Nyamera, I think your theory on the vehicles and their occupants is correct.


If the people you have decided to start giving directions to don't immediately heed them, a little nudge from the topi horns may be all they need.

MyDogKyle, I can't begin to tell you how much I have enjoyed reading your Kenya travel report. Your writing is so evocative, and all of the wonderful memories you share are expressed so beautifully. Thank you for sharing your amazing adventure with us.

Thanks, everybody. That last entry was a tough one to write. (Nyamera, I bet you're right about those vehicles.)

I'm hoping to get another "chapter" posted some time this week. Thanks again for sticking with me through many, many words and sentences!

PART 10 – “Up, Up and Away…” (Oct. 1st, 2007)

The alarm went off early this morning, waking us before sunrise for one of the great adventures of our safari—a flight in a hot air balloon. We met our pilot, J.P., and a big group of Australians in the lobby and hopped into a cranky old vehicle he called “The Beast” (is it a truck? a bus? no one knows), setting off into the darkness of the Mara. Along the way to the launch site, a hippo ran across the road directly in front of us, his chubby bulk caught momentarily in the headlights. And not long after that, the Beast decided to die for a bit, leaving us sitting in the darkness for about 20 minutes while J.P. and the driver fussed with it. In the movies, this would be the point where we’d be surrounded by lions… but all was quiet, save the occasional squawking of the radio, the other vehicle asking where the heck we were. Soon we were on our way again, and any animals out there kept their distance.

The launch site was beside the river, so while they were inflating the balloon, we watched hippos lolling about in the purple-tinged water, grunting and gurgling and wiggling the water out of their ears. We also got another good whiff of water-logged dead wildebeest from somewhere down in the river. And beyond that, a glorious sunrise of orange and deep lavender that filled up the great bowl of sky. It was fun to watch them inflate the gigantic balloon, blasting hot air into it with the burners and lighting up the colors from inside. Or I suppose I should say, it was fun to watch them try to inflate it—the wind had whipped up and kept knocking a dent in the side of the balloon and tipping it sideways. J.P. reassured us that it wasn’t too windy to fly today, that it was going to be fine, but when we climbed into the huge basket I could see the doubtful looks on the crew’s faces. Sure enough, they had to declare the inflation a failure. Everyone climbed back out of the basket and it tipped over on its side as they deflated the balloon. More standing around by the river, more hippo antics below, and by now the sun was well up in the sky. It still looked a bit touch-and-go for a while, the burners blasting with all their might and the balloon wobbling about, and I had just about convinced myself I was going to have to live without a hot air balloon ride when suddenly the great contraption lifted up and J.P. called out, “Okay, everyone into the basket, quick!” We all climbed up the side foot holes and leaped in (some more gracefully than others, but everyone lent a hand). The basket was enormous, holding 16 people. Before I quite realized what was happening, we were lifting gently up into the air, with the hot blast of burners directly above our heads. The ground dropped quickly away below us and the ground crew became tiny waving figures in the distance. I saw them all run for their vehicles to chase after the balloon, and then I turned my eyes forward and felt the rush of flight hit me all at once.

This must be how the Mara looks to the birds – a vast sweep of grassland broken by the humps of hills, the crooked path of the river like a winding silver band, trees as little tufts of green. I think this was the greatest privilege of the flight, having this birds’ eye view of the landscape. The ride was amazingly smooth, and our pilot kept the balloon relatively low because the wind was pushing us along at a good clip. If he’d gone much higher, we would have reached the Tanzanian border in no time, and he had to land before we got there. (Although they tell you the balloon ride is about an hour, it’s really only as long as it takes to get to Tanzania… in our case, about 40 minutes.) But I was glad we were not too high, because I still felt like I had an intimate view of the land we were passing over. We flew past the Serena lodge, which looked like a toy village from this height, and saw several other balloons in the dusky blue distance.

We saw a lot of animals from the balloon, although it is definitely not the best way to see them or the real reason to do a balloon flight, in my opinion (I really think it’s more about the landscape, having this view that you wouldn’t get any other way, and the amazing sensation of flight, and the wind in your face). Most of the wildlife was running frantically away from the balloon’s shadow or the sound of the burners, which did give me some pause about whether this is good for them. Among those we saw bounding or running or leaping or flying away from our shadow (and in a few cases, standing boldly and just looking up at us): bat-eared foxes, a hammerkop, warthogs, a pair of jackals, tommies and reedbucks, a secretary bird, and an elephant family in the distance who didn’t seem to notice us at all. The highlight was flying directly over an enormous buffalo herd which took off running and kept pace with the balloon for bit, little brown calves bucking and leaping alongside the adults. There were topis below us, and zebras, and the lens cap from one of the Australian passengers, accidentally dropped over the side. Around me, people were gasping and laughing and pointing out all the animals, but a part of me was alone, just flying, seeing the twists and turns of the river and all the colors in the grass and earth below: brown, gold, purple, green, red, spread out so far that I imagined I could almost see the curve of the earth at its edges.

All too soon, J.P. told us that he would have to prepare to land soon or we’d end up in Tanzania. So, regretfully, everyone tucked their cameras away and got into landing position: sitting down on a little bench inside the basket, holding onto the rope loops in front of us and bracing for the impact and the slide. And what a roller coaster of a landing it was! The basket thumped hard against the ground and tipped over on its side (as it’s supposed to do), and we skidded fast along the ground with us on our backs looking up at the other row of passengers above us, little rocks and dust and grass flying everywhere. It was exciting (and a little bit scary) to feel the speed of that landing, especially since the flight itself had seemed so serene. Finally we skidded to a stop and everyone was laughing, breathless, rolling and climbing and stumbling out of the sideways basket. “Congratulations,” J.P. said, “You all survived!”

We were standing in the middle of a long green plain dotted with acacia trees and a few inquisitive zebras stood not far away, staring at us. During the flight we’d seen the ground crew racing furiously after us, and now they were somewhere nearby setting up our breakfast. To give them time, we toodled around in the Beast for a bit, admiring zebras and topis… but first J.P. told us more about the mechanics of the balloon and the burners, and showed us the wooden skis built into the bottom of the basket for those sliding landings (“that was a really fast one!” he told us. “Not everyone gets to experience it quite that way.”).

Breakfast was great—but what a strange thing, to be sitting at a long table set with a red tablecloth and camp chairs and china while a chef in a tall white hat whipped up omelets, out here in the middle of the Masai Mara with an audience of zebras. Our pilot opened a bottle of champagne and led us in a toast to our successful flight. Then we all dug in, and I swear that food tastes about 75% better when you eat it in the great outdoors. The fun thing for us was that everyone else on our balloon was part of the same tour group, so while the group all talked with each other, my husband and I had the chance to sit at one end of the table with J.P. and his wife, who are about our age and have been living in Kenya for only a few years. It was so interesting to talk with them about the life of a balloon pilot, what it was like to relocate from Canada to Kenya, and all the travel dreams we each had. J.P. talked about how much he loved the wildlife and learning about his new home, but admitted he had broken down and got a satellite dish and lamented the fact that he rarely had time to travel around and see other parts of Kenya.

After breakfast we headed back to the lodge to meet James for a late-morning game drive. He was raring to go, asking us first about our balloon ride and what we’d seen. But when we started to mention the animals, he quickly dismissed it, saying, “Okay, fine,” in his usual manner. “But no lions?” he asked. “No lions,” we said. “No cheetah?” “No cheetah.” His eyes sparkled, and he seemed happy to hear it.

This morning we saw elephants, Egyptian geese, and topis. We passed through more areas that showed evidence of the migration—great swaths of grassland mowed to a scrubby green carpet, with bleached white skulls and scattered bones and the occasional wildebeest carcass to show where the massive herds had once been. But these areas were empty now, and nearly silent. It was an eerie, beautiful sight.

But of course we did hope to see some animals, not just know they’d been there. So we carried on until we spotted two Land Rovers parked near a rocky hill. James squinted at the hillside, and then said with a huge smile, “Here is your cheetah, who you wanted to see!” But not just a cheetah – FOUR cheetahs! They were all young males, probably brothers, scouting the rocky terrain for small prey and pacing along together in that lanky way of theirs, half-cat and half-dog in their mannerisms. They continued up the hillside to a shady spot and settled in for a nap, blending effortlessly into the landscape. What a thrill to see them, my favorite big cats!

A bit farther on, James stopped the minibus off road and said, “Where is the lodge? I am lost.” Now that we’d spent a week together, he was really getting more and more silly and showing us his goofy side. This was another great (and unexpected) treat of our safari—getting to know James, and having the feeling change from a more formal guide-client relationship to having these moments of him teasing us, trading stories about our lives and families with each other, and sharing the excitement of discovery with each new animal sighting. It was fun to see how much he loved those moments with the animals too, even after four decades of guiding safaris.

