Back home after 20+ hours of flight time from Johannesburg, South Africa via the small island of Sal (just a fuel stop-over), in the Cape Verde Islands off the west coast of Africa… Although I am way behind in my journal entries, I can now use the jetlag to my advantage and catch up (it’s now 4:30 am). Despite lack of Internet facilities over the last bit of the trip, I kept some decent notes so hopefully this entry will sound relatively fluid, despite the fact that much of it occurred weeks ago… Also, one good thing about updating the page from home is that I will soon be able to add photos to the page. Hopefully that will help everyone picture what I am talking about!
I basically left off with Tanzania and our stay on Zanzibar and Pemba Islands. Following Pemba it was off to Sand Rivers Lodge, which sits on the Rufiji River in the Selous Game Reserve in Tanzania. As I mentioned in the last entry, Fundu Lagoon is one tough place to get to, and we back-tracked the same path: 10 minute boat ride from the resort to a small port town, an hour-long car ride over the most dangerous, pothole-strewn road we have ever seen (including Uganda/Rwanda), and a 2 hour flight inland to Sand Rivers.
Side Note: In the entry where I describe getting to Zanzibar in the first place, I forgot to mention the short plane ride over from the mainland. We reached Dar-Es-Salaam from Entebbe, Uganda via Nairobi. Dar’s international airport is actually a few miles from the domestic, so we transferred over for our flight to Zanzibar via Coastal Air. This flight was great – I swear that our pilot was either a huge fan of James Brown, or perhaps the man himself. The tiny plane’s interior was decked out like a 1975 Cadillac Brougham in inner city Motown. All four seats – the pilot’s seat, and the 3 passenger seats – were covered in leopard skin cloth. The dash had some kind of purple velour trimming, and – I’m not sure if this part was real or imagined – I could swear I remember fuzzy dice. Our pilot was one cool dude – never turning back to say hello like most, but just getting his groove on and getting us where we had to go, all behind a pair of 1970s tinted shades. You know the kind – the ones Puff Daddy wears now because they seem cool and retro. Only I’m sure our pilot was wearing the true and original 70’s version. That was one funky flight, in every sense of the word. In my mind’s eye I pictured George Clinton or Bootsy Collins flying us back. In fact, what a great idea for an airline, rail or bus company – decorate each bus or plane in the theme of a 1970s band. How cool would that be? Forget the ‘MetroBus’. Way too dull. Put me on the BootsyBus…the ParliamentBus. Ride in style, m’man.
Ok – back to Sand Rivers. First, some background: Cathy and I were really looking forward to Sand Rivers because we had an important message to deliver to the camp’s manager, Alex Hunter. Before leaving New York, a woman at our office – Melinda Reach – mentioned we might like to read her father’s memoirs from a 1937 Africa trip. We said ‘sure’ and promptly – amidst the commotion of packing and leaving – forgot about it. But sure enough, the day before our departure, we received a packet in the mail from Mr. Milton Reach. We took his memoirs with us and I actually read them for the first time on our flight from Johannesburg to Capetown, South Africa. I must admit that it burst any proud illusions about my own modern “adventure travel” that I harbored. His story is wonderful, and we thank him very much for sharing it with us. Mr. Reach and a friend drove – yes, drove – across Africa in a Lincoln Zephyr and shared some incredible experiences. Paramount to his narrative is the time spent hunting with JA Hunter, one of the most famous of the “white hunters” that led safaris in Eastern Africa starting in the early 1900’s. JA Hunter was apparently an incredible man, and Cathy and I subsequently found chapter upon chapter on him in the various history books we found from lodge to lodge. He apparently got his start in 1908 working on the “Lunatic Line” – the train being built that extended from the Kenyan coast into the heart of Uganda. JA would shoot lions and elephants that threatened the rail workers as they ploughed into unknown jungle. He developed such a reputation that the King of England actually asked that JA take him out hunting. However, an American client had already booked the dates that the Prince of Wales had requested. To his credit, the American exclaimed, “Who the hell is the Prince of Wales? My money’s as good as his!!!” And to JA Hunter’s credit, he agreed and kept his scheduled safari with the American client, refusing to drop everything for the King of England. The King of England!! Milton Reach spent 2 weeks or so hunting with JA and was clearly affected by the adventure. In fact, he asked that Cathy and I – should we run across any news of JA Hunter’s family – please pass on what we information we could. It seems that Mr. Reach and Mr. Hunter lost touch around the time of World War II.
Fast forwarding back to Sand Rivers Lodge, it was a great surprise for us to discover that the Lodge manager was one Alex Hunter, grandson of JA. We immediately shared our story and passed on Mr. Reach’s memoirs, which Alex was thrilled to receive. He was excited to read a previously unknown first-hand account of what it was like to hunt with his granddad. Also, JA Hunter at one time sent Milton Reach a manuscript for a book he had written on elephant behavior. Mr. Reach had sincerely regretted that he lacked the connections, and because of the War, the ability to get it published for JA. Alex was happy to hear that such a manuscript still existed at all, and in Mr. Reach he found a “living link” to his granddad. We were thrilled to turn over the memoirs (I think it still sits atop a table in the reading area of the lounge at Sand Rivers, along with a series of prominent books on early African exploration) and to provide Alex with Milton Reach’s contact details. Hopefully they’ve been in touch since then.
