The Lake Manyara photos--
That same elephant welcomed me to Lake Manyara, resulting in an identical photo. I found it a little to close for comfort. The photos of Josephat are precious. What wonderful memories. Hippos and pelicans were out in full force for some great shots.

What an amazing day. You certainly packed it full of a lot of real-life activities. Good for you to include these things in your trip. Most people (me included) never factor in enough time to do justice to the amazing people that live in these lands that we love so much.

Josephat sounds like such a sweet boy. More gold starts than all the kids in his class. I bet that touched your heart right then and their. That and of course the fact that his sticker book was all beat up from so much use. How wonderful that you could see how much he enjoyed your present. What a lovely gift, photos of you and your husband, and of course of Kyle. I almost cried when I read about your good byes. I, too, hope you get to see Josephat again.

My vote for ”What am I?” is steenbok.

I’ve finally caught up with your report and read about the hunting reedbuck. Baby jackals, serval kitten and aardvark can make anyone jealous. Now I suppose you have to go back to Tanzania many times to visit Josephat.

Nyamera, I hope you're right! I'm sure you guys could tell from my report -- meeting Josephat was the single best part of our time in Africa.

Now on to the Ngorongoro Crater... where there were no cute kids, but lots of other things to distract us!

PART 18 – “Animals in the Dust… and Our Own Private Lion” (Oct. 9th, 2007)

As we headed out this morning with Jackson, I tried not to dwell on the sad significance of today—our last day on safari. We’ve both been so well and truly bitten by the safari bug that it’s tragic to think this might be the last game drive of our once-in-a-lifetime trip to East Africa. But I’m sure some of you are reading this and laughing – doesn’t nearly everyone start out thinking it will be a once-in-a-lifetime trip? And don’t most of us then spend all our time and energy scheming and saving and desperately planning for how we’ll come back someday? Long before this last safari day, I was already planning itineraries in my head for a return trip (or two or three). But who knows if we will really ever be able to return? We’re just so grateful that we’ve had this chance to be here, and that we saved one of the most spectacular places for our grand finale—the Ngorongoro Crater.

The road up to the lip of the crater through the Ngorongoro Conservation Area was extremely foggy. Jackson’s front window kept fogging up, and my husband pulled his fleece hat out of our “camera beanbag” to wipe the mist off. Everything looked spooky and mysterious in the fog—the dripping leafy branches of trees, the misty shapes of men walking alongside the road. On our way to the Serena Lodge to meet up with a ranger for our morning hike, we saw lots of baboons and monkeys hanging out near the road, really fearless with the cars, as well as “red-and-black” zebras and Maasai herding goats and cattle. Since this is a conservation area and not a national park, the Maasai are allowed to graze their livestock here and in the crater itself, which lends a different character to the place.

We had a little peek at the crater through the fog when we got out of the car at the Serena Lodge. This was an interesting lodge, perched right on the crater’s edge… but between the socked-in foggy view, the large hotel-like feel of the place, and the extra money it would have cost us if they hadn’t messed up our reservation, we were actually glad we’d stayed at Plantation Lodge instead. While we waited in the lobby, Jackson made some phone calls to figure out where our ranger was, because there was no one in the lobby to meet us. He came back with bad news—since some other Serena guests had signed up to go hiking in the afternoon, they’d switched the schedule on us and assigned a ranger only for after lunchtime, not for this morning. That meant if we wanted to go hiking, we’d have to drive down into the crater, do an abbreviated game drive (only about 2-3 hours, to allow time for the ascent road) and then rush back up here to meet the hiking group by 2:00. Needless to say, we were really bummed out about this because we’re avid hikers and had been looking forward to the chance to hike in Africa. We’d been planning to hike for about an hour or so, and then spend the rest of the day in the Crater.

Jackson suggested we head down into the crater right away so we could find out if they were enforcing the half-day time limits or not (he said they usually don’t), and then decide if we wanted to cancel the hike altogether in favor of more time on the crater floor. I’m sure he could tell how disappointed we were, and he seemed worried that we might think it was Green Footprint’s fault—he made sure to tell us several times how sorry he was for the mix-up, but that GF didn’t have any control over when the NCA would release its rangers for tourist activities. We assured him that he understood that and didn’t blame him for it. But I’m posting this here just to let people know that these kinds of activities are subject to last-minute changes like this, and your safari company doesn’t always have the ability to prevent that.

At the gate on the carter’s descent road, our car was once again surrounded by Maasai women selling jewelry, blankets, and spears. (If you want to buy this kind of stuff, you’ll have no problem whatsoever finding it!) We did the “no thank you, no thank you” thing again, because we already had enough for souvenirs and family gifts. After the women gave up on us and went to the next car in line, a young boy came up to us and asked if we wanted to pay $5 for a photo; when we said no thank you, he replied, “Okay, then give me a bottle of water.” I was a bit taken aback by his demand, but we had so much extra water in the car and he was out there in what would eventually be a very hot day, so we gave him some. I would have felt better about it if he’d asked politely (and I’m sure our giving it to him just encouraged him to demand water from other tourists—sorry about that!), but at least he did say thank you. This is one part of being on safari that I won’t miss.

Jackson came back to the car with good news—we could go down into the crater right now and stay the rest of the day, if we wanted. We immediately said yes, and so he called to cancel our reservations on the afternoon hike. As we drove down into the crater, he told us that he thought we’d made the right choice—“once you are down there you won’t want to leave, and the view from the top is all the same anyway.” We did appreciate, though, that he waited and let us decide what we wanted to do, rather than trying to influence us. Throughout our entire safari, we always felt that our guides were really interested in letting this be OUR trip, never telling us what to do—another benefit of having a private safari, I suppose.