On our late afternoon game drive to day we had our closest thing to a Great Migration Moment—I guess we could call it our “almost river crossing.” This is the time of year when the migrating herds of wildebeest and zebra are in the Mara and thinking about heading back south into the Serengeti, so things like river crossings and thundering herds on the plains may or may not happen at any given time. James told us about a group of avid photographers he’d guided who insisted on seeing a river crossing, and how they sat parked in the minibus for five days waiting for it to happen! Eventually they saw the animals leaping into the river, but for us that was not the way we wanted to spend our precious time in the Masai Mara. So I think we had reasonable expectations about seeing a river crossing—that is, we expected that we wouldn’t see one. Whether or not one of those Big Moments happen while you’re around to witness it, one of the really amazing things to see is the way the animals communicate with one another, and the ways their behavior changes as they gear up for the big move. This is what we were lucky enough to witness today.

But first… buffalo, little bee-eater, and lots of hippo action! We drove over to the Mara River and saw dozens of hippo tracks leading out of the water to their nighttime grazing areas. At the river, we could see both hippos and crocodiles basking on the river banks in the sun. At least a dozen more hippos were in the water, bobbing under the surface and then popping back up in a whoosh of exhalation and wiggling ears, chuckling and grumbling, mock-fighting with wide open mouths. Several babies floated amongst the giant adults, like shiny little bath toys. At one point a bloated wildebeest carcass drifted past a group of hippos, and they startled noisily off in different directions, barking a warning to another pod of hippos farther downstream. A crocodile swam eagerly over to the bobbing corpse and nudged at it, then swiftly pushed it away as if in disgust. The wildebeest body continued it lazy float down the river.

We drove farther down the river and spied an enormous herd of wildebeest and zebras milling about of the opposite bank. All along the river we could see crossing areas, where the steep bank had been worn away into a sloping dirt freeway by trampling hooves. James pointed out the way the animals were gradually beginning to stop grazing and lift their heads, how there was much head-tossing among the wildies and a gradual sense of communal movement all in one direction. He told us they were thinking of crossing some time soon, and looking for a good place to do it. We had some time to give them, so we waited and watched to see what they would do. They began moving en masse along the river bank, the wildebeest with their purposeful head-bobbing and occasional bouts of crazy bucking and frolicking, the zebras more stoic. They moved along for a bit then stopped, milled about anxiously, moved along some more, closer and closer to a well-worn crossing point just upstream from the hippos. Maybe… maybe…? But ultimately, no. Evidently someone decided the time or place wasn’t quite right, and very gradually we noticed the urgency drain out of the group as their movement slowed, heads went back down to graze, and they dispersed again along the far shore. Some part of me was a bit disappointed by this, of course (who wouldn’t want to see wildies and zebras rushing down and across the river?), but I still felt really lucky to see the herd behaving that way, and to witness those subtle and fascinating shifts in their behavior. One of the things we learned on safari is that you are never really disappointed by what you see or don’t see, because everything is such a gift and Africa is constantly surprising you in ways you never expected (as you’ll see in just a moment, that’s exactly what happened on this game drive).

We decided to move on while we still had light. I really noticed today how wonderful it smells out here (dead wildies aside)—fresh and earthy, with a bright tang in the air that’s unlike anything I’ve ever smelled before. So much open space and so much variety of life, each with its own scent, mixing into an intoxicating cocktail. We drove to a particularly beautiful spot, a brilliantly green swamp with a backdrop of thick trees, and there we saw dozens of water birds and a shaggy waterbuck who lived up to her name by leaping gracefully down into the water and causing the birds to scatter. Behind her, giraffes began to emerge from the cover of the forest to nibble on the trees, and zebras stood around below them looking like a million bucks against the bright green backdrop. It was a ridiculously cinematic moment (cue the giraffes! cue the zebras! waterbuck leap – action!).

As if all of this wasn’t enough for one day, we came across two huge male lions just waking up for the evening. One walked over to the other and flopped down beside him, and they began wrestling like two gigantic kittens—rolling back and forth in the grass, exposing their pale fuzzy bellies and softly patting and slapping each other with their enormous paws. One guy got up and strolled away for a little more snooze time, but his brother followed and plopped down on top of him again to snuggle. It was so amazing to watch them together, how gentle they were, even when one was attempting to catch the other’s flicking tail. When they both finally curled up together in a big tan ball and went back to sleep, we realized it was getting late and we had to head back to the lodge. But nature had one more surprise for us – a serval waiting right beside the road on our way back up the Serena hill. He moved too fast for us to get a good photo (none of that lionly lounging around for him), but we did get a good look at his face and his beautiful markings. “I think,” James said, “game drive is better than balloon.” We were so spoiled for cats today, we could hardly think straight—but we had to agree.

By the time we reached the lodge we were really in a rush. It was fully dark, and we had about 20 minutes to say good night to James, jump out of the car, race back to our room (which seemed about six miles away from the lobby now), change into warm clothes for our night game drive, get back to the lobby to pick up our balloon certificate and photos from J.P., and meet our Serena guides for our night game drive. We ran as fast as we could, startling a hyrax as we raced down the path to our room, and made it back just in time. Into the Serena’s Land Rover, everyone bundled up in Maasai blankets beside the open windows, looking eagerly out into the darkness as we headed off down the hill with our guide and ranger and spotter… and less than half a mile down the road it was raining so hard they decided to turn back and postpone the game drive until the following night, since everyone who had signed up would still be here tomorrow. As we walked back into the lobby J.P. said, “Guys, what happened?” and when we told him, he said we were lucky that they’d rescheduled and not just taken us out on an abbreviated drive in the rain. True. It worked out well, because we now had time to sit with the rest of our ballooning group and watch the video the pilot’s wife had put together for us.

Eventually the rain tapered off and we used the unexpected time to relax out on the terrace with some amarula beside the campfire, listening to one of the staff members play the guitar and sing songs in Swahili. Only a small group of people were at the fire pit, so it didn’t feel like we were at such a large lodge. The guitar player asked where we were from, and when we answered California, he began playing “This Land is Your Land,” emphasizing the mention of our home state and then adding a chorus about East Africa (“This land is your land, this land is my land, from the Masai Mara to Kilimanjaro…”). Definitely not a song I expected to hear in Kenya! But he was funny and charming, with a great singing voice. The next morning we saw him walking up the path, and he gave us a big smile, calling out, “Jambo, California!”

I am really enjoying your report - it is keeping my own recent trip alive, and helping me sort through my own memories.
I see you had a short tiger safari in India - something I've thought about. Am thinking I might want to spend some time on my own in Delhi, and then have the xeperts help me find the tigers....Can you tell me whom you dealt with there?
Thanks
Jess

Hi Jess,

We organized our 4-day tiger safari with a company in Delhi called Wild World India (www.wildworldindia.com). They have suggested itineraries on their website, or they will set up a custom itinerary for you. We did a shortened version of their "Corbett Experience" trip, since we only had 4 days before we had to meet up with some friends in Delhi.

Just FYI: What we did was not at all like our African safari, in terms of accommodation. We stayed in forest rest houses, which were unheated concrete buildings and very basic (we needed to use our sleeping bags when we were there in December). Meals are very basic as well. When we were there, all of the other guests at the camp were Indian families, and it was a fun way to visit with local folks. This was exactly what we wanted and it was a good bargain, but if you are interested in the more upscale properties that provide tiger safaris, you would definitely want to discuss that with Wild World India. I think they can probably arrange those as well. We made all our arrangements with them via e-mail, including an overnight in Delhi and all transfers, and it worked out great. A tiger safari is amazing and very rewarding, but you definitely have to work harder for your sightings than you do in Kenya or Tanzania!

thanks - good information.
Jess

With a 20 minute delay you are lucky you made your balloon liftoff. The detailed account you gave of the balloon is wonderful and included the good and the not so good aspects.

That's great you became more and more friendly with James as your trip went on. That makes it so much harder to depart.

Your description of the wildebeest and zebra gearing up to cross the river and then having "the urgency drain out of the group" is exactly how I recall it.

From the balloon to the four cheetah to the male lions to the sing-along, it was quite a day. Thanks for sharing it.

PART 11 – “James’ Favorite Animal” (Oct. 2nd, 2007)

This morning we saw a glorious sunrise from our balcony when we woke up for our early morning game drive on the way to our breakfast with the hippos. So far, Africa has not been very generous with the beautiful sunsets we’ve heard so much about, but these Kenyan sunrises have been to die for. Our first sighting this morning was a herd of 24 topis, the largest group of them we’ve seen. In the distance we could see hot air balloons descending to land, and while we admired the lovely picture they made against the sky, James told us he thought there were far too many of them flying over the Mara these days, and he did not think it was good for the animals. I absolutely see his point, but I’m conflicted about it because we had an amazing experience flying (and are balloons better or worse than the helicopters that fly constantly over places like the Grand Canyon or Kauai?). I suppose, like vehicles on game drives, it’s also largely a question of responsible behavior (and perhaps setting limits on the numbers) than something that should be banned altogether. I don’t necessarily think a hot air balloon flying by overhead and startling an animal is necessarily any worse than 24 vehicles surrounding a leopard or a group of lions. But I do agree with James that it would be good to put a limit on the number of balloons going up every morning. Does anyone know if there is a limit? James was not sure.