Sand Rivers is in the Selous Game Reserve in Tanzania, and it is situated on the Rufiji River. My initial impressions of the place were that it was beautiful, hot, dry, and – looking out over the Rufiji – deadly. Crocs and hippos lazily swam in the calm, still waters that looked just as hot and muggy as the air around us. The lodge itself is beautifully designed – the main dining area is set into the riverbank at just the right spot to capture a panoramic view of a wide lazy bend in the river. Our room was equally beautiful, and we could hear hippos splashing about just feet below our open-air bungalow. At night we’d watch quick-tongued geckos and swooping bats preying on moths. (Talk about a species benefiting from the arrival of man… what the heck did geckos do before man and his lights came along? All these guys have to do know is hang out near a light and simply peck away at the myriad moths and flies that abound in the area. Geckos owe us one, really. I put them right up there with cockroaches and rats as huge beneficiaries of man’s dominance of the planet! Unlike rats and cockroaches, though, geckos are really cool, cute little guys, and they eat all the mosquitoes and bugs! I’d love to have a slew of them living at home in the states. Kinda like having barn cats around to keep the mice at bay.) There is nothing like open-air rooms to make you feel right in the thick of nature’s action. Aside from the threat of a python or lion strolling in at anytime, it’s perfect. The only real downside to Sand Rivers, through no fault of its own, is that Cathy and I – at this point – we totally burnt out on African lodges, meals, and game drives. And, yes, Sand Rivers was another place that specialized in the very thing we were so sick of. Don’t get me wrong – the place was stunning. But at this point Cathy and I had calculated that we’d already enjoyed 90 hours (ninety hours!!!) of game drives to date, and, frankly, there is only so much time you can spend staring at a ____ (insert any animal name here) before you want to move on to something altogether different. And there is only so much time you can spend at dinner with strangers asking about you and your trip and what animals you had seen, and then expecting to be asked the same question in return. It all got very redundant after a while. We felt horrible because Alex Hunter proved to be a great and interesting guy, and Sand Rivers would have been blissful were it our second stop. But we had simply hit our limit, and we thus set off to make some changes in our itinerary. The plan was to add in some time in a city and to substitute something else in place of the other redundant lodge experiences looming ahead. Our plan made even more sense when we realized we had just seven days before heading off on a private mobile safari with Richard Knocker, which we knew would be a highlight of our entire trip. We wanted to be fresh and ready for that portion of the itinerary, rather than totally “bushed out.” Originally we were meant to spend 4 days at Sand Rivers. We cut that back to two. Next, we added 2 days in the city of Dar-Es-Salaam. It was a running theme throughout our trip that we missed many cities. They were either not scheduled at all (Gabarone, Botswana), we spent limited hours there (Windhoek, Namibia), or we were talked out of spending any time there when we were just nearby (Kampala, Uganda). It seems that many tour operators try to “protect” their clients from African cities, but, as New Yorkers, we were jonesing for a city-fix! And while we absolutely loved our trip, it would have been the equivalent of visiting the Grand Canyon or Yellowstone in the USA (all the best wildlife and landscape) yet skipping New York City. For better or for worse, ya must visit major cities. This was our logic in adding Dar-Es-Salaam. Next, we cut out future stays at Ol Malo and Borana, which we feared to be more of the same safari-lodge experience. In their place, we booked 5 nights in Lamu, Kenya, which is a small, fascinating island that I always wanted to see. Alex Hunter and his staff were great in helping us make our changes, and they were quite gracious in accommodating us. Thanks, Alex! So that left us two days at Sand Rivers to enjoy, and we immediately decided the river was the way to go. There’s something peaceful about cruising on a river that a jolting ride on a Land Rover simply does not capture. Also, game seems to be a bit more natural around the water. Whether elephants bathing, hippos lazing, zebras drinking, or birds fishing, life along the river is always more interesting to me that life inland. We headed upstream in a small boat and saw tons of crocodiles along the way. Our guide told us that the village downstream had lost 23 (twenty-three!!) villagers that years to crocodiles. Wow. If 23 people in my village were killed by anything, I think it’d be time for a lifestyle change. Sorry honey, I’ve retired from fishing. I think I’m gonna weave baskets instead. And I’m selling the hut near the river. Time for a garden view. Let’s by a condo down in that new gated community “NoCrocsHere Seniors Village.” Once we arrived at the gorge we set in and had breakfast, and all eyes in the trees were upon us. There were monkeys and fish eagles all around us, chattering and calling at our intrusion. After breakfast, we fished a bit. I found a deep and calm inlet in the swirling rapids emptying from the gorge, and immediately caught a nice ten-pound catfish. No matter what you may or may not have heard, catfish put up quite a fight! Ultimately I caught a couple more decent sized catfish, but the highlight of the morning involved a tiny fish called – appropriately – a “squeaker.” Squeakers are small catfish/suckerfish/carp type things that rapidly “flap” their fins when out of water. The grinding of these fin bones makes a distinctive squeaking sound. Anyway, I had just released my third or fourth squeaker (they are kind of like sunnies that you keep catching when bass-fishing…they just seem to always end up on your line when you are trying for something else) and made eye contact with Cathy, sitting in the shade to my right. I watched as her eyes got as big as baseballs and turned to follow her line of sight. I turned just as a huge fish eagle swooped in (with a deep and powerful vooosh sound) and corralled the still struggling squeaker, who had not quite made it back out of the shallows into deep water yet. This bird must have been 10 to 15 feet from me, and we marveled at its size, wingspan, power, grace, and patience! This guy was one of the birds we noticed right away when having breakfast. He watched and waited so silently we forgot all about him, then picked the perfect moment to pluck himself breakfast with minimal effort. I will never forget the image of that graceful fish eagle with its back to me, wings fully spread and flapping powerfully, making its way back to the tree with the squeaker thrashing in its massive talons, all set against the green sides and gurgling brown water of the Rufiji River gorge.