The descent road into the crater was steep and bumpy, but not nearly as bad as I’d expected, and wide enough that we didn’t feel like we were perched on the edge (the way we sometimes feel on California coastal and mountain roads). We passed a Maasai village on the slope, and saw lots of men herding their cattle down into the crater, heading for the waterholes. The wild animals we saw on the way down included a bunch of wildies at the gate (who didn’t try to sell us anything), and a group of giraffes grazing on the side of the cliff not far past the village. I was surprised to see them here, since I’d read that giraffes never go down into the crater itself. From the road down, we could also see the tiny dark silhouette of a hyena stalking some wildebeest on the crater floor far below. Is it just me, or does your eyesight actually get better the longer you’re on safari?

At one point we were driving behind a red-robed Maasai and his herd of cattle. He made such a striking picture with the view of the crater beyond him that I thought it would make a wonderful photo. But it was like he was psychic—several times I stealthily lifted my camera, and each time he looked back over his shoulder and stared at us. I knew if he saw me taking a picture he would run back to the car and demand money, which would ruin this moment for me. So I learned my lesson and put the camera away. If you don’t want to pay for pictures of people, don’t take them—that’s just the way it is in Maasai country.

On the floor of the crater, past the busy area where the Maasai were grazing their cows, our game drive began in earnest. We saw so many animals that had by now become familiar friends—warthogs, hartebeest, wildies and zebras in large herds, more Grant’s gazelles than we’d seen anywhere else, and a lone buffalo (it’s interesting to know that the Ngorongoro Crater is one of the only places—perhaps the only place in Tanzania?—where you can see all of the Big 5 in one place, and today we would see 4 of them). The crater at this time of year is a huge, dry dust bowl, partly because of the high ash content of the soil, and partly because of the high number of vehicles racing from one sighting to the next. That was the only thing I didn’t like about it—the incredible amounts of dust, the wind that whipped up little “devil winds” (whirlwinds) and made us rush to roll up all the windows and cover our cameras. The day was dogged by a constant need to do dust management with our cameras and contact lenses. But the setting itself was so spectacular and the wildlife here was so brilliant, it more than made up for the dust and the crowds. I would really love to return someday in a greener season.

We stopped near the lake to watch the flamingos, who were busy eating and all kept their heads down. Not nearly as many—or as pink—as the ones we’d seen at Lake Nakuru, but still a pretty sight with the crater wall rising behind them. We also saw a jackal digging a hole (for a den? or hunting some small animal, perhaps?), and two gorgeous crowned cranes. Then a big herd of tommies, followed by one of our favorite sightings of the whole trip—a massive zebra brawl! And I do mean massive. Hundreds of zebras surrounding us, and dozens of them racing around—back and forth on both sides of the road, kicking and squealing, bucking and rearing, braying and vocalizing to beat the band. It was incredible to be in the middle of all those fast-moving stripes! We saw one particularly tough guy chasing another zebra along the shore of the lake at a full gallop, teeth bared and ready to bite. Every now and then they would all settle down, and then somebody would snort and someone else would kick, and it would all start up again.

As we moved onward, I marveled at the setting here—how small I felt in this great big bowl, with high walls rising on every side, containing within them vast grassy plains, lakes, swampland and forest. Despite the dust, it really was one of the most remarkable landscapes we’d seen in Africa (or anywhere, for that matter).

Jackson pointed across the open expanse of grassland to where another Land Rover was parked. Standing beside it was a gigantic male lion, easily half as tall as the vehicle! Even from this distance we could see his full, shaggy mane and the sleek muscles in his massive, tawny body. We headed over to check out the scene. The lion and his family were all resting, panting hard in the hot sun with huge, distended bellies, and the collapsed and sunken remains of a zebra lay nearby. We saw four lionesses, two cubs, and that big daddy, who had now moved over to stand guard over the kill. He was having a hard time of it—his eyes kept drooping closed and his big head would nod, sleepy from the meal… but nearby, two little jackals were circling around and sneaking up on him, hoping to dart in and steal some of that zebra. Whenever the jackals would get too close, the lion would jerk his eyes open and whip his head around, giving them a sharp look and sending them trotting off to bide their time before trying again.

By this point, a bunch of other vehicles had arrived and we were trapped in a very long line with people crowding their cars so close you couldn’t leave even if you wanted to. This was an unfortunate side of visiting the crater that I’d read about while planning our trip, so I wasn’t surprised by it. But it made me appreciate all our other less-populated game drives even more, especially those long drives in Tarangire where we wouldn’t see a single other vehicle until we returned to camp. One nice side effect of being stuck in this traffic, though, was that we were parked on a little concrete “bridge” of sorts, and when my husband looked out his window, he noticed that there was a lioness sleeping under the bridge, directly beneath us! We could just see her gigantic paws sticking out from her shady resting spot.

At last one of the other vehicles moved a few inches so Jackson could squeeze us out of the jam. It was just getting too darn noisy and crowded near those poor lions, so we were ready to move on and see what else we could find. Another guide told Jackson that someone had spotted a rhino farther ahead, but that he himself had not been able to find it. We decided to give it a shot and see if we could see our first Tanzanian rhino. On the way, we had an excellent sighting of a male and female ostrich—our best view yet of these magnificent birds, walking right beside us and across the road. We stopped near another car that was looking for the rumored rhino. They all had their binoculars out and were scanning the wall of the crater, where the slope was dotted with suspiciously rhino-like boulders and the dark silhouettes of trees. In the foreground was a pretty watery scene, with hippos lolling in the red Nile Carpet (floating vegetation), and hyenas lazing around on the muddy shore. All three of us took turns spotting the “rhino”—which inevitable turned out to be a shadow or a rock or a tree. The other car had already abandoned the search and we were also just about to give up and admit there was no rhino there after all, when Jackson cried, “There he is! Yes, that’s really him!” We all saw the distinctive horned silhouette as the black rhino stepped out from the shade of some trees into an open area, where we could see him perfectly against the grassy slope.

