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Published: September 21st 2014
Springtime Ngorongoro
Lovely yellow and purple flowers carpet the crater basin. Spring rains have triggered a greenish hue over the scorched landscape and almost overnight, roadside clumps of morning glory are abloom. We pass by colourful Masai men herding their precious livestock across the empty savannah. Every so often a village materializes from nowhere and hundreds of plaid cloaked warriors congregate for a roadside flea market. Although alluring, we don’t stop.
Our overland truck has become a cesspool of filth. Wrappers and containers tumble up and down the aisle, thick red muddy earth is tracked about, forgotten laundry sways to and fro, and something sticky is all over the windows. A tsunami of brackish water from the leaky cooler runs down the middle every time our driver breaks for a stray cow. No one cares. We have become this weird dysfunctional family who bicker lively but accept all imperfections of one another, bonding over sips of stoney tangawizi and biltong.
As we approach the border, we are stopped twice by police looking for bribes. Captain Orange gets to work, dousing himself in cologne and using his flirty charms to win over the robust policewoman sheltering from the sun on a flimsy plastic chair while our camp cook Animal and driver
Bewildered Wildebeest
This lone guy seemed to be wondering where the other 1,000,000 went. Karaoke distract her skinny flunky with jokes and a fake engine problem.
Thankfully, the crossing into Tanzania is no less entertaining. Once again, we were kicked off the truck and forced to walk to the immigration offices, which meant tip toeing over a ditch of sewage and navigating through a herd of aggressive goats eating garbage. While one of the Australians is hauled away by the Tanzanian border health authorities for a yellow fever jab, we wait in the sweltering heat. The Masai Mara women swarm us like flies waving their trinkets, forcing a hasty retreat to the truck which has become a mobile sauna.
As it turns out, the Canadian is a professional barterer. She accredits it from her years in Mexico and fearlessly wades into a crowd of hawkers with cash in hand, returning with deals we cannot believe. Some of us got smart and actually hired her to do our bargaining for us. This is brilliant. We yell from the safety of the overland truck and she yells back what she has coerced them down to. Truly this woman has a gift. She got me a beautiful tablecloth and bingy-bangely jewellery for about a ¼
Get a Room
Kinda awkward but impossible to avoid, as they decided to mate around our jeep of what I could negotiate. And, like I did in Uganda, I took the other ¾ of what I ‘would have’ paid and donated it to a reputable charity for street children.
I like how Tanzania is pronounced
Tan-zane-ee-ah here, it sounds exotic. Arusha however, is not. I disliked the vibe of this city straight away. Friends of mine taught English here years ago and enthusiastically boasted about it, they were obviously delusional. This place is a nightmare. Not only is it filthy, but excessively noisy as touts shout from their crammed microbuses for customers as a mishmash of locals lurking about. Any sign of progressive infrastructure has been decimated into rubble. Snobby blonde Afrikaners in safari gear driving expensive land rovers, roll dismissively by the severe poverty. Instead of being waved at frantically by children, we get the finger.
Nothing really intimidates me though so I strike out on my own and quickly get a stern warning from a passing businessman to put my camera away. Ok. Roger that. Street teens are everywhere hawking tacky paintings and I decide to hire one to accompany me, on what ended up being an eight store odyssey, to find much
Riding Dirty
Sexy boys Captain Orange and Samson entertain us in the crater needed pharmaceuticals.
My new friend Ally expertly navigates me through the endless harassment of shady characters, including a male roadside pedicurist who insists my toenails need his immediate care. Ally knows some English and wants to practice on me, he hopes to one day be a tour guide. For his troubles we chill in the shade of a jacaranda tree, I buy him a goat pasty with cold drink and we talk about his life and mine. Ally gives me one of his painting renditions of
Kilimanjaro at sunrise as a parting gift.
On the upside, one pleasurable bi product of an ex-pat tourism zone is the guarantee of a trendy café and strip mall somewhere nearby. The Portugoose, Australians and I are thrilled by this prospect. After about a month of eating Animal’s traditional African food we are all craving urban nosh. Soaking up the late afternoon sunshine cafe al fresco like we are in Paris, we gorge on lattes, chicken wraps, gelato, mixed greens salad, crispy gorgonzola paninis and rustic pizzas. At one point, Animal shuffles by and eyes up my curry mango chicken salad with balsamic reduction and gives it a snubby disapproval.
After
Cabochick meets the Crater
A beautiful wonder, the extinct crater of Ngorongoro houses many beasts. our quick provision stopover, we head for the outskirts of a little village called Mto Wa Mbu, and of course I have to ask what that translates into. Captain Orange shrugs and nonchalantly states,
Mosquito creek.
Oh. Dread.
In a panic I overdose myself with bug repellent. Our campsite is an odd but comfortable compound surrounded by lush jungle and singing frogs. It rains off and on, making it stifling hot. Once I get my tent up and belongings sorted, I find an Australian on a slider swing and join him, we drink ciders and glide the night away telling stories while everyone else came and went around us. We were also treated to a spontaneous show of traditional dance, the troop hired by a fellow camper, much to our delight.