The flight from Sand Rivers to Dar-Es-Salaam was about 90 minutes, taking us across amazing African landscapes. The area was mostly flat and brown, but every now and then you spot a river by the vivid green vegetation. From the air, the thickest green represented the main river itself, and smaller, thinner green lines represented the tributaries or underwater aquifers of that river. We’d rarely see the brown, muddy rivers themselves due to the thick vegetation, but those lines of emerald green stood out against the brown scorched earth like lines of lightning stand out against a pitch black, stormy sky. Once at the airport I did a quick search for our one-time pilot James Brown, but couldn’t find him or his purple velour plane anywhere. (See side note above) We took a quick city tour of Dar which included the fish market (very fun – all different varieties of fish, but bring a gas mask), the Tanzanian National Museum, the former US Embassy (the one bombed in 1998), the new, massive, impenetrable US Embassy, the legislative buildings, and the president’s house. (Interestingly, Dar-Es-Salaam is only the administrative capital of Tanzania. The official capital is Dodoma. Has anyone ever been to Dodoma? Better yet, has anyone even heard of Dodoma? That has to be one of the all-time most obscure world capital cities. Watch out, Regis. I’m ready for you.) I’ll say this about Dar-Es-Salaam: in this case, the tour agents are right. There’s not much to see in Dar. But we happy we went anyway. It was a nice break from the safari lodge lifestyle, and we enjoyed the pleasures that a nice city has to offer – walking on the seafront, browsing in bookstores, and (are you ready for this?) eating sushi. Yes, ladies and gentleman, that was not a misprint. Cathy and I did indeed eat sushi in Dar-Es-Salaam, Tanzania. What were we thinking? Actually, the sushi was passable and they knew enough to limit themselves. Only about 3 types of fish were offered: tuna, red snapper, and salmon. I went with tuna figuring it was the safe choice. And it was fine. It goes to show you how your standards change when you’ve been away for a while! Beer, gyoza, and tuna rolls – a taste of home! It was great. We checked into the Sea Cliff Hotel, a big place with tons of rooms and a huge pool. We were thrilled. The only thing we were craving more than pizza and ESPN was anonymity. It was so nice to get away from the personal attention that makes safari travel great for a while, yet tiresome at others. Cathy sat and read by the pool, and I used the time to catch up on our journal. You’ll get an idea of the damage I did by checking out the entries of August 25th and 26th. I must have typed for hours! It was a nice break for Cathy and I from each other, too. I have to point out that intense travel can be challenging to even the best of relationships. An Africa is certainly intense travel. Not intense in the sense that we were hunting and cooking for ourselves and climbing mountains, but in the sense that our contact with each other was continual and close at all times. Usually on vacation, one person can watch TV or read while the other goes for a run or goes out swimming. But Africa? No way. You are stuck out in the jungle 100 miles from nowhere and there is no way to get away from each other for needed – at times - space. That can be trying, even for the strongest of couples. We had our moments, but overall I think we did great. Most people tell me that the simple fact that we are still speaking says volumes about us! We have had a great adventure together, and I am proud to have shared it with Cathy. The rest of our time in Dar was uneventful except for one strange thing that I have to relay. A few weeks prior, in the Kibale Forest in Uganda, we had been amongst a few other tourists looking at the chimpanzees. One tourist, in particular, was kind of strange and Cathy and I could not tell his nationality easily. His skin was coffee colored and he seemed to be from India, but we weren’t sure. He was nice enough and we felt kinda bad that he seemed to be traveling alone. We felt even worse when we passed by the Forest entrance later that day and saw him hitchhiking down the road. We were cruising by at high speed and his face vaguely registered to both of us, although neither of us said it at the time. Back at our lodge that night I told Cathy that I regretted not turning back for that hitchhiker, because I thought it was the Indian guy from the Forest. To my surprise, Cathy felt the exact same way. She had recognized him too, and had also felt bad about not turning back. Anyway, time passed and I actually wondered what became of him. It was a lonely road and I hoped things turned out all right for him. Well, turns out they did! The morning we were to check out of the Sea Cliff, we saw the very same man having breakfast at the next table! A month had passed and he didn’t recognize us (thank God…he might have been upset we didn’t stop for him), but Cathy and I knew him pretty much straightaway. It was a funny coincidence, but it was nice to know he got back safely. I guess he was a Tanzanian from Dar vacationing in Uganda. Tanzania has a pretty sizeable Indian population, so it seemed to make sense. I thought about saying hi, but didn’t really know how to broach the subject and thought better of it. (Hi, you don’t know me, but I saw you hitchhiking a lonely road a month ago and totally blew you off. How are you?) It was simply nice knowing he was doing ok, though. I suppose I should have taken the initiative to say hello – it seems far to coincidental to run into exactly the same man in a totally different country a month later – but I couldn’t bring myself to invade his space and perhaps embarrass myself. I should have taken the chance, though, and I kind of regret that. It’s something I need to work on, I guess. Maybe New York City cynicism pervades your soul after a while and makes you less open to chance encounters. Whatever the case, I plan on being much more willing to make a complete fool of myself the next time!