It was nearly lunch time by now, so we headed for the picnic area. Along the way, we had another big bird sighting—two kori bustards. I had really been hoping to see them and this was our last chance, so it was a happy surprise to spot them walking in the grass just a few feet away. We also had an up-close encounter with a Grant’s gazelle who had one dramatically broken horn—he walked right over to inspect our vehicle. (We’d had a few predators doing this, but it was surprising coming from a gazelle.) We were waylaid briefly by a zebra crossing. And then another of those surprising only-in-Africa views—a huge, bleached-white elephant skull lying on the grass with the verdant wall of the crater rising up behind it in the distance, and the dark shadow of a hyena passing by. As we approached the picnic site, we saw several (live) elephants in the swamp, browsing and cooling off in picturesque style against the backdrop of the forest. The picnic area was large and crowded, but Jackson managed to find us a spot alone where we could sit in the grass and watch hippos and elephants while hunching over to protect our box lunches from dive-bombing birds. A pair of little rufous weavers sat directly across from us, balancing at the very tips of slender reed stalks that swayed in the breeze. Despite the fact that this was a well-populated area, it was still—as always—a thrill to be out of the Land Rover and on the ground.

Our game drive was quieter after lunch, but we were still so grateful that we hadn’t rushed out of the crater before late afternoon. Fewer animals, perhaps, but there were also fewer people and the light was becoming more golden and warm. We came upon a huge herd of wildebeest that reminded us of the Mara (and how wonderful it is that now things can remind us of the Masai Mara!). There were some very amiable and charming wildies who stood right by the road and posed for portraits. We also saw some more kori bustards, and of course more zebras scattered far and wide, and a few young hyenas zonked out in the mud like sleepy puppies.

Too soon, it was time to start making our way through the forest toward the ascent road. We stopped for a bathroom break in the forest and saw lots of vervet monkeys running around near the outhouses (waiting for unattended cars with windows open?), and it dawned on me that soon we would be spotting the last animal of our last game drive. Our welcome animal had been an elephant (at Mt. Kenya), but what would our farewell animal be? I’m sure Jackson was hoping for leopard, by the way he was driving through the forest very slowly and scanning every tree branch—hoping to give us a 5-for-Big-5 sendoff from Tanzania. But that was not to be. Instead, as Jackson and I were both looking out the right-hand side of the car, my husband suddenly said, “Hey, a lion.”

There she was, stretched out and lounging in a brambly patch of sunlight right next to us, so close we could see every hair on her chin and each spot on her golden coat. She was all alone, trying to nap but being tormented by flies. And we were all alone with her, no other cars in sight. We watched her for a long time, enjoying our solitude with this gorgeous cat. When we finally had to move on (they do make you get out of the crater before nightfall!), Jackson congratulated my husband on his great catch, saying, “If you hadn’t seen her, I would have driven right past.” I said something about wondering how many animals we’d already driven right past in our weeks in East Africa—for all the animals we saw, how many hadn’t we seen, right under our noses? Jackson laughed and said, “Probably hundreds. Many more animals see us, compared with how many we see.” That lioness will always be special to us, but she wasn’t our farewell critter. After we left her, we saw another hoopoe, baboons, and just as we reached the exit road, some final zebras.

Remember how I said the descent road into the Crater wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d expected? Well, the ascent road was even scarier than my imagination, and made worse by a traffic jam as we chugged our way slowly upward (and I tried not to look over the edge). Despite my fears, the old Land Rover got us safely up and out of the Ngorongoro Crater… but we saw another vehicle that had broken down on the way up, so I thanked our lucky stars that our clutch had decided to kick the bucket at Lake Manyara and not here!

At the top of the ascent road we saw a waterbuck, and then a large group of playful baboons held up traffic for a bit just outside the park gate. But they weren’t our last animals, either—we saw a mouse darting across the road as we drove to the stunning lookout at Heroes Point, and then an auger buzzard sailing by overhead. We also stopped for a few of the Rift Valley Children’s Village, perched on one of the green hills a few valleys away.

So, technically, a mouse was our last safari animal, and a buzzard our last bird. But I like to think that the elephants, who had been our constant companions throughout our journey (we’d seen them everywhere except Lake Nakuru), had the last word. Our final stop before heading back to the lodge was to examine some trunk holes that elephants had dug into the rich soil of the cliff wall beside the road, searching for minerals. With that, our game drive ended and I immediately began to feel pangs of withdrawal. I am well and truly a game drive junkie.

Back at the lodge, we posed for a photo with Jackson and the cranky (but now trusty) Land Rover (he insisted on grabbing a towel and wiping off some of the dust first, to make it look more spiffy). We said good night and went in to wash the dust of the crater off ourselves, too. After we both took showers, the bottom of our tub had about half a bucket-full of red dirt in it! We enjoyed a delicious, quiet and leisurely dinner tonight, rehashing all the marvels of our safari over Tusker (for Kenya) and Safari (for Tanzania) beers—we had to toast both countries! We still couldn’t believe our good fortune, how much we’d seen, all the wonderful people we’d met, and how often we’d encountered something completely new. We started planning, right there, our next 4 or 5 safaris… as well as safaris for our parents and all our friends. But even if this is the only one we ever get to take, we really couldn’t ask for better.

A lion is a great way to end. And Jackson's right; who knows what was seeing you?

