Gorgeous giants.

December 20-something, 2006, after Christmas but before New Years, Tarangire, Tanzania.

"Wapi tembo?" (Where is elephant?) I ask our safari guide impatiently. "Mimi napenda tembo mtoto." (I like baby elephant) I add.

I am speaking Kiswahili (badly) because I believe in learning some local language when I travel, it helps connect me with the folks I meet, bridge the cultural gap, and show respect for the people and places I'm visiting. Oh crap. I wish my motives were that noble. Mostly I'm just showing off.

I am excited about seeing elephants though. We are in Tarangire National Park, the last game park in our Tanzania safari, and it is renowned for huge herds of elephants. There is something about elephants, their size of course, their amazing social behavior, and well, just those long lashed eyes that has always mesmerized me. I really want to see a baby elephant up close. Except this traffic jam of a baboon troop is liesurely ambling down the road in front of our truck. I've been in East Africa three weeks now, and I've seen soooo many baboons, including one that was a little too happy to see me.


But we have only seen a few elephants, from a distance. I want to shout, "Get your lumpy red arses off the road! There are elephants up ahead!"

Finally, there they are, and over the next two days my elephant wishes are filled. Overflowing. We even find one tiny, figuratively speaking, baby only a couple of weeks old.












Aren't they beautiful?

Ho! Ho! Ho! Part 2

December 25, 2006, Serengeti, Tanzania

If you have followed the story of my 2006 Christmas day so far, I congratulate you on your perseverance or excess hours of nothing better to do. Either is to be envied. For those with a normal attention span and a real job, a recap: After a night wondering whether we would wake up (or not wake up, to be accurate) as lion kibble or charred toast, and a morning doing the breast stroke across the Serengeti plain, the story left off with us eating heartily and singing "Santa Clause is Coming" to a bemused audience of starched and pressed expensive safari suits.

Giddy with the roller coaster ride that was our Christmas so far, we headed out on the road again, ready for anything. Our safari outfitter, busy on the phone back in Arusha, had finally found a lodge that could take us in, but it was out of the park, a long drive away on flooded tracks.

We crossed the first two rivers with no problems. Then, at the Seronera River, the evil Ho gods struck again. A line of vehicles snaked up the road on either side of the bridge. Or where a bridge would have been if it was not covered by swirling rapids and a waterfall.

Here is our guide Wellking and our worried camp staff as they seriously studied the flooded bridge situation.


Actually, no-one was very concerned, because the sun was out and the river level was falling. Our guides were confident the wait to cross would be only an hour or so. It turned out to be almost three hours. But G set up the i-pod speakers, and a rousing card tournament was played on the hood of the truck. G & my Beloved opened wine we had planned to save for Christmas dinner. They made wine glasses out of plastic water bottles sliced in half, and we toasted the lowering sun and the hippos wandering around the riverbanks.


Crossing the flooded bridge we held our breath. No problem. But a few kilometres further we came upon another stopped line of vehicles. Road wash out. Our fabulous guides knew another route around using the flooded back roads. There were more wild rides with the wheels spewing huge arcs of spray. A flat tire. Then we picked up a stranded Chilean / Spanish couple whose truck had broken down. The final stretch in the dark along a soaked track was eerie, with wildebeest and zebra scampering in and out of our headlights.

Finally, exhausted, we pulled into the lovely old Ndutu Lodge, where a decadent Christmas buffet was waiting. We pulled the Christmas crackers, put on the goofy paper hats and read the lame jokes. Just like Christmas at home. Well, except for the genets lounging in the rafters.





(Photo # 1 & 4 courtesy of our friend and fellow adventurer G. Vandegriend)

Ho! Ho! Ho!

December 25, 2006, Serengeti, Tanzania

Ho! Ho! Ho!

That is not Santa. It is a chorus of evil African Ho gods, laughing at us. Dancing in glee. Our campsite is awash, and we have been awake half the night. As the sky changes from pitch black to dull soggy grey, the rain continues. But this is not just rain. It is an ark-building, life-raft-launching, deluge. That has been pounding us since 2:30 am.

Breakfast is out of the question. We huddle in our tents, hungry and wet, trying to read soggy paperbacks, while one of our over-worked guides goes to check the level of the nearest river.There are three swollen rivers we will have to cross to get out of the northern Serengeti.

"Do you want jujubes or licorice allsorts for breakfast?" asks B, digging through his candy stash.

Suddenly D and A's tent collapses. We don't see them crawl out, so we run over to help. Turns out they were... um, ahem, naked, and are now frantically trying to find clothes. You gotta admire that. In the circumstances.

By 10:30 am. the decision is made to evacuate camp. If we can get out. We are 4 or 5 kilometres off the "main" road. Even then, we have nowhere to stay; It is Christmas day, and we were supposed to camp here tonight. Lodges have been booked up for months. But we cannot stay here, in places the water is over our ankles.