In the morning, Captain Orange arranges for some young men, aspiring tour guides, to show us around the village, allowing us a snapshot of their daily life. Each household of women and small children greet us hospitality warm and offer up grainy banana brew in large plastic mugs. The men, I assume, are off somewhere practicing the fine art of “planning.” We meet refugee artisans from
Ostrich olympics
Didn't have to chase these ones around like the Serengeti, they posed for pictures. Mozambique and Burundi that happily demonstrate how they make their wares before we are led off to be fed a gigantic feast by a local co-op of women entrepreneurs. They proudly serve us vegetable dishes containing okra, eggplant, beans, potatoes, brown rice and cabbage. It was all delicious and cultural interaction is by far my favourite travel activity, but I’m getting antsy, I want to go to Ngorongoro.
The next day, I get my wish. We head out through the diverse lush microclimate via lake Manyara, I see my first baobab tree and beg Karaoke to stop so I can get a picture. Everyone moans.
At the Ngorongoro Conservation Area entrance our skilled kamikaze jeep driver Samson meets us and navigates the steep ruddish roads that teeter along the rim before we descend into the belly of the crater.
Pictures can’t possibly capture this moment. There are no words.
Well actually, maybe there are. Carpets of yellow and purple flowers go as far as the eye can see. A perpetual mist swirls like a caldron of soup before an intense sun burns it off to reveal that brilliant blue African sky.
It wasn’t just nice,
Paris or Arusha?
A little normalcy in a chaotic place it was Australian niiiiice!
Right off the mark, we spot elephants, zebras, ostrich, wildebeest, hippos, lions, gazelles, impalas, hartebeest, hyena, warthogs, and buffalo. Ngorongoro Crater is one of the largest inactive calderas still not flooded. With a diameter of almost twenty kilometres, it’s like its own ecodome. Our group ham it up for photos and enjoy the 4x4ing antics of Samson before we come across two impressive lions hanging out on the roadway, we can't get around them. The rest of their pride is sitting off by a creek watching. It doesn't take long to figure out what these two are up to.
Frantic mating commences. Awkward.
They mate in front of our jeep, side of our jeep, under our jeep. Then they take periodic rests in the only shade which is our jeep. We can't go anywhere. Samson tells us we will know when the male finally gets it right, because the female will roll over on her back, satisfied. It took him 15 tries, but he finally got it right. While we wait, we make fun of his performance, as you do, when forced to watch continuous copulation. The male, exhausted yet proud, struts over,
Mzungus in the neighbourhood
Lots of stares as we wandered through the village near our campsite. lifts his tail and squirts our jeep.
Our picnic spot is a beautiful viewpoint called Ngoitokitok near a lake full of hippos. Here we can get out of the vehicle and stretch. Because the crater is a microclimate of its own, the weather changes every few minutes, from blistering hot, to rainy, to howling winds that whip up gigantic dust devils that try to steal your hat. Yet, I stand in the absolute centre of this caldera and marvel at how eerily silent it is. It’s like we are the only ones out here.
Then, just like that, we are inundated by jeeploads of upscale tourists coming for the facilities. I wasn’t sure what was more entertaining, observing various animals in their natural habitat, or, watching older socialites wearing
Out of Africa khaki olive with flowing white scarves nervously adjusting their wide brimmed hats as they gingerly step over piles of droppings on a quest to find a flushing toilet.
Armchair travelers always ask me why I bother traveling when I can just watch it from home in high definition. This is why.
Back out again, we bump along the salty shallows towards a pink wave
Zebra stripes
Fascinating to see the intricate pattern of a Zebra up close. He seemed to be posing. of flamingos when Samson suddenly catches sight of an allusive cheetah stalking up on something far off in the distance. As we try to get closer, she hits mach five and disappears over the horizon in a cloud of dust. We concede.
Our Ngorongoro experience ends back at our new campsite in the village of Karatu. Our whole group chatters excitably over such a fantastic day while we erect tents and prepare dinner. Some bikers from Belgium join us and we commandeer a fancy lodge next door that has cozy overstuffed sofas and a bored bartender who freshens your drink mid sip.
Tomorrow we head east towards the city of Moshi where we will be volunteering at a local street children home, before we make our way to Kilimanjaro.
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SkiSet
The Ds
Memories .....
Loved your blog on the Ngorongoro. Brought back a lot of memories of our safaris through Kenya and Tanzania a few years ago. The wildlife of Africa certainly spoil you for any zoo in the world. We visited the crater at the end of the dry season and can remember the many "dust devils" we saw, spiralling their way skywards. Some of them, great massive things! We get them in outback Australia too, during our hot, dry summers (but, call them "willy-willies") I can also remember never having felt so filthy dirty and dusty in my entire life. We were smothered in it. However, our group in our safari vehicle, were all in the same boat, so to speak but, what a great time we had! The wildlife experience more than made up for it. And, ultimately, the dirt washed off! But, I have to say, that next shower never felt so good! :) Jan