This won't be the last time you visit. See raelond's first chapter--you've already made someone in East Africa famous. You'll have to go back to discuss this with Michael (2?).

You've written an amazing report, and I'm sure it only touches on what your experience meant to you and your husband. Thanks for sharing all this!

Thanks, Leely. I hope to get some crater pictures posted later today.

I still have to write about the "vacation from the vacation" -- Zanzibar. But finishing the safari really felt, in a lot of ways, like the end of the epic part of our trip.

To be honest, I'm not sure whether "my" canoe Michael was Michael 1 or Michael 2!

Ngorongoro Crater photo slideshow:

http://tinyurl.com/2qmm7g

You asked if your eyesight improves on safari. I believe your spotting skills do and with even occasional use of those skills, I think they are maintained or improved.

The hiking mixup worked out. It seems things always do work out for the best in Africa. I think that's because the alternatives are always attractive.

When you quoted Jackson, I could actually hear him with that wonderful African accent. I could just see him shining up the vehicle for the picture. There is a real love between guide and vehicle that I've noticed and they always want the vehicle in the photo.

So going back up the crater was worse than going down.

Your awareness of the last animal seen will give us something more to think about and make the end of any safari even more bittersweet.

You caught the zebra melee in your photos! I bet that German Shepard (I think that's what it was) you were petting made you homesick for Kyle.

Your report has really captured the magic of a first trip, or any trip to Africa! You certainly had a wide spectrum of experiences. If your farewell toasts included planning out 4-5 itineraries for future Africa trips, I'd say you are hooked.

Yep, we are indeed hooked! How could you tell??

My husband is the one who came up with the idea of the farewell animal, since everybody always remembers their first wild animal sighting. We like to think of it as the animal who says farewell to you on this particular trip... but not necessarly the last animal.

On to Zanzibar...

PART 19 – “Smile, UR in Zanzibar” (Oct. 10th, 2007)

This morning we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at the little table outside our cottage, serenaded by a white-browed robin chat and his friends. We also spent some time playing with the lodge’s resident dog, a big German Shepherd who rolled over and begged for tummy rubs, then left affectionate muddy paw prints on my husband’s pants before running off to beg for chakula at the kitchen’s back door.

Once again we had a little fight with the Land Rover, trying to get the door open to load our luggage, and then trying to latch the back window shut. The passenger door was stuck again, too. But at this point all it had to do was get us to the airport, so hopefully it would be up to that task. We drove back to Arusha, passing Maasai bomas, men herding their goats and cattle, and donkeys standing by the side of the road. We stopped at a souvenir shop to peruse the colorful tinga tinga paintings, and had a funny experience buying two small paintings. Everything here had a price tag, unlike most of the shops we’d seen, and we weren’t sure if we were supposed to bargain or not. Either way, we thought the price marked on the paintings—$10 each—wasn’t bad. So we took them up to the counter, and without any prompting from us the guy at the shop said he could give us a better deal if we bought both. “$12 for both,” he said, so we agreed, feeling lucky. Then he proceeded to talk himself down to an even lower price, without us saying a word! When we asked if we could pay in Tanzanian shillings instead of dollars, we whipped out his calculator and gave us a really good exchange rate on top of that… so in the end, we paid about $8 for two paintings. We were happy, he was happy, and we left with a great feeling—after all the uncomfortable moments we’d had with shops and bargaining and vendors on this trip, this was a nice way to end up. When we walked out to car, we were surprised to find Jackson changing a flat tire! He’d managed to cruise into the shop’s parking lot without us even noticing (and almost got the tire changed without us noticing, too!).

By now we were cutting it a bit close, but we made it to the airport just in time to check in for our flight to Zanzibar. Or so we thought. As usual, the plane wasn’t even on the runway by the time we were supposed to be departing. We had plenty of time to nibble at our box lunches (which we couldn’t take with us on the plane), and to start saying our farewells to Jackson. We gave him his tip and a gift we’d brought from home. The harder part was saying goodbye, and trying to be sure he knew how much we’d enjoyed his company and hoped we’d see him again someday. I really wish we’d had more time to explore Tanzania with him (but we’ve had fun e-mailing with him since we got home, and sending him music!). In some ways, this saying goodbye and lingering around in the airport was tougher than it would have been if we’d had to run straight out to the plane with just a brief chance to wave goodbye. Just as it had been with James, I found it much harder to say goodbye than I’d expected. When you imagine a safari, you think of all the incredible wildlife and fantastic scenery you might see… and then, in real life, it’s the people you meet who really make the biggest impact. We were so fortunate with all our wonderful guides on this trip; how could we ever sufficiently express our gratitude to them, or thank them enough for their role in fulfilling our dreams?

The flight to Zanzibar on a little prop plane was crammed full, stuffy and hot, and it was clear from the looks of the other passengers that we were on our way toward a beach destination. We arrived in Zanzibar a little after lunch time, getting a fantastic view of the coast and the rooftops of Stone Town as we swooped in for our landing. As we walked into the tiny airport, we passed a fountain with the words “SMILE UR IN ZANZIBAR” spelled out in topiaries behind it. No one was checking passports, so we just grabbed out bags and went to find our driver from Island Express (arranged by Green Footprint), who was waiting for us right outside. He moved in quickly to hoist our duffel bags, and we weren’t bothered at all by the other porters waiting around outside. It was so hot and muggy here, we were thankful for the air-conditioning in his minivan as he whisked us off to Stone Town via partially-flooded streets. Every now and then we’d get glimpses of bright blue water past nondescript, run-down buildings.