We saw so many hippos today, even before our breakfast date with them, as well as white-browed coucal, giraffe, a large group of bachelor boy impalas, secretary birds strutting through the grass, and some adorable baby hyenas (I’m one of those that find them adorable, no matter what other people say!). We sat and watched a troop of baboons for a while, especially entranced by the babies playing. But baboons are so difficult to photograph! For one thing, they are constantly in motion. But more significantly, they seem to realize you’re pointing a camera at them (maybe it’s that big, staring eye of the lens), and they’ll deliberately turn their backs on you. By this point, we’ve experienced that so many times that we’ve decided this is an animal it’s far better to just sit and watch and enjoy their behavior, instead of trying to “capture” it in pictures. As we were watching them, James told us a story about when he was a little boy, how he and his friends played a trick on a particularly naughty baboon in their village. They gave it a drink made from the fruit of a sausage tree, and the big fellow got very drunk and passed out. While he was sleeping it off, the boys put a bell around his neck. When he woke, the baboon clanked around making such a racket that all the other baboons ran away from him. Eventually the boys took pity on him and removed the bell. James laughed as he told the story, but then got very serious and added, “Of course, you know I would never do such a thing now – the rangers would not like it!”

We arrived at the breakfast site a bit early and occupied ourselves with watching hippos. Every now and then, one of them would yawn spectacularly, showing off those big, blunt teeth, but we always seemed to have our camera pointed elsewhere when he did. “This is your game today,” James announced, “to capture a yawning hippo.” We played the game for a while, but the hippos won and we never got that perfect open-mouthed shot.

The “Breakfast with the Hippos” is one of the Serena Lodge’s activities, and we really enjoyed it. (I am so much more a fan of eating meals out in the bush rather than standing in the dining room buffet line.) We got out of our vehicle (not far from a sign that read, “Do Not Alight from Vehicle,” actually) and walked a short way along the river with a Maasai guide to a clearing where we found small tables overlooking a pod of hippos. Nearby was a buffet table loaded with fresh fruit and bread, and an omelet station manned by chefs Moses and Lawrence. The food was delicious, complete with champagne, and we had a lot of company. I don’t just mean the enthusiastic group of birders at the next table (so occupied with their gigantic lenses that they could hardly put them down and eat a bite of the food) – in addition to our hippo hosts, we were joined by crocodiles in the river below and scores of small birds begging around (and sometimes on) the tables. The most expert beggars of all were the dozens of banded mongooses who swarmed around the table next to ours. I quickly lost respect for that group of birders when I saw them handing food to the animals and luring them over for photos. They were certainly adorable and I understand the impulse, but I wish someone from the Serena staff would have asked them to stop. After breakfast, a Maasai guide took us on a short walk along the river and talked about hippo and croc behavior. Several times he had to call to the birders and tell them not to wander off from the group. It’s amazing to see how so many people don’t “get it,” this thing about walking around in the animals’ home, and how you should never take your safety for granted.

After breakfast we set off with James again, and it wasn’t long before we encountered our best sighting of the day. Two male impalas were engaged in a furious fight, locking horns and shoving back and forth, so intent on each other that neither of them noticed the two hyenas stalking toward them from either side. (Later, we would tell our Tanzanian guide about this event, and he said he liked to call these “hyena referees.”) There was also a family of warthogs off to one side, watching intently like spectators at a match. We watched the battle rage back and forth, horns clattering and bodies thudding together while the hyenas circled closer and closer… until finally one of the impalas glanced off to the side and noticed the closest hyena, only a few yards away. Instantly, the impala boys forgot their difference and went leaping off together at high speed. The hyenas only bothered to follow for a short ways, and then turned and ambled across the road, sending the warthogs scrambling too, their tails held high in the air.

The rest of our game drive was more about birds than mammals—a tawny eagle hunting, a flock of dozens of superb starlings picking through the remains of someone’s picnic site, and our first ostriches, who looked remarkably like bushes in the distance, until they began to move. James has a great enthusiasm for birds, because they can be so challenging to identify. As he was telling us this, I finally decided to ask him if he has a favorite animal. I thought he might say lions, based on his obvious delight whenever we’d seen them. First he gave us a diplomatic answer: “My favorite animal is whatever YOU most want to see, because you are my guests here.” “Oh, come on,” we protested, “which one would you be most excited to see, if you were driving by yourself and did not have guests with you?” James thought about it for a moment, and then said, “It is not a single type of animal. What I love best is all of nature—the wildlife, and the plants, and the birds, and the weather and the insects—how everything fits together. That is my favorite, to see how these things work together.” And then, with an impish smile he added, “But as a boy, I liked elephants best.”

After lunch back at the lodge, we got an earlier afternoon start than usual so we would have time to visit a Maasai village outside the park, near the Oloololo gate. We’d felt like the Samburu village visit had been a worthwhile thing to do, despite some mixed feelings, but we weren’t entirely sure if it was something we wanted to do again. But James was really enthusiastic about it, saying, “Your visit to the Mara will not be complete if you only visit the animals and not the Maasai people!” And although he may have been encouraging this because he got a kickback from the village for bringing us there, he did have a point, too—this place is not just about the animals. (By the way, I don’t judge the guides for this sort of thing, and James did not try to pressure us into it. He was always very good about listening to us and doing what we wanted to do. I’m sure if we had said no, it would not have been a problem.) I had a lot of misgivings, but my husband wanted to go and it was something different to do here, and so I kept my mouth shut. We drove out of the park and headed up a treacherous, rutted dirt road that seemed to go straight up the escarpment, with rain coming hard on our heels. Several times I gripped my husband’s hand as the minibus lurched and ground its way up the increasingly muddy road.

At last we reached a small village called Enkerere, which means something like “the beautiful view.” They certainly had that from this high perch, looking back over the vast plains of the Mara. Our guide here was a young man named Johnson, who had a very tenuous grasp of English (but still far better than our grasp of Maa or Swahili). He promised we could take all the photos and video we wanted, collected our admission fee, and showed us through the thorny gate into the boma. Here he handed us off to a slightly more verbose guy named Julius, who grouped us with a Japanese couple who had arrived earlier (and who seemed very uncomfortable to be there). We all stood around in the mud as the rain fell harder, and the guides brought us big umbrellas. The flies were really intense here, crawling all over us and buzzing around our faces, drawn by so much mud and goat manure. The goats were all starting to wander into the boma’s central corral, drawn back home by the rain and brining even more flies with them. I’ve been around livestock all my life and raised horses and sheep, so usually this doesn’t bother me (manure definitely doesn’t phase me), but this was pretty tough; it was a struggle to keep brushing flies off my mouth and eyes and arms. I’ve never seen such aggressive flies.

The men did a fire-building demo (quite a challenge with the rain), then a small group of women came out and performed an embarrassingly half-hearted song and dance, looking for all the world like they would rather be anywhere but here in front of some tourists. After that we took shelter in one of the oblong mud huts. This one definitely did not have the lived-in feel of the Samburu home we visited (it was spotlessly clean and there was nothing inside except a bed to sit on, no real cooking area or signs of life). We wondered if it had been tidied up for the tourists, or if perhaps it was set aside just for this purpose and no one had ever lived here, but I thought it would be rude to ask about that. Throughout all of this—the fire-building, the song, the goats, inside the house—the two guides kept handing items to my husband and the Japanese guy (beaded talking sticks, shields, spears), so much that they could hardly take any photos because their hands were always full. No one told us anything about these items or their cultural significance, so it seemed pretty clear that their actual significance was to get us to part with some more money. My husband said several times, “No thank you, I don’t want to buy,” and tried to hand them back, but no doing. Everyone just smiled and refused to take them back. (He ended up quietly leaving them behind in the house.) After some prompting, Julius did tell us a few things about the house construction, but generally they did not tell us anything about the village and just kept asking us, “Do you have any questions?”

We exited and walked a short way farther through the village, where we saw some very annoyed-looking little kids ducking back into the doorways of their homes to hide from us. Again, this was very different from the Samburu village, where people were much friendlier and came up to say hello to us, with the children waving and smiling. The most unfortunate moment came when a little boy tried to dart back into his house and Julius grabbed him by the arm and forced him to stand in front of the doorway, imploring us to “Take pictures, take pictures,” while the kid squirmed and looked miserable. Of course we said, “No thank you, we have plenty of pictures,” and I was relieved when he let the boy go. What on earth was that little guy thinking about all of this? My overall impression of this place was that it was a real village where people lived, not something just set up for the tourists, and that some of the adults (the men, probably) had decided that it was worthwhile to give tours and get some tourist dollars for the village. But it was excruciatingly clear that not everyone was thrilled by this idea, and some women and children we saw there were clearly outright unhappy about the whole thing.