From Dar we flew to Arusha, Tanzania for our much-anticipated private safari with Richard Knocker. Arusha is a bustling little town that many, many people pass through on the way to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. It is also the location of a multinational tribunal aimed at bringing some closure to the Rwandan genocide of 1994. As a result, it was a very active place. A word on Kilimanjaro: Cathy and I thought long and hard about doing the climb ourselves but ultimately decided our time was better spent elsewhere. It was one of the best decisions – I believe – we made on this trip. We heard mixed reviews, and I went so far as to read people’s journals posted on the internet, but we simply came away with the feeling that it might not be as amazing as people would have you believe. For one thing, the trails are pretty crowded these days, as Kili has become a major tourist attraction. This means there’s a fair amount of litter and garbage the whole way up, and the bathrooms are pretty foul. Further, altitude sickness can be a real problem. So can the weather. Who wants to spend 6 or 7 days shivering and throwing up with headaches and terrible nausea? I can simply get the flu and do that in the comfort of my own home. Despite all that, it might have been worth it if there was a pay-off. A stunning view at the top, for example. But there isn’t. In fact, they shuttle you down almost immediately (after 5 minutes or so) in order to trick your body into believing it’s not really at that altitude level. So what you are left with is the knowledge that you climbed Kilimanjaro. You can tell everyone you did it. And Cathy and I simply didn’t have anything to prove – neither to ourselves nor anyone else. So we skipped it, and we were glad we did. Some folks have had amazing experiences on Kilimanjaro, and I applaud them for their courage and their conviction. But it wasn’t for us – it’s as simple as that. Ok, back to the story at hand. Richard Knocker didn’t know it, but he was in for a handful between Cathy and I. We were well rested after our Sea Cliff hiatus and we were primed and ready for an authoritative voice to answer the multitude of contradictory animal behavior stories we had heard. We had thousands of questions. Our plan was to torture the poor guy. We heard he was good, and we were going to test his limits: Are lions really colorblind? Are water bucks really immune to crocodile attacks? Why is the sky blue? What color was Lee’s white horse? Who is buried in Grant’s Tomb? How long was the Seven Year War? Who really killed JFK? Will the Bills win the Superbowl? I’m kidding, obviously, but there is some truth to guides and “answer-man syndrome.” These guys answer so many difficult and obscure questions for you that every now and then you almost slip and assume that they know everything. I swear I almost asked a guide his thoughts on the universal issue of buying versus leasing. No joke. Hey, he seemed to know everything else!! And Cathy asks them crazy questions like “What does chlorophyll do to your body?” (Because I drink chlorophyll each morning… I heard it was good for you but could not scientifically tell her why. So she took it upon herself to ask various guides. To see the looks on their faces was pretty priceless. Kinda like “How the hell would I know, lady?” It was damn funny. But she had a point – they knew all this other stuff about flora and fauna. Maybe they’d know that, too. ) Richard took it all in stride, though, and answered all our questions with tact and good nature. And when he didn’t know something, unlike many guides, he said so. Richard met us at the Arusha airport and we headed off to lunch at a local restaurant before our 3-4 hour drive to the Ngorongoro crater area. Richard Knocker is an interesting guy – his family is originally British, but they settled in Kenya after his dad’s WWII stint in the Royal Air Force. After university in England, Richard taught and guided tours in Turkey. After a few years there it was back to Africa. The great thing about Richard is that he brings a lot to the table. He is active and loves to do walks as well as game drives, he is extremely knowledgeable about animals and animal behavior, he is personable enough to make it all fun, and he is patient enough to deal with all our silly questions! We enjoyed him right away. The drive to the Ngorongoro crater was long, dry, dusty, and hot. In other words, it was just like the rest of Africa! Along the way we passed through local villages and got a good sense for day-to-day life in Tanzania. We also got our first real taste of the Masai, a local tribe that still clings to its original lifestyle and authenticity. There are, according to recent estimates, about 3 million Masai living in Kenya and Tanzania, and they carry themselves quite differently from other local peoples we encountered. The first thing you notice is the dress. They cover themselves in red tartan cloth and nothing else. It is something to see a Masai in his red robes starkly contrasted against a golden field or a green hillside. For footwear, they usually wear sandals, canvas basketball sneakers from the 1950s, or homemade shoes crafted from tire treads. (It became a running joke when Cathy and I learned to “track” a bit. We’d identify lion tracks or elephant scratch marks or hyena dung, and then we’d see a perfect rectangle tire track in the middle of a hillside about 12 inches long and 5 inches wide. Hey, someone would yell out, that must have been a pretty tall Masai!) It is also something to see a Masai warrior, skinny and dark-skinned, wearing what looks like a red plaid blanket stolen from an angry Scot somewhere; his look punctuated with a spear, earrings, and Chuck Taylor low-top canvas sneakers. Incidentally, I think it’d be a great new character for the World Wrestling Federation. Forget “The Rock” and “Hulk Hogan” and all the rest. Give me “The Masai!” I’ll root for that guy. Give him the red robes, the attitude, the sneakers, the spear, and just add about 350 pounds. He’d be awesome. His signature move would have something to do with the way he killed lions as a boy or something. Or the way he’d wrestle pythons. He’d come out to drumbeats and have an entourage of Masai women. He’d be one cool character. Someone get the WWF on the line – this needs to happen. Ever since the “Junkyard Dog” retired, pro wrestling has gone downhill. Ok, sorry for the tangent… Earrings were a must, by the way, and most all Masai had very stretched out earlobes. It may have been a status symbol. Some guys we saw had earlobes so stretched out you that they sometimes knotted them to keep them from swaying when they walked. All together now: eeeeeewwwww! Anyway, the coolest thing about the Masai – at least from our western, tourist perspective, was that they could not have cared less about us. It was a welcome change from the throngs of villagers in Uganda and elsewhere trying to sell us trinkets or begging for money. To the Masai, the only thing of value in the world is cattle, and they actually believe that all cattle in the world belong to them. They have been known to cross borders and go over fences to nab cattle that they feel they have every right to own. God’s will, or something like that. So an average Masai looked at Cathy and I with very different eyes from what we were used to. For them, they did not see western dollars and the potential to make money, steal money, or beg for money. Instead, they calmly looked us over with wizened eyes that said: How many cows you got, Bub? I got 60. 