We parked near the waterfront and the driver showed us the way through the maze of narrow streets to our hotel, 236 Hurumzi (formerly called Emerson & Green). I’d heard so much about the crazy winding streets of Stone Town and how easy it was to get lost here, but we actually had no problem finding our way around after this initial walk—the key is to mentally tag landmarks for yourself, such as signs or shop windows. It’s actually a very compact town, if you’re exploring mainly around the old fort, the House of Wonders and the waterfront. But, back to our initial impressions of 236 Hurumzi… what a fantastic place this is! Definitely one of the most unique and fascinating old hotels we’ve ever stayed in. It’s like a big, rambling old sultan’s palace filled with antiques and colored glass lamps and ornate Zanzibar chests, its interior balconies dripping with colorful flowers. The moment you step foot inside, you really feel a sense of place—that you’re in Zanzibar. I’ve read some comments on this board that knock the hotel for various reasons, and I guess if you need an elevator or are looking for something really luxurious, this wouldn’t be the place for you. But we absolutely loved it, and would stay there again in a heartbeat.

Every room at 236 Hurumzi is unique and has its own special character, and ours (called “South”) was a real knockout. It was located just below the open rooftop restaurant, and as we approached it we saw a carved wooden door that almost seemed to be free-standing in an open courtyard, with no walls around and blue sky beyond. This was our front door. When we opened it, we saw that it led to a little bridge between two buildings, with an unobstructed view over the rooftops of Stone Town. Our room was on the rooftop of this second building. At the end of the bridge was our private courtyard garden with a little table next to lattice screens, tropical plants all around, and an enormous outdoor bathtub/shower (although, sadly, they asked us not to fill it up for a bath, because of the scarcity of water). On one end of the courtyard was a bathroom, and at the other end was our cozy room with dark wooden furniture and a mosquito-net-shrouded four poster bed. On our pillows were tiny bundles of sweet-smelling cloves tied up with ribbons.

We spent a little time exploring the rest of this amazing hotel, and then struck out into the streets to explore Stone Town itself. The buildings here are quite dilapidated, thanks to decades of ocean air and neglect, and the city won’t win any awards for beauty, but we enjoyed the beauty in the details—colorful shop windows, cats in the narrow alleys, shoes lined up outside a nearby mosque, and a boy sitting on a doorstep who gave us an impromptu concert, singing and drumming on a plastic tub. The heat was oppressive but we found a bit of relief near the harbor, where we watched kids leaping into the water while small boats and dhows bobbed farther out in the wake of larger vessels. Across the park was the tall, white House of Wonders, once the largest building on the island and still one of its most impressive.

While my husband wandered around with his camera, I sat by a dock and watched the dhows sailing past. The heat was really getting to me, and I was feeling light-headed and a bit sick to my stomach. Two young boys came up to me to say hello, and asked me if I had any chewing gum. I turned to look up at them, and was struck and saddened by the looks of one of them—his head was huge and strangely shaped, his forehead too high and his facial features all pushed off to one side, and it seemed as if he could barely speak. But he was still smiling at me, and at that moment I really did wish I’d had something to share with them. I told them I was sorry, I didn’t have any gum, and the other boy said, “No problem. Have a good visit!” The two of them turned and ran off toward the other kids and jumped in the water. I thought about Josephat then, and all the advantages the children at the RVCV have compared with so many other kids in Tanzania. I wondered what this little boy’s life was like, and what his future would be.

As we walked around Stone Town, we discovered that the dreaded touts we’d read so much about were certainly present (and occasionally annoying), but nowhere near as bad as we’d expected. I think you need to come to Stone Town prepared for a little culture shock (especially if you haven’t traveled in a developing country before), but don’t let the warnings scare you off. This is a very interesting place to spend an afternoon walking around, and I think it would be even better if you have time for a guided tour and can learn more about the history of the city. With our limited time, we had fun just wandering and looking at the architecture, particularly the famous Zanzibar doors. Each one is unique, and I’ve read that the tradition was for a family to pass the door down from one generation to the next, building the house around the family door. It was fun to see the signs hanging over these doors, too—“Zanzibar Medical Center” and “Public Library” and “Hatari! High Voltage!”

The heat was really starting to wear us down, so we ducked into the Gallery book shop to cool off. Here we found a treasure trove of gifts and treats, so we gathered up some things to take back to our co-workers: cotton bags of spices, Zanzibar seaweed bubble bath, cards with tinga tinga style paintings on them. They had lots of beautiful books here (which is like catnip for a librarian!) but I resisted the urge to buy anything too heavy, knowing that we were going to be schlepping our own bags around London in a few days. On our way back to the hotel we walked back through the Forodhani Gardens again. By now the preparations for the night market were really picking up—vendors lining up their fish and fruit and kebabs on long, tarp-covered tables (with kitty cats prowling around underneath), and smoke starting to rise from their grills. Lots of talking, lots of laughter… but no eating yet, because it was Ramadan and everyone was fasting until sundown. My husband asked one of the vendors if it was okay to take pictures and offered to buy a kebab. The guy told him to take all the photos he wanted and not worry about buying anything, since he couldn’t sell food yet anyway. (Which is probably a good thing, because there was a little fly smashed into the side of one of the kebabs.)

Back at the hotel, reinvigorated by the ceiling fan and the cool evening breeze coming off the water, we headed upstairs for our dinner at the Towertop restaurant. Despite the relative dud of a sunset, the view over the rooftops was incredible, and the setting pure magic. We sat on embroidered cushions and gorgeous carpets, barefoot with low wooden tables in front of us and billowing silk draperies in a canopy overhead. We really felt like we were dining on a flying carpet! Dinner was a lengthy affair with multiple courses that lasted about three hours. We tried some special drinks: the fruity house “Zanzibar Special” and a terrific concoction called “Dawa,” made with vodka, cloves, coconut milk, lime, and brown sugar. (We’ve tried to recreate this at home, but it’s just not the same.) Another amazing surprise was the violinist who stood in the middle of the room and played between courses of food, his white robes swaying with the music and the breeze. He was really good, and my husband went over to talk with him afterwards. We got a CD of his taarab orchestra, which is really outstanding and our favorite souvenir of Zanzibar. The food was good but not especially memorable—I think what you mainly pay for here is the experience and the ambiance. For that, we really felt like we got our money’s worth.