All of this took maybe 20 minutes or so, and then we were whisked, naturally, to a women’s marketplace set up beside the village. The Japanese couple escaped quickly, but we felt obligated to wander around and look at things as a courtesy. I thanked the women there for letting us visit their village, but I don’t know if anyone understood me. There was nothing I wanted to buy, and I felt so disturbed by the whole experience, so we left as soon as we had made one circuit around the group. Johnson walked us back to our car, looking miserable that we didn’t buy anything, and I wanted to say, “Hey, why so down? We just gave you $40 for 20 minutes of your time!” But of course we didn’t say anything like that—just thanked him for the tour and said goodbye. James seemed a bit alarmed that we were done so fast and we had to assure him that it was fine, we’d seen enough. The whole way back down the hill I felt sick at heart, wondering if I had done anything at all to benefit the people in that village, or if I was simply contributing to a problem for them and for the other tourists who would come after us, and for the relationship (such as it was) between us.

So, did we think this village visit was worth the time and money? It’s probably clear from my comments that no, it was not. There were parts of the experience that were downright awful and uncomfortable for everyone involved, and if we’d known what we were in for we would have skipped it. The only upside is that it was interesting to see the differences in design, layout, houses, and clothing between the two types of villages, Samburu and Maasai. I imagine some Maasai villages would be different and offer a better experience than this one. Despite myself, I almost think it would be less uncomfortable at a more polished, “commercialized” village where people make you feel more welcome. It’s a strange dilemma. You want to have some opportunity to interact with and learn about local people when you visit a place, but I’m not sure there’s a way to do that here unless you are working in a village for a while and really get to know people, or else are lucky enough to have a local guide who invites you to meet his own family and friends. I want to make it clear that I don’t blame the Maasai people for wanting to profit from the tourists and take advantage of all the foreign dollars coming onto their land, considering how much they have been taken advantage of. And if it encourages the preservation of their culture in any small way, then I guess there is something positive in this strange arrangement. But overall, visiting this village was one of the few low points in our trip, for both of us, and neither of us was comfortable with the way things went in Enkerere.

The game drive on the way back to the lodge was a more happy matter. It was raining quite a bit now, so the roads were a mess and all the animals were streaked dark and soggy, most of them looking like they were reveling in the cool shower. Big groups of buffalo, zebra, and wildebeest. A large family of elephants with small babies. And the best surprise of this drive, a tiny jackal pup standing on a mound of earth right near the side of the road. We saw his parents watching us warily from nearby, and James said their den was probably very close. This little guy was wandering around only a few feet away from us, scrambling over the wet earth and peering up through the windows at us in curiosity. There’s no good way to describe the infinite cuteness of that pup’s face, but trust me—he might win the Adorable Baby Animal award for our whole safari.

We had to stick to the main roads because of the mud, so we revisited the beautiful swamp from yesterday. There we saw a group of waterbucks in alarm mode. We investigated and waited, but we weren’t able to find a predator nearby (which, of course, doesn’t mean there wasn’t one). Instead, we saw a gigantic buffalo bull, all alone; 4 giraffes hiding in the cover of the trees and another one crossing the road; and a number of gorgeous birds including a kingfisher, yellow-billed storks, grey heron and guinea fowl. We also accidentally flushed out a shocked waterbuck who’d been neck-deep in the marsh very close to our car.

Once more, we had a quick turnaround at the lodge and another attempt to go out on a night game drive. This time, despite some spectacular lightning in the distance, the weather cooperated and allowed us to see a little bit of the Masai Mara at night. We were in a shared Serena Land Rover, as before, with a really skilled, interesting guide. But, as with Sweetwaters, there were still a few grumblers who complained about not seeing any big cats. That’s crazy, because we saw so much! And just driving around this amazing place, the plains and riverbank below the lodge that we’d seen from our balcony, was such a different experience in the dark. Night sounds around us like a symphony of animals, large and small, a deep bowl of stars overhead, and jagged streaks of lightning far across the plains. Here’s what we did see, including a lot of special little critters we would never have seen in the daytime: a juvenile black mamba right beside our car (what a great way to see a snake, and completely unexpected!); dozens of Cape hares jumping every which way; impalas and topis and tommies and waterbucks and dik-diks in their watchful nighttime mode; a fish eagle on the hunt, screeching his war cry; Lappert’s vultures and marabou storks high in the bare branches of a tree; hippos hippos hippos everywhere, out of the water and grazing; silverback jackals; bat-eared foxes; white-tailed mongoose; genets; and one very stressed-out wildebeest who had somehow managed to get separated from her herd and was in a terrible panic in the darkness. It was a fascinating game drive, and I only wish we could have stayed out more than an hour. I love seeing the night creatures, especially, and there is something really wonderful about getting a peek into their world—a reminder that even after you’ve gone back to the lodge or back across the ocean to your own home, these animals’ lives continue to unfold in all their drama and complexity. We returned to the lodge for a late dinner and fell into bed exhausted, feeling sad that our time in the magnificent Mara—and in Kenya—was drawing to a close.

Masai Mara photo slideshow:

http://tinyurl.com/2gv98p


Next up: our last morning in the Mara and heading off to Tanzania.

24 topis are good, but 25 are better. I’ve seen herds of hundreds.

I’ve never had a bad village visit like yours at Enkerere, but I’m always hoping the guide won’t suggest one. I don’t really know what to think.

Now I’ll have a look at the photos.

Thanks, Nyamera. There are a couple of photos in there especially for you.

Take a look at the aerial shot (from the balloon) of the big herd -- are those topis? I thought I could make out the horns, but I wanted to ask the expert.

They are definitely topis. Thanks for the other topi pictures! The jackal pup really should get an award of some sort. I don’t know if this will make me sound stupid, but one thing I can’t understand is who took the picture of you flying over the buffaloes. A vulture?

Btw, the animals heading out the village gate are sheep. Today I’m an expert at everything horned and those sheep don’t even have horns.

Oh, how shameful for me, since I used to raise sheep! You're right, I wasn't looking carefully while captioning. They had a mixed herd and the goats were lagging behind.

I wish a vulture had taken that photo, because that would be a great story. But the truth is that the balloon pilot's wife had a camera mounted on a pole and she took photos of us right before takeoff and during the flight.

Kyle is so cute! Love all of the road scenes. You had a great view of Mt Kenya. It was obscured by clouds all 3 days on our last trip. Nice ones of the Grevy's and the reticulated giraffe necking. Off to view your other albums and catch up on your report!

Just finished your Sweetwaters/Nakuru album. I've never seen lions that spotted before either. Nice waterbuck and flamingo together. I think warthogs are absolutely adorable too!

MygodKyle,

If you had to choose one.... would you say you preferred your Kenya experience or your Tanzanian experience?

I'm behind, but I'm catching up! Keep it coming; this is wonderful.

Thanks for the nice comments, everybody.

Simbakubwa, that's a really tough question to answer. I really don't think I can say I liked one country or the other better, because we had such a great time in both. I'm one of those people who never tires of game drives, but I will say that we were happy to have arranged the trip the way we did -- the larger (less pricey) lodges were in Kenya during the first half of the trip with game drives being our primary activity, and in Tanzania we stayed in smaller, more intimate places and did more physical things like canoeing and walking, ending up on the beach in Zanzibar. Those contrasts made our whole three weeks really interesting and varied.

Here's where Kenya has the edge for me: more contrasts of scenery and habitat; different species in the north and south of the country; lovely views of Mt. Kenya; traveling by road enabled us to see more of the country and people outside the game reserves; and although I know there are some good arguments against it, being able to drive off-road got us much closer to the animals in many cases

And what I liked best about Tanzania: we had much better cultural experiences here; roads were much better and we did some flying so the travel was less exhausting; getting out of the vehicle for a walking safari & canoeing; a night game drive in an open vehicle; the whole experience at Oliver's Camp in Tarangire was exactly what I'd always dreamed a safari would be (more on that later); Zanzibar was the perfect place to end up and Swahili food there was fantastic.

So, there's a LOT to love in both countries. And you can also find ways to incorporate great experiences (sleeping in tents, walking safaris, ballooning, meals out in the bush) in either Kenya or Tanzania. Of course, you can also do either driving or fly-in safaris in either place, too. So much ultimately depends on how skilled your guide is, and we were fortunate to have excellent guides in both Kenya and Tanzania.

Sorry, I just can't choose. I want to go back to both! :)

Your continued commentary on the balloon via Guide James' remarks deserves the award for fair and balanced coverage. Then you've got the photos of the balloon and more from the balloon for a real photo journalism extravaganza on the balloon ride. Your first shot in the album of the balloons is a post card!

I think the fair and balanced coverage extends to your unpleasant village visit.