12 wives, too. Take that back to America. I must admit that I respected the Masai tremendously for that. Many local people across Africa seemed insecure or unsure of themselves. Through poverty or colonialization these people had their identities and culture stripped away. But not the Masai. They know exactly who they are and what they are about: Cows. (And wives.) We drove along the lip of the Ngorongoro Crater on the way to our campsite. The Crater itself is stunning. We stopped at a viewpoint and looked out across it. It is probably 10 miles in diameter and includes plains, shallow salty lakes, forests, and dry desert areas. It was gorgeous to look out over the Crater, the blue sky, and the billowed clouds gathered overhead. We were excited to drive into the Crater in 2 days time for some wildlife viewing. We reached the camp late that afternoon. It was about 30 minutes from the Crater itself and was nestled atop a hill in what is formally known as the Ngorongoro Highlands. You could just make out an escarpment of the Great Rift Valley and a long shimmering lake in the northern distance, and – looking back south – you saw nothing but rolling hills leading off into the Crater itself. It was magnificent. And, aside from the cooking staff, it was really just the two of us, and Richard. Our room was a small canvas tent, and we had a small shelter set up as a shower, and another set up as a toilet. The shower was just four canvas walls with a pulley system set atop it. A bucket of hot water was hauled to the top and your shower lasted as long as that water held out. Usually 3-4 minutes. The toilet was a dirt pit with the excavated dirt sitting nearby with a ladle on top. After you went, you simply spooned some dirt back into the hole to “foster the fertilization process.” It was not “roughing it” in the purest sense, but believe me…for two New Yorkers who have a history of overdoing the Tilex cleaning in our bathroom shower, this took some getting used to. Altitude factored in as well, as did the cold. That first night, I was freezing. This was the kind of place you sleep with just about every piece of clothing you own on! And being up about 8000 feet dehydrated us a bit and we found ourselves fighting off headaches and fitful sleep. All in all, though, we loved it. This was truly Africa bared down to pretty much its purest elements. No lodge, no running water, no electricity, no TV, no phone, no computer. Just us, fresh air, stars, sky, grass, birds, animals, bugs, and good company. Our first morning we walked the highlands with Richard and a local guide. It always scared me on walks in Africa when you have to take along a local guide because “he’s the guy licensed to carry a gun.” The hike was spectacular – 5 hours or so along rolling hills and dales. We passed through a Masai village on the way to the trail and stumbled across the most amazing cultural tidbit. The young Masai children would walk up to us with heads bowed and eyes downcast. We wondered what the deal was, but soon found out it’s how Masai children greet their elders. All they seek is a gentle hand placed atop their small heads, and they move on down the line with the same bowed head and downcast eyes. When they’ve gone through the group, they then look up at you with wide eyes and big grins. It was so neat. What a great way for children to greet you. Again, no palms out, no screams for money or candy. Just quiet humility and respect. Ya gotta love the Masai. And it sure would be cool if I could teach my kids that trick one day. It was a very sweet gesture. We didn’t see much wildlife along our hike, but walking at our own pace with our own guide gave us the option of stopping to look at whatever struck our fancy. As a result, we checked out all the bugs, plants, and birds that we skipped over on all those game drives that went straight to the “big game” and then home. For anyone out there interesting in visiting Africa, make a private guided trip like this part of your itinerary. It’s the way to go! On our way down from the hilltops we approached another Masai village (a village is usually made up of a series of round huts, whose roofs are thatched and whose walls are made of straw, mud, and a cow-manure coating. A Masai village will also include a “boma,” something like a small fort with long pointed stakes for fencing where feasts are held and cattle or goats sometimes kept. You’ll also never find a Masai village tucked into a hillside or near a densely vegetated area. This is by design. Villages are usually right out in the open where all villagers have a 360-degree view around them. That way, predators have no cover to sneak up on anyone or anything.) where we stumbled upon an interesting scene: The entire village (maybe 25-30 people) was pacing with agitation around a small, muddy waterhole. A “moran” (a Masai warrior) was up to his waist in the water with a rope in hand, about 5 feet from shore and 25 feet from a lone cow mooing and swimming in tight circles in the middle of the drink. The rest of the herd was safely out of the water. Richard explained that the cow must be old and/or drowning, and that – as Masai dislike water and cannot swim – the people were trying to save it as best as they could. I joked that this was biblical stuff – that he could make his way into Masai legend and lore for eons to come. As Moses came down from the Mountain with the Ten Commandments, so might come white man Richard Knocker to save the sacred cow. Or something like that. As we descended, though, I was distracted by some young Masai kids and their puppy, a gorgeous mix of dingo and cattle dog. If I have any regret from the entire trip to Africa, it is not buying that dog from the Masai, bribing the customs people, and bringing him home. He was the dog I always wanted, and I hope to find him or another just like him someday soon. Anyway, my love affair with dog was soon disrupted by Cathy’s call: He’s going in! Richard’s going in! I made my way over to the water hole just in time to see Richard strip down to his shorts and jump in. He breaststroked to the center of the water, corralled the poor tired cow, and dragged him back to shore where the relieved Masai villagers gladly brought him to solid ground. The cow’s owner, a Masai woman, came to Richard wiping tears from her eyes and thanking him (I assume) for his kindness. Turns out the cow was 1) old and senile (can cows be senile?) and 2) blind in one eye (thus the tight circles it was swimming). Actually, I think I saw the same cow on a Benny Hill episode once. Anyway, everyone was clapping Richard on the back and saluting his heroics. Instant celebrity: Richard Knocker the Cow Savior! Thus I am certain that the legend of the white cow savior who descended the mountain will indeed work its way into Masai lore, and I am thrilled to have been a witness. It was the just the kind of random experience that thrusts you front and center into a foreign culture and really makes travel the amazing phenomenon that it is. Thanks for that, Richard! The next day was our Crater day, and – while it did not match the raw excitement of cow saving (can this be made into a Xtreme Games sport? I’ve had enough skateboarding, thanks. But how about Cow Saving? It could be water or land based: Wow, tough break for Smith there, Johnny. His cow is wedged in between two boulders at the foot of the Grand Canyon. That will get him bonus points in the ‘degree of difficulty’ category, but he will surely lose points for ‘artistic impression.’ We haven’t seen this kind of Saving since Jimmy Ringo saved a cow trapped in a submarine a mile down in the Marianas Trench in the ’98 games, Johnny. Well, it’s all going to fall to the Russian judge…) the Crater was still incredible. We got as close to lions as I think is humanly possible. They were actually lying in the shade of our car! Unfortunately, the Crater is heavily visited by tourists, and it can be tough to really have a great sighting without 15 other cars showing up immediately. We saw the aforementioned lions, some buffalo, some zebra, a few cranes, and about a zillion flamingos. Apparently, the flamingos flock to the shallow (like 6 inches deep) salt lakes to feed on the tiny brine shrimp that live there. Go figure. I’m not sure what is more amazing: seeing so many flamingos or finding out that brine shrimp live in 8000 foot high crater lakes in Tanzania? On our way back to camp, we passed some Masai boys wearing black, with white paint smeared all over their faces. They actually looked a bit like the skeleton costumes who’d see at Halloween. Turns out they were newly circumcised (ouch!) and they will wear black until the scars heal, at which point they are considered “men.” The white paint had something to do with the death of the young boy within them (the bones of the young boy painted on the outside) and the emergence of the adult. This was the only time we saw the Masai get “touristy” or commercial at all – the boys will hang out by the roadside hoping to charge tourists for photos. (I guess I can’t blame them for trying to get something positive out of the experience!) I must admit, it would have made a great photo, but we chose not to turn their religious rites into something we pay for, show our friends, and hang on a wall. Seemed too weird.
From the Ngorongoro highlands we hopped back into the Land Rover and made for our next stop – another campsite just outside Serengeti National Park. Again, the drive was long, dusty, and hot (did I mention hot?). The dust can be brutal, too. There are times in Africa where you can just taste it on the roof of your mouth all day long. The dust also forces you to close you windows from time to time, an act that otherwise might be considered suicidal in the 100+ degree heat. As another car approaches (you can see it for miles ahead along the flat expanse) you wait until the very last second to quickly roll up your window to avoid the impending tidal wave of dust. And trust me, I am convinced that the 8-10 seconds when the windows were all up continually gave me an insight into Hell’s inferno that perhaps only Dante could match. We stopped along the way at a really interesting place: Olduvai Gorge. As an ancient riverbed, it has yielded hundreds of incredible fossils. Just when you get over how big an elephant actually is, you are shown a million year old African moose skull that is twice the size of a modern elephant’s! Olduvai Gorge is also not far from the Laetoli archaeological site, and the Olduvai museum holds a copy of the Laetoli footprints, which are perhaps the most awesome artifact (or artifact replica, as it were) that I have ever seen. About 3 million years ago, a hominid (upright man) walked along in the fresh volcanic ash of a nearby volcano. A woman and another smaller man were with him. Ancient deer and guinea fowl crossed his path. Soon after, the sun then baked and hardened the moist ash. The final result is a time stamped snapshot of a moment in time 3 million years ago that is as clear as a handprint in cement today. It is simply amazing. To find bones is one thing. But to find these prints, and to – as a result – recreate that actual ancient moment in your mind’s eye, is a personal experience unlike any other. Well, at least in my opinion. After our brief stop off at the Gorge and the museum, we made straight for the Serengeti. As for description, there’s simply not much to say. The Serengeti is hot, and it is flat. And it goes on forever. And ever. And ever. How animals actually live there is beyond me! It is staggering in its vastness, though, and beautiful in its simplicity. On interesting, but sad, note from our drive. The animals we saw most regularly were Thompson’s Gazelles (which are particularly well adapted to desert-type areas… they actually have some sort of internal refrigerator which keeps their brains at a much cooler temperature than the rest of their bodies, preserving them from heat stroke) and Secretary Birds (who have long slender legs which allow them some safe distance from the fangs of the snakes they feast on). At one point we came to a Tommy (as Thompson’s Gazelles are known) that had been just hit by another tour vehicle and left in the middle of the road to die. Richard thought it best to put it out of its obvious misery and carry it to the side of the road. He asked us not to watch, an instruction we both immediately ignored. We turned and watched, wide eyed, as he grabbed a 3-pound rock and bashed the gazelle in the back of the head, just where the skull meets the neck. The gazelle twitched a bit but soon fell silent and motionless. It was sad and disturbing to watch, yet humane. We moved on. We soon reached the other campsite, which was actually through the other side of the Serengeti. We had driven across the entire park! We were tired, and hot, and cranky, but realized that driving gave us images of the Serengeti that we’d never have seen from the air. The camp was nestled into a flat valley between rolling hills of brush, trees, and rocks. An advantage of being outside the park, which we soon learned, was that there were no time limits on our walks and drives. Like anything remotely government, African national parks have strict opening and closing times, and also go so far as to restrict movement. You must, at all times in a national park, stay on the road. Even if you see a lion duck behind a tree with a kill, you can’t go off the track. I think this is actually a good rule, and is beneficial for the animals, but with a good guide like Richard, off-roading can be done safely and ecologically. Anyway, we had no worries at our new site. Outside the park boundaries, we