After dinner we spent some time just hanging out in our beautiful little courtyard under the stars, writing by candlelight (the journal for me, and music for my husband). Nearby, we could hear the faint laughter and conversation of the rooftop staff cleaning up from dinner, and the taarab music they were listening to. Smile, you are in Zanzibar!

Totally agree with you about Zanzibar. Culture shock after coming off safari and not for everyone in any case. Still, what a fascinating history. I'd go back for the seafood alone.

MDK, looking for a farewell animal is the worst kind of torture, only late planes and long goodbyes can be compared to it.

What a nice kori bustard you had posing for you! They usually turn their tail and run off if I ask them to pose for me.

You can think of the last animal as the one who says, "Welcome back for next time."

That's what we're hoping, Lynn.

Yeah, I know, not good of me to dwell on the goodbyes. But I was acutely aware of it these last few days of our trip. And while I was not expecting it to be so hard to say goodbye to our guides, this really is a good thing -- because it means that these guys really meant a lot to us, and we enjoyed spending time with them so much. If saying goodbye to your guide (and to the animals, and to Africa itself) WASN'T hard, then that would mean you didn't have a good trip. Later on I'll write about some people who clearly weren't sad at all about leaving Africa, which is something I couldn't relate to at all!

I'm going out of town tomorrow, but when I come back next week I will push through to the end and finish writing about Zanzibar (and those kooky monkeys).

Great luck with your time in the Crater. You mentioned that you’d saved the best for last, and for you that was to be the Crater. Whether it ended up being the best part of your trip is irrelevant. However, if you didn’t have time to experience it, of course you’d never know and always think you missed the best part of your trip. I know that pang in your heart when your last game drive comes to an end and your safari is over. I have sweet memories of the first game I saw on each trip, but even fonder memories of that last game drive and those animals that bid me farewell.

PART 20 – “Monkey Rules” (Oct. 11th, 2007)

This morning we ate breakfast on the rooftop, now transformed into a more sedate restaurant with tables and chairs instead of colorful carpets. But the view was still striking—soft grey light over the rooftops and out to the sea. From here we could see the tower of a Hindu temple, several church spires, and the minaret of a mosque, as well as rooftops of homes strewn with mattresses and clotheslines. It rained a bit in our courtyard, just a fine, drizzly mist as I wrote in my journal. My husband went out for a stroll, but unfortunately I had to opt out because I was still feeling a little ill. (I am happy to report though, that this was the only time in 3 weeks that I felt this way… I think it was primarily due to the heat and humidity, because I did not have any problems with food or stomach ailments while in Africa.)

Our Island Express driver picked us up around 9am and we said farewell to our lovely Swahili palace at 236 Hurumzi. We were excited to see more of Zanzibar—its fabled spice plantations, beaches, and wildlife. This time we had a guide as well as a driver—George, who was just about the tallest person I’ve ever met. We also had some much-appreciated air conditioning (a new Swahili word, and I hope I spell this right—kiyoyoza) in the van, and it made me feel a whole lot better. We drove past Dr. Livingstone’s house on our way out of Stone Town, and then stopped to tour the ruins of Maruhubi Palace, which was built in 1882 to house the Sultan Barghash and his large harem. Even in ruins, we could get a good sense of the scale of the palace and its private baths with high, domed ceilings. Now, the walls left standing are stained with fire and weather and age, and cows wander freely through what was once the sultan’s pleasure gardens. But it is still beautiful, and with a little imagination we could see it as a living place, rich with the history of the island.

Nearby the palace ruins was a dhow “factory”—a shady spot with a number of boats in various stages of construction, and beyond that a small cove with some other vessels in a sort of dry dock for repairs. George told us that it can take several years to build a dhow, partly because of the painstaking work involved and partly because nobody has the money to build one all at once—and often parts that rot out during this long process have to be replaced before the dhow is even finished.

From here we headed off on our spice tour, visiting a government-run plantation where different groups of people were responsible for planting and harvesting different sections of the land. We walked along the rows through orchards and fields and George pointed out the various spices growing there, showing us how they looked in their raw form and describing all their different uses. He especially liked to give us little bits to taste or smell and asked us to guess what they were (we usually got them wrong)—cloves, cinnamon, turmeric, cardamom, peppercorn, and fruits like cassava and jackfruit. Our favorite was seeing nutmeg in its bright red lacing of mace. Many of the trees were beautiful too, and grew almost as though they were wild in a natural forest—palm oil trees, “cotton” trees, dhurrian, ylang-ylang, cocoa trees. We were surprised and delighted to see a bush baby walking around high in the branches of one of those trees, bright-eyed and alert even in broad daylight. After all the bush babies we’d heard throughout our trip, this was the best look at one we’d had.