I wonder how James got the bell off of the baboon. More sausage tree moonshine maybe?

The impala match reffed by the hyenas was quite a find and you got some good shots of the tussle.

The baby jackal is adorable. I bet you occasionally wonder about him/her.

Thanks, Lynn, I tried my best to capture my mixed feelings about these things. I posted a disproportionate number of balloon photos (compared with shots of all the wildlife we saw) because I wanted to show (and tell) as much as I could about that whole experience. I know a lot of people post on this board asking whether the balloon ride is "worth it." Same with the Maasai village visit. So hopefully this gives a picture of what our experience was like, and some things for people to think about.

You're right, I do wonder about that baby jackal, and many of the individual animals we saw! He was definitely one of my favorites, and we've got about 10 pictures of him to remember him by. :)

And oh, I forgot to add the rest of that story about James and the baboon. Yep, they did have to get him drunk again to get the bell off!

PART 12 – “Goodbye Kenya, Hello Tanzania” (Oct. 3rd, 2007)

We jumped at the chance for one more early morning game drive in the Masai Mara before we left Kenya today. So many times in the past few days, I’d been glad that we opted to fly back to Nairobi and then onward to Arusha rather than making another long drive across southern Kenya. The best result of flying was that we had extra time in the Mara—a chance for a longer goodbye than if we’d had to head off to Nairobi at the crack of dawn. I shouldn’t have been surprised at all by the way I was feeling so blue, since I had dreamed about Kenya since childhood and had spent more than a year planning this particular trip. But in some ways, I was a little surprised by the depth of my feelings, my sadness at knowing this was our last day here. I knew there was still so much to look forward to in Tanzania, but this morning felt in many ways like the end of our trip and I felt such a heaviness in my heart as we climbed into the ice cream bus this morning. Looking back on it now, I know that a big part of it was knowing that we were going to have to say good bye to James today, too. I tried to put those thoughts aside and focus out the open window, wondering what beautiful Kenya had saved up for our last morning.

At first, though, it appeared that the Mara was closed for business again, as it had been when we’d first arrived. Empty, rolling plains of short-mown grass stretched nearly as far as the horizon, and the few vehicles that were out and about this morning occasionally radioed each other or pulled up alongside to compare non-information: nope, we haven’t seen anything, either. So instead, we concentrated on the landscape: an area dotted with thousands of small termite mounds, grass tinted green from the rain, bleached white skulls and bones scattered over the savannah and under a wide, blue bowl of sky. As we looked out across the Mara toward the Serengeti border, James told us his opinion of Tanzania—that we had seen such beautiful landscapes in Kenya that even Tanzania, with all its own beauty, could not compare. He said that he thought we would find that, “In Kenya, everyone is kind, everyone is friendly… in Tanzania, they do not care so much about their visitors, and they are very slow.” He told us that if we ended up liking Tanzania better than Kenya, we should write to him right away and tell him… but if we liked Kenya better, “you do not need to tell me, because I already know you will feel this way.” His pride in Kenya and his characterization of Tanzania made us smile, and we assured him that no matter how much we enjoyed the Tanzania portion of our trip, nothing would ever make us forget how much we loved Kenya, and what a wonderful safari he’d given us.

As always seems to happen, if you don’t worry too much about finding an exciting animal sighting, something will find you. We did not leave the Mara with more cats or another spectacular fight, but instead were treated to something less splashy and yet not at all less profound. First it was a huge herd of tommies, grazing peacefully on the new green shoots. As we watched, a few individuals suddenly began taking turns running in crazy zig-zag patterns back and forth through the herd—five or six of them seemed to be competing with one another for who could pronk the most impressively, who could leap the highest, or just flat-out run the fastest. It was breathtaking to watch these guys in action—I have never seen anything run so fast! There was no predator in sight, though, and we asked James why they would be doing this, running and leaping and bucking, then suddenly just stopping, breathing hard, perfectly calm. It didn’t necessarily seem to be mating behavior. “They are practicing,” he replied. “They are keeping up their skills so that they will be able to avoid a predator when they need to.” I loved this answer, and the richness this showed us about each animal’s life—their concerns, the special ways they have adapted to their circumstances, maybe even the types of things they think about from day to day.

Not far from these tommies, and still within close sight of the Tanzania border, we saw some of the advance guard of zebras already on their way back to the Serengeti. This wasn’t a mixed group of animals like the others we’d seen—these were just zebras, as far as we could see, stretching out in a long column of mares and foals (and at least one stallion that I could identify). They were ambling, trotting, strolling, occasionally stopping to graze and nurse their babies and bicker with one another and roll in the dust. One boss mare, who clearly was the leader of this posse, paced up and down the line, turning to trot back against the flow of traffic and bray furiously at anyone who dawdled too much. At one point she stopped to sass another mare who had paused to nurse her foal, and the two got into a kicking spat. As a group their speed was not great, but the sense of purpose was palpable. I wondered how far they would get in a day. Seeing this caravan made us think of their long journey ahead, and also reflect back on all the little glimpses we’d had of the Great Migration here. More than anything else I’ve ever witnessed, these groups of zebras and wildies had really helped me understand the great wheel of nature, and what a small cog each of us is in it. I felt really lucky to have seen this zebra family at the start of their journey, and to know that they, like us, were leaving the Mara and heading onward to Tanzania. I only hoped that we, like most of them, would be returning here someday.

With that, sadly, it was time for us to head back to the Serena lodge to collect our duffel bags and head out to the nearby airstrip. This would be our first bush flight, from a little dirt airstrip near the lodge. But first we had to say goodbye and thank you to James, who had done such a wonderful job of guiding us through his country. We’d written him a card last night to give with his tip, and also tried to express that in words—how much we valued his experience and knowledge, how much we enjoyed his stories and his humor and his company, how much we appreciated his good, safe driving, and how we know that his job is a very difficult one and we appreciated all aspects of what he had done for us, how we would never forget him. He made us feel good when he said we were his favorite type of clients: always on time, interested in all the things nature wanted to show us, not obsessed with ticking off lists or just trying to get the animals to pose for photos. (Maybe he says that to everyone, but it did make us happy to hear it!) I gave him a ball cap from the movie studio where I work, and he put it on so we could take a picture together. “Is this from Hollywood?” he asked, “My grandchildren will be so pleased!” I decided not to split hairs about Northern California’s Bay Area versus Southern California’s Hollywood, so I just said yes, not far from Hollywood. While we waited and waited for our plane to show up, we hung out with James and he finally admitted that perhaps he did have a favorite animal after all – he loves birds, because even after all his years in the bush they still presented a challenge to him, and there was always more to learn. “I have the best job in Kenya,” he said proudly, “because I never grow bored!” He reached back into the ice cream bus and pulled out a photo to show us—a portrait of himself and his wife the year they were married, taken in 1969. “Now, I go home to her,” he said, beaming as he showed us. “I am always carrying this picture with me on the road, reminding me of what I have waiting at home, my beautiful family.” I asked if he was anxious to get home and he smiled widely, saying, “You do not know how much!”

The airstrip was beginning to get busy with other waiting passengers, and as the sun rose higher we eventually took shelter in the shade of the little “waiting room,” tracking every speck in the sky and wondering if it was our Air Kenya plane. We waited, and waited, and waited, but still no plane and we were more than an hour late. A curious family of warthogs came by and trotted past the luggage lined up on the red dirt beside the runway. But still no plane. I started to get anxious, knowing we made to make a tight connection at Wilson to our Tanzania flight. But Serah had warned us at the start of our safari that these flights were usually “on African time,” and not to be concerned—Air Kenya would hold the connecting flight for us. And indeed that’s how it worked, despite the nail biting suspense: we climbed up the stairs into the plane (a much larger plane than I’d expected out here, actually), waving back to a smiling James on the runway below, then strapped into our seats and zoomed off to Nairobi. Once we reached Wilson airport, the flight attendants hustled those of us making the Tanzania connection off the plane first, and an airline employee met us on the tarmac to escort us quickly through immigration and right past security without stopping, then straight onto our next plane which ended up taking off only a few minutes late despite our late arrival. I was impressed by how well and how quickly it all happened. So quickly, in fact, that we barely had time to really say goodbye to wonderful, beautiful, generous Kenya—one of our favorite countries we’ve ever visited. I couldn’t think of anything I’d experienced that could compare with our ten days in Kenya, both as the realization of a lifelong dream and now, the reality of the place itself and the experiences we were privileged to have there.