were able to stay out as late as we wanted and drive wherever we wanted. This proved crucial. Our new tent was a bit bigger than the last, the area was warmer and slightly less elevated, and we were by now old pros with the bucket shower and the dirt toilet. Far from seasoned campers, we were actually getting into it a bit. A quick word about food, though. Chowtime at these camps was far from a can opener and a hot dog on a stick. If you have looked at the Best & Worst page I put together for the site, you’ll have noticed that some of our best meals were in camp with Richard and his crew. These guys (particularly Dunston and Winston) were amazing. Everything was cooked over a wood fire in a large metal pot. How do you make perfect brownies or lemon tart with a wood fire and a metal pot? How do you make perfect lasagna? Great soup? Amazing fish filets? These guys were magicians in my book. They need to do a cooking show. Seriously. “Welcome to African Magic (subtitled “A Pot and a Wood Fire: Secrets Revealed”) with Dunston and Winston.” They’d blow Emeril and his fancy cooking tools off the air… One of the highlights of our African game viewing was Richard’s cool red spot light. It’s simply a red cover on an ordinary searchlight. For some reason, nocturnal animals (night time animals, as opposed to “diurnal” or day time animals) don’t pick up the red beam and they go about their normal business. It was really amazing to watch jackals romp and play together, to watch a genet cat hunt, to see a leopard stalking, and to follow the bouncing eyes of African bush babies as they jump from tree to tree. Cathy and I had so much fun with the red light we spent one night driving around until 11pm! Another highlight of our trip was a day trip we took into Serengeti National Park. Just ten minutes into the park we came across a vulture picking at the stomach bladder of a fresh kill. Apparently, some predators will gut a kill of its stomach (gruesome, but true) and move off elsewhere with the carcass. The scavengers are then left to fight for the gutted portions. Richard recognized the scenario immediately, and quickly outlined what we could expect. He described a “pecking order” of sorts: a description of the hierarchical order in which various birds will feed. Just as a full house beats three-of-a-kind, we learned that a hooded vulture will trump a white-shouldered vulture, and that a tawny eagle can be trumped by a marabou stork. And sure enough, it unfolded just as Richard described it. It was so interesting to watch it all happen in front of us. There was a real order, a real method-to-the-madness, of the seeming chaos before us. Not long after the birds picked the area clean, I caught a Thompson’s Gazelle streaking away in the distance. Richard had taught us to watch when animals seemed to be running from something other than us – it was sure sign predators are lurking. We made our way towards the commotion and were about 10 seconds late: A cheetah had just made a kill and had its jaw locked around the neck of a small Tommy, suffocating the remaining life from it. A second cheetah, probably a young male, was nearby, probably waiting for the first cheetah (perhaps its mother) to release its grip before feeding. We took up a position about 100 feet from the pair, and watched as they hungrily fed on the Thompson’s Gazelle. There it was, right in front of us – the cycle of natural selection, the survival of the fittest. It was intriguing, but also somehow humbling. I guess Africa brings home a simple fact from time to time: We are all part of something much larger -- A food chain, a cosmic cycle of life and death, or simply a small facet of a much larger ecology. Something by Shakespeare comes to mind: All the world’s a stage; the men and women, merely players. Watching those cheetahs made me feel like a small player on a very grand stage. We went for a few more walks with Richard as well, and much of our time was spent simply adjusting our eyes. Specks on a hillside that appeared as rocks, trees, or shrubs, soon revealed their true selves as kudu, waterbucks, giraffes, buffalo, wildebeest, zebras, or impala. The area was teeming with life. This was evident at night, too, when shrill baboon barks and zebra whinnies became the norm rather than the exception. We left Richard Knocker and his staff after 5 days of educational, challenging, and entertaining camping. And as a bonus, we finally got answers to all those nagging questions we had garnered.
From the Serengeti, we were to fly back to Arusha, cross the Kenyan border by car at Namanga, and fly to Shompole, a brand new lodge set aside an escarpment along the Great Rift Valley. We were very excited about Shompole, which has received rave reviews and write ups in Vogue and various travel mags. Our flight back to Arusha was uneventful, but our drive across the Kenyan border was anything but. We had been warned about the free-for-all that makes up any African border crossing, and Namanga was no exception. It didn’t help that we were running very late at this point. We were rushing to catch a 3 pm flight to Shompole, and had little room for error. The border itself is a triple-fenced area. The Tanzanian side is first. You show your passport and are admitted inside the gates to get your passport stamped. Simple as that. However, the passport office was packed, and I managed (doesn’t this always happen?) to pick the shortest line but the one that took the longest line. It was a trap, I swear. There was one small Indian woman ahead of me, but she had paperwork for the apparent 247 members of her immediate family traveling with her. Agony. We got the stamp, though, and were set to make our way out of the Tanzanian side and across the fence into the Kenyan buffer area. Once we passed this area, we’d pass the third gate into official Kenya. However, we left the office to find our Land Rover had a flat. That meant Cathy and I – remember, time is an issue here – were about to literally walk into the Kenya. The only problem is that our white skin and tourist shuffle was to the border vendors and con men what donuts are to Homer Simpson: irresistible! But, we figured that if we could handle Times Square, we could handle this. We were right – it wasn’t bad at all. We did overpay some Masai women for bracelets, though, accepting the price of $2 and one ink pen when the stuff was clearly worth only $1 and one ink pen. Ah well – live and learn. While we did our passport business on the Kenyan side, our drivers fixed the flat just in time to pick us up as we left the office. Of course, this left us 30 minutes late for our flight, and we still had 15 minutes to go. Would the plane still be there? Luckily, it was, and the airstrip itself was a reminder of the constant need for guides in Africa. Only a trained, seasoned eye would have recognized this brown patch of earth as an airstrip. I’d have driven right past it. Our pilot was a patient young guy in good spirits, and we climbed aboard, waved goodbye to our drivers/guides, and settled in for the flight to Shompole.