A young boy joined up with us during the spice tour and kept making little cups and bracelets out of leaves to give me. When we stopped at the “lipstick” tree, he even smeared the red color on his lips to demonstrate how it got that name, and several times he scrambled up trees and into bushes to fetch samples for George to show us. At one point another group of boys showed up and seemed to be infringing on his territory, so he left us for a few minutes to chase them off. George told us the boys do this in the hope that the tourists will visit their family’s spice shop at the end of the tour. We weren’t obligated but we thought it would be nice to reward his efforts, and so we bought some cloves to give as gifts (they made our stinky duffle bag smell great, too!). Meanwhile, during the course of the spice tour George had been chatting with us about his interest in (and desire to sell) natural diet supplements to improve local people’s health. He was so enthusiastic about this subject, for a while he seemed to forget all about the spice tour! We had a really interesting conversation about local eating habits and health care, though.

Overall, I thought the spice tour was very interesting and worthwhile, although in hindsight I would have preferred to spend a little less time on this activity and have more time at Jozani forest. (Our tour up to this point had taken about 3 hours.) But I am really glad we fit both things in and made a full day of it. If you go on a spice tour, be prepared to tip at the dhow yard and buy a little something from the boys at the spice plantations.

It was interesting driving through small towns on our way from place to place today and seeing what life was like on Zanzibar. We had fun sign-spotting again in the town of Bububu—an Arabic medicine clinic and something called the “Heavy Library” (of course a doctor and a librarian would notice such things!). Also the “Las Vegas Photo Studio,” and the “Drop” water factory (if you come to Zanzibar you’ll become well-acquainted with Drop). As on the mainland, we’ve seen lots of hair salons with those funny paintings on their exterior walls and doors, to show patrons which haircuts they can get. They were all remarkably similar from salon to salon, so I wondered if they’d been copied from catalogs… or if there’s some guy who specializes in painting hair salon advertisements. We stopped at a fancy beach hotel in Mtoni for lunch, where we relaxed under a cool thatched roof with ceiling fans and a view of white sand and blue sea. Our lunch was a delicious fish (they’re not kidding about how great the seafood is here… and I don’t even like seafood in my real life!), followed by lime sorbet with five-spice syrup.

Then it was off to Jozani Forest for our last wildlife adventure in East Africa—a search for the red colobus monkeys. One of the first things we saw when we arrived at Jozani-Chwaka Bay National Park was a sign explaining the “Monkeys Viewing Rules,” using pictures to show us what to do (and not do) around the monkeys—stay 3 to 5 meters away from them, don’t feed them, don’t pet them, don’t look them in the eye… and especially DON’T say “Oi! Boo!” to get their attention for a photo. (Of course, as we’d find out, no one bothers to explain these rules to the monkeys.)

We walked into the forest with a park ranger and George, marveling at the tall, thin trees and the glowing green light filtering down between them. Most of the island used to be liked this, before it was all cleared away to make room for the spice plantations. Now, only this tiny part has been set aside and protected, but thank goodness it has been. We saw lots of life in the shady shelter of forest—a beautiful little skink, a tiny tree frog, a humongous snail. We got a quick glimpse of a skittish red colobus mom and her infant, as well as a Sykes blue monkey hiding in the undergrowth. We wanted to stay with them for a while but our guides urged us onwards, assuring us that we’d get a better view of the monkeys when we got closer to the road.

We sure did! The second group of monkeys we encountered was much larger, much closer, and not afraid of us humans at all. These red colobus (and a few accompanying blue monkeys) were all around us, sitting up in the trees right above our heads… and in one case, nearly peeing on the head of another tourist. The monkeys were so animated, peering down at us while munching leaves, and swinging back and forth on branches only a few feet away. They seemed to be really curious about us, and in some cases even showing off. The other group of tourists kept shrieking and making a lot of noise, so we were relieved when they left. Not long after that (as I was reminding myself of the rules), one of the monkeys leaped down from a tree behind me and ran right past me, reaching out to brush my leg with his hand as he went! I’m sure I was just in his way, but it was a thrill for me. Red colobus are such crazy, funny little characters, and each of them has such a unique face—more than any of the other primates we’d seen. We tried to get portraits of most of them, in the few seconds they stayed still, but I’m not certain which one ran past me because I only saw the back of his little red head.

It was a long drive from Jozani to our hotel at Pongwe Beach, because there were no direct roads. But all this driving around today was worth it for giving us the chance to see so many faces of the island. Pongwe Beach was a fantastic place to conclude our safari adventure. We almost couldn’t believe it when we first saw the place—it was really that beautiful, like a little vision of paradise. A perfect stretch of white sand beach and palm trees, a view of turquoise water. And our thatched-roof cottage was amazing, perched on a rocky outcropping at the very end of the beach with its own private sundeck and wooden stairs down to the beach (or straight into the ocean depending on the tide). After sundown we walked barefoot back to the dining room and sipped Safari beers on the beach, watching the dark surge of waves. After a delicious dinner and some star-watching, we walked back up the beach and called it an early night, wanting to rest up for tomorrow—our last full day in Africa, and the only day of the trip for which we’d planned nothing at all.

PART 21 – “A Lazy Day and A Swahili Night” (Oct. 12th, 2007)

We were lulled to sleep by the sound of the surf last night (interrupted occasionally by the cackle of bush babies), and then woke to the same rhythmic crash of the waves this morning—now much fainter and farther away. We walked out onto our front patio and saw to our surprise that the tide was way, way out now, and the stairs from our cottage that had disappeared into the surf last night were now leading down to the sand. Looking out at the water, we could see that the tide had pulled back far enough to expose perhaps a quarter mile of shore.

The weather was perfect—sunny and clear, nowhere near as humid as Stone Town had been. We had nowhere to go and nothing to do but relax and explore Pongwe Beach. At breakfast in the open-air dining room, my husband found some bees swimming in the honey, so he rescued them. We enjoyed all the fresh fruit and Wheatabix (which one of the employees at the Mountain Lodge had referred to as “elephant poop” … and if you’ve seen this cereal then you know what she means), trying not to make too much eye contact with the resident kitty, who was really working her begging angle under our table.