Tanzania, on the other hand, did not make a very stellar first impression. The very first experience we had was walking into Kilimanjaro International Airport and getting ripped off by the immigration official… or so we thought. We had printed out our single-entry visa applications ahead of time and safeguarded two crisp, new $50 bills through the first half of our trip. I had even double-checked the Kenyan and Tanzanian embassy websites the day before we left California, to be sure I had the right amount for both visas. But when we approached the window, the official looked at our applications and passports and said brusquely, “For Americans, $100 each.” We were completely surprised, but not prepared or willing to argue with her. “100 each?” I asked, and she snapped, “Yes!” Feeling a bit shell-shocked from all the day’s plane-hopping, I just dug out another $100 from our tip stash and handed it over. I did have a brief moment of wondering whether the visa fees had gone up, but there were no signs anywhere and nobody explained this to us. Later as we waited for our luggage, my husband looked at the visa stamp and got angry, “She charged us for multiple-entry visas!” he said. Sure enough, there was the stamp and her handwritten “Multiple Entry” below it. We thought about going back to argue that we had definitely asked for single-entry visas, but the line at the window was quite long and I didn’t want to get into a scene with a government official in another country. Still, $100 is a considerable amount of money and now we had that much less for tipping. We collected our bags and headed out, both really irritated and feeling like we’d been scammed like dumb tourists. I wondered if there was really supposed to be a multiple-entry stamp that differed from the single-entry one, and that her hand writing the note was a way of her keeping the extra $100. I hated having these thoughts about someone. Despite myself (and knowing better), I thought about what James had said about Tanzanians, and I wondered if we’d left our hearts back in Kenya and would ever find as much to love in this country.

Thinking back on this now, how we were feeling at that moment, I want to laugh at myself for ever thinking I might not fall absolutely in love with Tanzania, too. But more importantly for this report, I want to clarify what actually happened with those visas. As it turned out, the Tanzanian government actually DID raise the visa fee while we were on the road in Kenya. Unless we had kept checking their website during our safari, there’s no way we could have known this (there was no indication that fees would be going up when I looked at the site in the months leading up to our trip). When we mentioned it during our safari briefing at Green Footprint Adventures’ office, no one there knew anything about it, either (in fact, they told us that they thought we probably had been swindled, and apologized profusely). It was only after we returned home and I started reading this chat board again that I found out about the change in visa fees – Americans are now required to pay $100 each and always get a multiple-entry visa. I wonder how many other travelers were caught off guard like this (it would have been especially hard on backpackers and people traveling on a very strict budget! At least for us, we were able to make up for the cash shortage by using our Visa card a few times.). I now feel awful about suspecting that woman at the counter of ripping us off, but I do still think it would have made a lot more sense if there had been some sort of official notice on the visa window about the fee increasing. I really regret that this soured our first impressions of this country, where we quickly found so many things to love that the sting of this one thing eventually faded.

The first really terrific thing about Tanzania was Jackson, who met us outside the baggage claim with a sign with my name on it, and a huge smile. “Welcome to Tanzania!” he said. I had been wondering what our guide here would be like, and if we would be as lucky in our guide assignment as we had been in Kenya. Well, we could not have been luckier. Not only was Jackson an amazing guide and an excellent driver, but he was so different from James that we enjoyed getting to know him in a completely different way. Jackson is in his mid-30s, the same age as us, and from the start we had an easy rapport with him. We had less time with Jackson as our guide (5 days together, compared with 10 days with James), but in that time we had such great conversations about life and careers and politics and music and culture and our childhoods (and wildlife too, of course) that he had become a dear friend by the time we left Tanzania. All this was yet to come, though. At our first meeting, we were struck by how friendly and talkative and quick to laugh he was, and we liked him right away. Jackson showed us to a very nice, spiffy new Land Cruiser and handed us out itinerary in a pretty woven banana-leaf folder, with a nice map of Tanzania and t-shirts and baseball caps with “Green Footprint – Touch the Earth” on them. So far Green Footprint was making a great impression.

We drove into Arusha from the airport and the landscape changed drastically along the way—from hot, arid and dusty brown to a riot of greens, thick tropical foliage and bright purple jacaranda trees, coffee farms and banana groves clustered along the sides of the road as we drove into the foothills of Mt. Meru. We saw gardens and nurseries with dozens of varieties of plants and flowers, and the bright orange flickers of red hot poker tree blossoms above. The jacarandas are my favorites, though—the way they line the streets here, making a purple canopy overhead and leaving a scattered purple carpet on the ground below. I thought about how these same trees had welcomed us to East Africa in Nairobi too. (Unfortunately we have very few pictures of this beautiful area, because Jackson told us that generally Tanzanians are not happy about having their picture taken without permission, and like everywhere we’ve been in Africa there are always so many people walking along the road that it’s almost impossible to snap a photo out the window without a person in it. Usually when we shot pictures out the window in Kenya people would just wave at us, but here, already, we were noticing more people pointing and calling, “Mzungu!” as we drove by.) The place still vivid in my memory, though, and I think the area around Arusha was one of the most beautiful landscapes we saw in East Africa. It reminded both of us very much of Hawaii, where our families live. Such a contrast from that morning in the wide open plains of the Masai Mara! Here we had the cloudy grey bulk of the mountain looming over us, and in the sky and the evidence of all the green around us was the certain promise of rain.

On our drive to Green Footprint’s office, Jackson told us how he grew up in the Arusha area, but that his wife and 3-year-old son were still living in Dar Es Salaam because of her job. Jackson used to guide safaris in the southern Tanzania game parks, but had recently started this job with Green Footprint and was hoping to make his family roots back in the Arusha area again. He told us that he was building a house nearby and that we would pass by it tomorrow on our visit to the national park. He asked questions about our jobs and interests and where we lived. He was curious to know what we’d seen on our safari in Kenya. “Have you seen lions? Elephants? Giraffes? A leopard? All of the Big 5 – even rhino??” When we replied us to all these, he looked a little disappointed, “Well, hmm, what will I be able to show you? You have seen it all!” I told him we had never seen a Tanzanian lion, or a Tanzanian giraffe, or a Tanzanian elephant, and he cracked up. “Well, yes, of course, they are all very, very different here!” We assured him that the best thing about having seen so much already was that we could spend the safari time still ahead of us just enjoying whatever came our way. And that we never tired of seeing any animals, even the most common ones. “Okay,” he said, “But I bet I will find something for you that you haven’t yet seen.”

At Green Footprint’s office, a dog immediately offered to be our friend when we hopped down from the Land Cruiser. It wasn’t clear whether this dog belonged to Green Footprint or just to the parking lot, but he was a charmer and reminded us of our little buddy Kyle at home. We sat out in the garden with Cristina, the young woman who had replaced our safari planner Mirjam when she moved to Kenya. (I was a bit disappointed when Mirjam e-mailed me that she was moving, because we’d been such pen pals for the past year of safari planning that I would have really liked to meet her.) We went over our itinerary with Cristina and Jackson, and she gave us some tips about travel and safety here, reminding us to take our malaria meds and keep drinking that bottled water. And then our conversation turned to travel in general and we chatted a lot about India, one of our favorite places and a place that was very high on her wish list. “But,” she said, “Tanzania will spoil you, you won’t ever want to go anywhere else!” After that, Jackson took us to downtown Arusha to change some dollars into shillings. The Tanzanian shillings were worth much less than the Kenyan ones, and he advised that most people would prefer to receive tips and payment in US dollars, so we did not exchange much. But I think everyone who visits should change at least a little money, so you can see how beautiful the bills are with their illustrations of Tanzanian wildlife!

Arusha, like other towns and cities we’re passed through, was fairly nondescript—plain concrete-block buildings, everything a bit rundown but functional. There was more traffic here than any place we’d been since Nairobi, with chaotic roundabouts every few blocks that made us glad we weren’t driving ourselves. Our hotel, Karama Lodge, was on the outskirts of the city, but it felt a world away. To get there, we had to go straight up a steep dirt road, climbing higher and higher past views of Mt. Kilimanjaro (socked-in with clouds) and Mt. Meru (mostly hiding behind clouds, too), plus homes and small farms tucked into the valley below. We would be able to hear radios and roosters from some of these houses later on.

Karama Lodge was delightful and had such great, offbeat style that my husband wanted to take pictures of everything so we could build a house like this someday. The lodge is situated on a jungly hillside site, and each room is a freestanding a-frame “log cabin” on stilts with its own balcony and view out into the treetops. We loved our room, and spent some time on the deck looking at the peek of the mountain and listening to the chorus of birds. This was one of the first chances I’d had in a while to just sit and relax and write in my journal (while my husband did his own kind of writing—music), so we really enjoyed the downtime… another benefit of choosing to fly back from the Mara and catch the earlier flight to Tanzania. Around twilight the bugs drove us indoors to lower the mosquito net around the bed. This place is considered “rustic,” but we thought it was fantastic – very much what we’d imagined when we dreamed about Africa. Not to mention, we made another dog friend here, a little black pup who started licking my hand and followed us down the path from our car to our room, then came running back to our door to walk us to dinner.

Tonight we had a delicious meal in the mostly empty dining room, downstairs from the super-cool, partially open-air bar where we spent some more time relaxing after dinner. The food was African-inspired, if not exactly traditional: mchicha crepes (hope I spelled that right), maboga (pumpkin) soup, a tomato and basil tart that my husband dubbed “a Swahili personal pan pizza,” and “mad monkey tails” (chocolate-and-nut-covered bananas) for dessert. Yum! We are definitely not going to be losing any weight on this trip.

