a small group, comprised of 10 guests, plus Sharon, our agent and Peter and John, our guides. This size allowed us great flexibility, (we met people who were in groups of 20-25. wow!), and we always had a window seat (two jeeps, one with five and one with six.) The concern, of course, with such a small group is, what if you don’t get along? Nowhere to go to get away…

We got lucky in that regard. While we never really “bonded”, had major heart-to-hearts or seriously partied, we did enjoy each others’ company and respect one another very much. We were an ethnically diverse crowd and had fun learning from and sharing with each other. So, when we’d all sit down for dinner, the conversation was always interesting, relaxed and had plenty of laughs.

Of course, there was the nightly processional of food – way too much food. First course was always a soup, my personal favorite. None of us ever figured out how, without a food processor, the staff was able to make soups so smooth and clear, but they were the best soups I’ve ever eaten. Ever. Some evenings that’s all I ate: soup and the freshly baked bread (yes, bread baked in a metal box set over a wood burning fire.) Soup would be followed by platters of lamb, fresh herb vegetables, baked sweet potato fries, veggie quiche, rice pilaf, salad of avocado and tomatoes, fresh sliced fruits and chocolate cake. The particulars varied from night to night but not the quantities. It’s true that no one goes hungry on safari.

After dinner, we’d roll out of the dining tent, serenaded by the night sounds of Africa. The end of the day. Every day was a good day in Africa. Actually, for me, every day was a great day.

atravelynn

Your stories will sell safaris. You've captured what it's like. The First Ele caught me off guard and reading about it was upsetting. I can only imagine how it caught you and your group and how it made you all feel. I agree with your comments on the wonderful soups from pumpkin to celery and all the rest. I hope there are photos of the spear throwing, both the warriors and your collective efforts.

aknards

Thanks, Lynn. My hope was to capture a little of what it's like to be on safari - particularly for those who've never been - but that's a tall task and I'm no Karen Blixen.

Yes, the mutilated elephant on our very first morning was a terrible shock. Truly incomprehensible. I couldn't fathom the cruelty and lack of conscience that it took to butcher that fellow. However, I did document it. I took two photos, and I've shown them to friends probably for the same reason that I wrote the story - because it needs to be told. But it sucks, which is why I didn't post it as my first story, even tho it happened on my first day.

Thanks again for the nice comments!

atravelynn

Wise move in the order of tales. But being the very first thing would elevate the shock and disgust value.

Leely2

I hadn't gotten past the first vignette when I commented last night. How horrific about the elephant at Sinya.

aknards

Hi,
For those who are interested in more detail, the wildlife we saw at the pond in Tarangire:
warthog
waterbuck
zebra
wildebeest
elephant
olive baboon
marabou
dik dik
giraffe
ibis
columbus monkey
impala
blacksmith plover
yellow collared lovebird
namaqua dove

It really was amazingly good timing on our part. I hated leaving.

aknards

For the few people who may actually read this thread, it's important that I clarify something: Sharon, who organized and planned my wonderful trip, is not a travel agent, but merely an Africanite who goes often and enjoys sharing her love for and knowledge of Africa with others. Somewhere in my ramblings I referred to her as an agent - one of my senior moments and I apologize to her.

While on the subject, I never mentioned Kibo, our ground operators in Tanzania. What a terrific group of people and excellent service! Our guides were Peter Njau and John Balletto, both extremely knowledgeable and fun. Jeeps were in great shape and extra seat cushions were provided. Camps, food, staff, smiles - nothing was lacking or overlooked. I always felt safe, protected and pampered. I would highly recommend them and would certainly use them again, myself.

aknards

So Tell Me About Your Trip

“So tell me about your trip.” I’ve come to dread those words. They’re usually followed by, “What was your favorite part?”

My favorite “part”? I’ve had great difficulty talking about my trip since I’ve returned home. There’s no way to do it justice, to explain to people how emotional I felt most of the time and why; to describe the beauty, the tranquility, the harmony; to communicate the feeling that you’ve stepped back in time to a place still relatively untouched and absolutely perfect.

I try to explain to people that a trip to Africa is very different than, say a trip to Europe. Europe is a place of destinations where one comes home saying, “I think I liked Paris the best.”

My safari to Africa was an experience. I told my safari mate, Sue, that given the opportunity - if predators weren’t predators – I would gladly plant a chair in the middle of the savannah and sit for a few days letting the migration flow around me.

I couldn’t get enough of the sensation of Africa - the smell of burning wood, the animals and their sounds, the golden grass against green trees against purple mountains against azure skies, the avocados and apples, the deafening thunder and hot, hot sun… I felt alive and happy and at peace. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so “right”.

I wanted to go on safari my entire life - a very long time. Then, I went and it exceeded my dreams. Now, I want to go back even more. Will I ever be satisfied?

aknards

I'm sure you seasoned Africanites get a chuckle out of us newbies in love. I'm well aware that I'm waxing poet. I can only hope that someday I'll have enough safaris under my belt that I'll be able to look back at my ga-ga idealism and smile...

twaffle

Anita, you brought a tear to my eye and describe so well how beautiful Africa can be and how it can touch your very soul. I can never describe it well enough to friends who travel to Europe/USA, they just don't get it. I will never tire of poetic descriptions of the beauty of African wild places.