It was great to have a day where we never needed to look at our watches. We spent the rest of the morning taking a long walk out onto the sandbar, as far as the ocean would let us go. We passed stranded boats that last night had been bobbing in deep water, and the neat rows of seaweed farms where local women were harvesting their crop, and fishermen even farther out, standing waist-deep beside their small boats. We had a safari of sorts out here, too, and were surprised by the amount and variety of sea life we discovered just by walking in the shallow water: sea urchins (both alive and as intact skeletons), hermit crabs, spider-like anemones that quickly retreated into their tiny dens when we stepped too close, and small silvery fishes darting around our toes.

By 11am or so it was getting really hot out there with the glare on the water, so we walked back to Pongwe and jumped into the pretty little infinity pool. I quickly decided this was my dream pool, with its view of the ocean and a gentle, sloping entry that mimicked the feeling of walking down the shore into the sea. After cooling off in the pool we just lounged around for a while—me journaling again, now hopelessly far behind, and my husband snoozing under an umbrella. What a luxury! We never do this sort of thing at home, so it was kind of stunning to have nothing to do but relax. When we first arrived in Zanzibar, I’ll admit, I was already regretting not having just added these extra days to our safari. I mean, how can the beach compare with a safari?? But this “vacation from the vacation” was really delightful, and it sure beat having to head straight home and straight back to work from the bush. Plus, Pongwe Beach is a real bargain compared to safari lodges and camps. We had the perfect balance here for us: half a day and an evening in Stone Town, one day to explore the island, and one day to just flake out at the beach. (Your own beach needs may vary…)

After lunch we walked out to the main gate of the hotel, where we had a fun time talking with Mateo, a young Maasai guy who was on duty there. We asked him how he liked Zanzibar and what it was like to work at Pongwe. He told us that this was a really good job, but that he often missed his family back on the mainland, and thought that the way people lived on Zanzibar was a little strange sometimes. “They don’t even know which plants to use to prevent mosquito bites!” he said, incredulously. Then he asked about us and where we were from, and we talked about American and Tanzanian politics. He said he didn’t like America’s government at all, but that he loved American people and it was his dream to move to America someday (we’ve heard this often in the last three weeks). He started asking us some really specific questions about how to immigrate to the U.S., what the process was like and how long it took and how much money it required… and midway through the conversation, I realized he was asking us these questions in a way that made it clear he thought my husband (who’s Chinese-American) must have gone through all that at some point. We had to tell him we really didn’t know, because we were both born in the U.S. He was such a nice guy and we enjoyed talking with him, and wished him luck with his goals. One of the notable things about Pongwe Beach was that all the employees we met here were extremely friendly and personable, and it very much had the feeling of the small camps we stayed at earlier in our trip (Elephant Bedroom in Samburu and Oliver’s Camp in Tarangire), where the staff was a big part of our experience.

The rest of the afternoon, we just explored different ways of being lazy—most notably hanging out on the beach loungers and testing out the drink flag. When we first arrived, they’d given us a beach tote with two towels and a little green flag. All we had to do was stick the flag in the sand and someone would magically appear to bring us drinks. We did a test run of dawa, and the system worked flawlessly. So did the hammocks. It started to get windy late in the day and the tide was rapidly coming back in, tossing the once-stranded boats around in choppy turquoise waves. After some further lazy time for reading on the private deck beside our cottage (really, there are so many places to be lazy here, you just can’t do it all in one day!), we ran down our steps and jumped into the ocean for a swim.

Another dud of a sunset, but we were on the wrong side of the island for that, anyway. We rinsed off the salt water and walked down the beach to dinner, where everyone had gathered under the big palapa roof. We heard music, faint at first and then getting closer, and a few minutes later a small band with some singers and a clarinet walked in, playing “When the Saints Go Marching In,” followed by that other great African standard, “My Darling Clementine.” They strolled through the lounge and right up to everyone, really hamming it up and being silly. By the time they launched into “Jambo Bwana,” I felt a surge in my heart and tears pushing at my eyelids—not for this all-too-familiar-by-now song, really, but for what it represented to me now. All the gratitude I felt, I mean: gratitude for our time in Africa, and the great privilege it was to be here, and for all the good will and hospitality and warmth we’d felt from the people here. How on earth could we leave tomorrow? How had this all gone by so quickly?

We had requested this morning to have our last African dinner served on the beach, but it was so windy by now they had to set us up at a table with a thatched roof over it, to keep our food from blowing away (we saw another couple farther down on the sand whose table was literally shaking in the wind, so we were glad to have a bit of shelter!). My husband had some scrumptious prawns and I had what was, without a doubt, the very best meal of the whole trip. Tonight was “Swahili Night,” so I was given a feast of local dishes, each one more mouth-watering than the next: potato patee (sic), bean and coconut soup, rice and green peas rich with spices, chapatti, beef and green bananas, kachambari salad, and a tropical fruit salad served in a coconut. The main dish was the most delicious of all—kuku wakupaka, a tender spiced chicken that was by far the best chicken I’ve ever tasted. We capped things off with a double amarula. It was the perfect way to end our East African travels—good food, live music, and the beautiful view of moonlight on the ocean. As we fell asleep tonight, we heard one last bush baby lullabye.

What a wonderful trip, wonderful trip report, wonderful descriptions of sights, sounds, and feelings -- and you will forever have wonderful memories. Thanks for sharing.

I must echo hguy's comment--wonderful, wonderful. And my eyes welled up reading about yours welling up.

I've always wanted to stay at Pongwe. Your description only reinforces that.

Are we going to get a chapter about the brutal flight(s) home?