While trying to fall asleep to the distant babble of someone’s radio, we heard bush babies crying in the trees outside our cabin, and then a tremendous THUMP of some animal (probably a bush baby, from the size of that thump) leaping down onto our deck. Welcome to Tanzania!

As you were describing your blue feelings about leaving Kenya, I was knew what the problem was--leaving your wonderful guide. Sure enough, you soon came to that conclusion too. Showing the photo of his wife and then admitting his real fav animal were wonderful parting memories.

I know what you mean about boarding the plane and then being whisked off with no real mental time for bidding farewell to a place that has offered so much.

Cool you saw pronking!

The lack of announcements on the new Visa fees comes from the same place as Africa time. Different priorities. That's too bad you thought you were ripped off for the whole trip. But all is well that ends well.

Great answer to Jackson about looking forward to Tanzanian lions, etc. I know some people who even structure their trips with the biggest game viewing up front, so they can settle down and appreciate the other vieiwng after that.

I'm sure you'll have an outstanding time in Tanzania.

I *hate* switching guides, and it's one of a few (ahemFodor'spostscough) reasons I don't think I would particularly enjoy southern Africa. ;)

Glad we're in Tanzania, now, though. I'm putting Karama Lodge on my list.

Loving your report.

Tommies were "born to run!"

Believe second fastest on the plains after the cheetah.

They've gotta practice.

On video or DVD, a NatGeo or Nature film "Born to Run" following a Tommie from birth thru 1/yr. Believe by Hugo vanLouwig, wildlife photog, one of his last films.

Sandi, thanks for the heads-up on the video about tommies! I'm a huge fan of those little guys. Believe it or not, I'm not actually writing about everything we saw each day (just imagine how long THAT trip report would be!), but tommies were a big part of what made me happy every day we were in the Mara (and elsewhere too).

Leely, you'd love Karama Lodge. We really liked staying someplace that felt like we were near where people lived, rather than totally isolated in a tourist compound, so the radios and roosters didn't bother us at all. But some people might find it a bit noisy, I guess -- thought I should add that, since there isn't much on this board about that lodge. Almost all the other guests when we were there were climbing Kilimanjaro. I'd love to go back someday and do that!

Neat little footnote here: the day after I posted that last installment, we got a letter in the mail from James! :)

I think the tommies were having fun. Getting a letter from Kenya is a reason to start pronking.

A letter from James--how wonderful.

I don't know if I posted before about how impressed I am with your photos, but I just looked at them all (some again, I think), and they are beautiful. You have some of the best shots of Nakuru I have seen. And how lucky to see cheetahs among rocks, right where they'll pop for your camera. ;)

Great job. Let's see some more.

There are so many great comments and observations in your trip report that I won't even attempt to comment on them individually. I'll just let you know I started reading this the day before yesterday and couldn't wait to get back to it each time I had to stop. And if this is the condensed version I can't imagine how wonderful the whole version is. Thanks for taking us on your trip and sharing your thoughts and feelings. (I've had a few of them myself!) Since you are already home I don't need to tell you that if you thought leaving Kenya was hard, just wait because it gets worse. Getting on the plane to go home has to be the hardest part of a trip to Africa. I look forward to hearing more.

((#))Cindy

Thanks, Leely. :) I'll post another round of photos to go along with Arusha National Park and Tarangire.

Cindy, thank you so much! Glad you're enjoying it. Yeah, it was heartbreaking to get on that plane and come home... and partly for a reason that I'll describe when I get to that point, just an odd encounter we had in the airport with someone who really didn't "get" Africa at all. We, on the other hand, have been so obsessed with Africa that we've been desperately trying to figure out ways to go back ever since we returned home in October! Alas, there are precious few vacation days and even fewer vacation dollars at this point, so it's going to be a while. Reading this board is going to have to be my "fix" for a few years...

Here's the next day -- Arusha NP.

Wow, I've tried three times now to post my next installment and nothing is happening. :( What's going on? I guess I'll try again later...

PART 13 – “Does the Government Feed These Animals?” (Oct. 4th, 2007)

We really felt like we woke up in the jungle this morning, our little tree house surrounded by a riot of birdsong and an accompanying chorus of roosters crowing in the village down the hill. Jackson picked us up after breakfast and we drove through the city and around the mountain to the entrance of Arusha National Park.

Compared with Kenya, most of the roads in this part of Tanzania are a dream: paved, relatively smooth, and drivers (generally) stayed in their own lane. Just as I was thinking this, though, Jackson pointed out a steep ravine beneath a bridge where a truck had crashed over the side not long ago; the guardrail was still twisted and torn apart as a grim reminder. We were thankful for our sturdy vehicle, and for our guide’s careful driving. This drive, like yesterday’s, was really beautiful—the deep greens of coffee and rice fields dotted with the bright colors of women’s clothing. After we turned past the national park sign, the pavement ended and Jackson warned, “Here is the dancing road – also known as African massage. Let me know if it gets too bumpy for you.” We assured him that we’d had many African massages in the last week and a half, so we’d be fine. This road took us deeper into the green, past small, misty villages and into the forested foothills of Mt. Meru. One of the villages we passed was Jackson’s, a WaMeru village called Ngongongare, where he’d grown up. Along the way he waved at and chatted with people he knew, and pointed out his primary school to us. He also showed us the plot of land he owned next to his brother’s place. He had started building a house there, but was still saving up to put a roof on it. Once he had the house finished, he was hoping his wife and son would be able to move here.

When we stopped at a little visitor’s center for Jackson to handle the paperwork, we read the sign listing the national park fees and noticed that locals pay considerably less than tourists to visit the park. Good, that’s as it should be… but we still wondered how many local people could actually afford to come here. Also, you have to pay a $35 “rescue fee” if you get lost in the park. That seemed funny at first, but since this area is a big magnet for mountain climbers, I bet they have to collect that fee more often than one might think! At least there are no predators in Arusha NP, so if you have to get lost somewhere in Africa, this is as good a place as any.

The first animal we saw here was a huge, gorgeous African crowned eagle—an auspicious beginning for our luck with Tanzanian wildlife. Not far up the road we entered the part of the park called the “Little Serengeti,” and it was a real stunner. If someone asked me to draw a picture of the Garden of Eden, I would come up with something very much like this place: a verdant, misty plain surrounded by deep green croton trees and a purplish-blue mountain rising up beyond, filled to the brim with animals—zebras, buffalos, scampering baboons and warthogs, with no predators to threaten them and an abundance of food, so that all of them looked well-fed and healthy.

But most of all, GIRAFFES! They were everywhere around us, strolling and grazing and lying down to nap in groups, their long necks arching gracefully into the trees and rising up out of the shrubbery, curious, as we drove slowly past. We stood up watching out the open roof of our vehicle, and had the unique thrill of making eye contact with them—seeing a giraffe, and knowing he was looking right back at us. It doesn’t matter how many times you experience that, each brief moment of contact with a wild animal is always a unique one, and it touches your soul in a way that nothing else can. This park, along with Samburu, was our most amazing opportunity to see giraffes in all their moods and attitudes and beautiful variety. Which is fitting, since they are Jackson’s favorite animal and the national animal of Tanzania, as well. Here’s something incredible we learned about giraffes today: their horns actually grow from the tops down to the skull, gradually replacing cartilage with keratin as they get older. And here’s something else incredible we overheard today, from some safari-goers in a nearby vehicle:

Woman, perfectly serious: “Does the government feed these animals?”
Man, totally irritated: “Oh, give me a BREAK!”

(Makes you wonder what the soundtrack for their safari sounds like… not to mention their marriage!)

We reluctantly moved on from the Little Serengeti, past a green, marshy area where we saw a big herd of buffalo with lots of calves, and hundreds of birds—saddlebill storks, sacred ibis, egrets, and so many others. Then through wooded areas of quinine trees and the crotons favored by giraffes. Here we saw Sykes blue monkeys up in the treetops and troops of baboons down below on the ground, pairs of dik-diks, sandpipers, little grebes, and little green bee eaters (I’m starting to see why they say Africa can make a birder out of anyone!). We stopped at the ranger station near the start of the trail that takes hikers up Mt. Meru, and Jackson told us about climbing it for fun, as well as his brief stint as a porter on the mountain. He said Meru is becoming more and more popular with climbers, because it’s not as famous—and therefore not as crowded—as its neighbor, Kilimanjaro. It’s certainly a beautiful mountain, and much less stingy about showing itself than Kili proved to be (for us, at least).