Shompole was absolutely gorgeous. Set aside the Great Rift Valley, youhave a sense a prehistory as you look out from your room. If a brontosaurus walked by, I wouldn't have been surprised. There is, of course so much to talk about, and not enough time, nor web page space! We spent 3 great days at Shompole, running each morning under a dawning red sky. There wasn't much game to speak of, and it was hot, but we had seen plenty of animals already and we got used to the heat. Also pretty cool to look out over the Rift Valley (which means just what it says - Africa is breaking apart a few millimeters a year at this "seam") and see all the "dust devils" brought on by the heat. Sometimes I'd see as many as 10 mini-tornados in a square mile area! Shompole was marked by something we didn't do - the Masai sang and danced for another group of tourists (models and camera men on a photo shoot, actually) and we wanted no part of it. It just seemed artificial. The joy and easygoing nature of the Masai after Richard Knocker saved the cow in Tanzania was rich and genuine, and had I been invited to a Masai dance at that time, I would have gone. But this set-up felt too forced and too fake, and Cathy and I felt it best not to participate. It seemed exploitative somehow.
From Shompole, went to Rusinga Island Camp, where we enjoyed two nights 50 feet from Lake Victoria. Rusinga has lake flies, great food, and a pet otter named Squeaky. We went fishing for Nil e Perch and caught a 17 pounder, but the highlights were watching kingfishers fish (hover, then plunge...hover, then plunge...), visiting a fishing village in the early morning while on a run, and boating past "Bird Island" and seeing all the water monitors basking in the sun!
After Rusinga, it was off to Cottar's Camp in the Masai Mara - the grand finale for the African Continent. Cottar's was great - Calvin and Louisa Cottar took great care of us and it was a fitting close to a great African adventure. (Incidentally, Calvin was just named among the top guides in Africa by Conde Nast Traveler Magazine, November 2002). The Cottar family is quite unique - they actually came from Oklahoma (!!) in 1909 and were among the first hunters to use cars in the bush! They soon graduated to motorcycles (James Dean meets Tarzan) - forget the darn horses, get me a Harley! There is a great postcard from Cottar's of Glen Cottar lining up a lion while seated on a Triumph motocycle. Pretty cool. We basically had the run of the place to ourselves and tromped around the Masai Mara and checked out the Great Wildebeest Migration over our last few days. No, we didn't see the crocs chomp anybody like on Discovery Channel, but it was cool to see how the zebras basically lead the wildebeest over water. I guess the zebras are considered the smart ones of the bunch - the guides, so to speak!
We left the Mara for Nairobi, where we were to overnight before heading off to Seychelles. So, our last wild animal sighting in Africa? A secretary bird. Yep, saw one a few yards off stalking snakes as we boarded our plane for Nairobi. In Nairobi we did some much needed gift shopping, and met up with an American couple who were nice enough to invite us over for dinner. It was great to get out of the safari setting and discuss things besides animal behavior!
From Nairobi it was off to Seychelles, a place I have always wanted to visit. Small coral and granite islands in the Indian Ocean, Seychelles was once a haven for pirates, and legends of buried treasure abound. Our first stop was Alphonse Island, where we met - of all people - a fellow Amherst alum and his wife. Some small world!! Imagine that - a college of 1600 students, and an island resort 500 miles from the next civilization... What are the chances two Amherst grads would meet under those circumstances? Alphonse was a beautiful coral atoll, but man, was it windy! We enjoyed riding our bikes around the island, visiting the pet turtles, scuba diving the gorgeous reefs surrounding the island, and fly fishing in the lagoon. Even though it wasn't official fly-fishing season and we had to bribe the guides to take us out, we caught bonefish after bonefish. Cathy was a real pro in a matter of seconds. It was a tremendous experience.
After Alphonse, it was off to Fregate Island. Fregate is a granite island, so it's hilly and dense with jungle. There are tons of pirate stories surrounding it, but - try as I might - I found no doubloons. I did see some bats the size of dogs while running, though, and they sufficiently scared the crap out of me. When I saw the things out of the corner of my eye, I flashed back to 3rd grade and started peeing in my pants at the hands of the Wicked Witch of the West and her flying monkeys! Man, these things were huge. Flying foxes, they call them. I think they are basically oversized Fruit bats that have no natural predators on the island. We also go to see the Seychelles Magpie Robin, the worlds 7th most endagered bird. They exist only on 2-3 islands in the Seychelles. A few words about Fregate: I've never been to Bora Bora, Bali, Virgin Gorda, Hawaii, the 4 Seasons in New York, or the Mirage in Vegas, but I have seen some amazing things in Malta, Belize, Mauritius, Africa, the South of France, and at a pub called Nancy Blake's in Limerick, Ireland, and I can tell you with confidence - at least based on my limited experience - that Fregate Island, Seychelles IS indeed Heaven on Earth. I can't really say anything more about it - just check out a few of the photos on this site.
From Seychelles it was back to my old basketball stomping grounds in Mauritius. No riots or protests or publicity this time to mark my arrival - in fact, I didn't even get asked to play in a game. I did practice with my old club a few times and it was great to break a sweat. Cathy and I also got to meet Eric, a fellow basketball player who happens to work at the US Embassy in Mauritius. We played some hoop and enjoyed some amazing Indian food while reminiscing about all the good things in the US (like football! and nachos! and ESPN!). Cathy and I hooked up with my tailor friend Ghun, and he set us up with some amazing duds. Thanks Ghun and Vim! We dove a bit in Mauritius, but mostly read and thought back on the African trip we had just completed. We were so close to home that we almost missed Africa! Isn't it funny how that happens? And soon enough, there it was - the day of departure. We flew Mauritius to Jo'Burg, and Jo'Burg to NY (the longest flight ever - I watched 5.5 movies!!), and - just as rapidly as the trip started - it was over. What a ride. Thank you, Cathy. And thanks to all of you for checking out our stories. Please see "Final Notes" for more...
Comments
Post a Comment