We headed on into the dense, darker forest where the black and white colobus monkeys live, and saw a quick blur of red that Jackson said was a red forest duiker. At the end of the road was a lovely little clearing on the side of the hill, with a broad view that took in Kilimanjaro (still shrouded in clouds), the Momela lakes (where we’d be canoeing later), and Arusha town, far below. This is where we had our (enormous! who can eat all this?) picnic lunch, with the car parked behind us in front of a view of Mt. Meru, looking like it was the star of a Land Cruiser commercial. A little bushbuck strolled by, high up on the hillside. It was so nice to have a picnic outdoors and not have to head back to the lodge, and it made me wish we’d asked to do this more in Kenya. We ended up pooling the leftovers from our three lunch boxes (Jackson couldn’t finish his either) and saved them to give to our canoe guides later on.

(continued)
After lunch we headed back down the mountain, past a pair of fighting giraffes, to Small Momela Lake to meet our canoe guides, Michael and Michael. The lake was in a very different environment from what we¡¦d seen so far today¡Xthis part of the park was surrounded by rolling hills covered with dry grass, much more open and brown. Amazing what variety there is in this little park. We buckled on our life jackets and each got into a canoe with a Michael. My Michael was extremely talkative, venting about George Bush and wanting to know what we thought of him (he seemed very happy with my reply, and at the risk of getting too political that¡¦s all I¡¦m going to say about that! ƒº). Then he asked me if I knew why ¡§all those rich Africans in America don¡¦t care enough to come visit Tanzania.¡¨ After talking with him a bit, I realized he was talking about African-American celebrities and sports stars he¡¦d seen in the media¡Xbased on what he¡¦d seen on TV and in movies, he seemed to have the idea that all African-Americans were extremely rich, and he didn¡¦t understand why most of the Americans he met on safari were white. I tried to explain that there were many wealthy people in America, but also many poor people, and everything in between¡Xand that many Americans, of any color, could not afford to come on safari even if they wanted to. ¡§But everyone is rich in America!¡¨ he insisted. I suppose compared with the average Tanzanian, most Americans are very rich indeed, so I felt silly trying to explain. I didn¡¦t feel like I had a very good answer for him, and several times he rebutted me with, ¡§I think they just do not care about Africa.¡¨ ¡§I don¡¦t think that¡¦s necessarily true,¡¨ I replied, but he just said, ¡§Bono is the one who gives most of his money to Africa, and he is a white man.¡¨ Then he became more cheerful and started telling me about ideas he had for promoting Tanzania as a travel destination, and how he thought the government could do more to make the country competitive with Kenya. ¡§Everyone thinks of a safari and they think of Kenya,¡¨ he said. ¡§But they should think of Tanzania first! Did you also go to Kenya?¡¨ When I said we had, he laughed and said, ¡§You see? But at least you made the right choice and came here too!¡¨

Michael was a really interesting guy and I enjoyed talking with him, but he was sometimes so talkative (and always wanted to hear my opinion) that I had trouble concentrating on everything we were seeing as we paddled around the lake¡Xand there was quite a lot to see. The birdlife was especially diverse: little grebes, blacksmith plovers, cormorants taking off and skidding to a landing on the water, sacred ibis and Egyptian geese, to name just a few. Our most exciting sightings were a bit bigger, however. We paddled past a large water-bound rock and my husband¡¦s guide spotted a gigantic python stretched out on top of it, sleeping in the sun. We watched him for a moment, and then suddenly he slithered down the side and launched himself into the water with a tremendous splash! We saw a waterbuck on shore coming down to drink, and then a family of hippos peeking up out of the water a fair distance away (and believe me, we kept an eye on them and made darn sure we maintained that distance! Seeing those hippos in the same water with us was exciting, but it was also one of the few animal encounters we had on safari that really made me nervous.). The big finale of our hour-long canoe trip was paddling near three immense cape buffalos who stood on shore, staring at us with frank curiosity. It was a unique moment, to be so close to these great creatures with no metal or glass between us, and to not feel any worry about it.

The Michaels were happy to get our sandwiches and cookies when we said goodbye back on shore. As they dragged the canoes out of the water and stacked them on shore, I asked whether they ever worried they might come out here some afternoon and find a family of baboons paddling around on the lake. One of the Michaels laughed and said maybe he should leave a few life jackets behind, just in case.

Back on our drive, we headed off into the forest again in search of those elusive colobus. On the way through the woods we passed a shy bushbuck mother and baby, who both startled when a nearby baboon let loose shrill warning call (actually, I was a bit startled, too). We drove past the clearing where the two male giraffes were still locked in their slow-motion dance of a fight, and stopped to watch them. They had an audience of waterbucks as well, so Jackson told us the legend about how they got the white markings on their rear ends: they were last animals to arrive on Noah¡¦s ark, and the only place left to sit was the freshly-painted toilet seat! The next pair of waterbucks came along and sat down on the closed toilet lid¡K and that¡¦s why one variety has a white ring on its rear, and the other has a solid white patch.

As we drove uphill into the dense forest, we were so busy craning our necks upward in search of primates we almost missed seeing a little suni antelope down on the ground. And then, what luck! There were those gorgeous colobus monkeys with their long white plumes of tails hanging down from the branches. They were so animated, such fun to watch as they raced along and followed one another down paths in the tree branches. One of the monkeys was a tiny baby, hiding behind his mother and peeking down at us.

Our last big sight in Arusha NP was the overlook at the top of the Ngurdoto Crater, a deep bowl of green that is closed to vehicles and about as pristine-looking as anything we¡¦d seen in Africa. A large herd of buffalo were grazing below us, black dots on a patchwork of green. We were allowed to get out of the car and hike up a short way to the viewpoint. While we stood here admiring the view of the crater, a crowned hornbill hopped along a high branch in a tree nearby, giving us a different sort of view. On our way back down the road from the lookout, we saw an interesting drama unfolding¡Xan eagle perched in a tree and hunting a very nervous blue monkey, who was gathering leaves in the brush below and didn¡¦t seem to know exactly what he was so nervous about. The monkey kept glancing around and pausing in his work to duck into the bushes, then popping back out and making little peeps of alarm. Meanwhile, the eagle tracked his every move with its head, ruffling its feathers and creeping forward on the branch, getting ready to strike. At the last second, the monkey finally looked up and must have seen the eagle, because he let out a blood-curdling shriek and darted away into the brush. The eagle settled patiently back on the branch, and we were a bit relieved that we¡¦d been spared the sight of monkey death.

Our last animal sighting on our way out of the park was a group of elephants neck-deep in the bushes, busily grumbling and talking amongst themselves. As we drove slowly by, one of them raised her trunk like a periscope and sniffed us out, and another one trumpeted at us. What an incredible little park this was! It¡¦s sad that it seems to be left out of so many northern circuit itineraries, because it really packs a diverse wallop into a relatively small area. You can see the whole park in a day, and it is without a doubt one of the most beautiful spots we visited. If you¡¦re a fan of giraffes, you should definitely come here!

We had a very brief peek at Kili as we drove up the bumpy road to Karama Lodge (finally! that stubborn, camera-shy mountain!), so we celebrated the day by hanging out in the lounge and sampling the local Kilimanjaro lager. We liked the lounge so much, we asked if we could have our dinner there instead of downstairs in the main restaurant, and our waiter said no problem. Another delicious dinner, with a spicy veggie dish called ¡§the crazy imam.¡¨ But things got a bit bizarre when another couple decided to do the same as us and have their dinner in the lounge. They sat so close to us we couldn¡¦t help but overhear everything they were saying. He was an older white guy with an American accent, and she was a very young African woman in a fancy dress. He started talking (loudly) about how, since he was going off to jail, he thought they should break up. She began sobbing and he just sat there drinking his beer and explaining that she should always do what he said, since he was the older and wiser one. It was all very creepy. Fortunately, a big group of mountain climbers came into the bar to celebrate their successful Kili climb, and they were so boisterous that Creepy Jail Guy and his girlfriend moved to the other side of the lounge to get away from them. We spent the rest of the evening trying to imagine the story behind that odd couple¡K but really, we were glad we didn¡¦t know it.

Apologies for the screwy characters in that last post. First, it would not let me post at all. Then I tried posting this installment in two parts, and it looks like the first part is fine but the second part somehow messed up all the quotation marks and apostrophes. I give up! Hopefully it isn't too horribly hard to read -- I don't think there is any way I can fix it at this point, is there? :(

Fodor's editor, what's going on? I've never had this problem before.

Don't fret about it, not that bad. Thanks for a great report.

regard - tom

MDK, after this instalment, nobody going to Arusha will be able to avoid going to Arusha NP!

Your report on Arusha National Park is wonderful. To think I'll be there next week! wow

Raelond, you'll love it. The other great thing about Arusha NP (at least when we were there) is that other than the "do they feed these animals" folks, we never saw another vehicle, except at the ranger stations when we stopped for bathroom breaks. It really felt like we had the park to ourselves. Are you planning on canoeing?

Arusha photo slideshow:
http://tinyurl.com/2ugs2p

I want to go to Arusha NP right now!