Almost three hours later we reach the road, having pushed the vehicles several times out of muck. Our driver/guides Lyimo and Wellking alternately dug us out and made wild dashes through new lakes that have appeared overnight.


Muddy, soaked, and stinky, (except for A, who was always fresh and chic when the rest of us looked and smelled like refugees from Planet Pig Pen) we pull in half an hour later to a very classy, expensive lodge. We can't stay there, it is full. Anyway, it costs almost $400 bucks a night. But they do offer us use of a couple of rooms to shower and change, and we can eat lunch in the fancy dining room. In dry clothes, with hot food and cold beer in front of us, our spirits climb. Quietly, L begins singing:

"Oh, you better watch out, you better not cry,"
and we join in;

"You better not pout, I'm telling you why"...

By the end of the song we are singing with gusto, and earn a round of applause from the well-heeled lodge guests.

But we still have three engorged rivers to cross, nowhere to stay, and the Ho gods are not finished dancing.

Nestled All Wet in Their Beds

Christmas Eve, 2006, Kori Bustard Camp, Serengeti, Tanzania.

“Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, had a very shiny nose...”

We are sleepily singing, sitting around the camp fire. Les has strung some battery-operated Christmas lights around an acacia bush. The stars are out. It has been an exciting day of game viewing (3 cheetahs, 11 lions, countless giraffes, hyenas, rare foxes, and more!) in the Gol Kopjes area of the Serengeti, followed by a long drive to our camp.(above photo courtesy of G. Vandegriend)



We drift off to bed in our tents, looking forward to tomorrow: sunny skies, wildlife, and a special Christmas dinner for our last day of camping.

At 2:30 a.m. I wake up and hear the patter of a few raindrops on our tent. Oh shit. We had to cross three rivers to get to this special campsite. The previous week, one had flooded in a heavy rain, stranding people in the northern Serengeti for days. But the skies were so clear when we went to sleep, it must just be a shower. I cuddle close to my Beloved, or as close as we can get while bundled in mummy bags, and go back to sleep.

BOOOOOM! KERAACK! KERBOOOM!! Sweet Mother of God! Thunder and simultaneous lightening right over my head jolts me from sleep to instant terror. A Niagara of rain is pounding on our tent. CRACK! BOOM! CRACK! again. "Holy Crap" I yell. We are camped on an open plain, with only the occasional waist high acacia bush to draw lightening away from our tall tents with metal poles. "Sweetie", I shout at B, who is awake, "What happens if lightening hits our tent?"

"I suppose we would be toast".

In between thunder blasts,we can hear a lion growl and grunt, warning other lions "this is MY territory". We have heard the roar of lions most every night while camping, but our guides Lyimo and Wellking assured us they would not come into camp. Especially with the campfire and several kerosene lamps which are put around the campsite at night. I open the tent flap and peer out into inky blackness. The wind and rain have doused the campfire and lanterns. I have to pee. It is 3:30 am, and no way can I wait until morning. Throwing a blanket around me, I put on my headlamp and run out in bare feet, hoping no cat's eyes shine back at me. The ground cannot soak up the torrential rain fast enough, so water is swirling over my toes as I scamper behind the tent.

Settled back in the tent, I realize there are rivulets running along the floor, soaking into our foam mattresses, and up into our sleeping bags. Then we both have to shuffle and move our pillows to avoid leaking spots from the roof. The thunderstorm seems to be going around in a circle, coming back overhead every 20 minutes. The downpour never lets up. We are wet, sleepless, and separated from lions and lightening only by a little soaked canvas that could collapse any second in the wind. We could be stranded by floods for days. "Merry Christmas," I mutter wryly to B. He starts to shake, and I wonder if he is shivering or crying. Or both. But no, he is giggling, then laughing out loud. He hugs me tightly, smacks a big kiss on my lips, and says between snorts and chuckles:

"Merry Christmas Darlin'."

And I realize again I found The Right One.

C'mon, It'll Be Fun

To the reader who e-mailed me wondering if I have moved to Africa, and to other new readers, let me explain. Recently I returned from a one month trip to Tanzania. I could not post much from there, due to lizards crawling into motherboards. So for the last couple of weeks I have been recounting some of the journey’s highlights here. I will get back to my life’s regular spindrift in due course. In the meantime, come back with me to Tanzania.

Grab the binoculars and come for a drive to see wildlife.

Trust me, the roads are great.

Or join our intrepid little group for a sun downer picnic at Lake Natron.

You can exchange stares with a, ummm... happy baboon.

Or come for a swim in the Indian Ocean.
And if you come along, why not leave a comment? Make my day!

Pith Helmets and Silver Tea Service

December 23, 2006. Lake Ndutu, Tanzania.

We pull into camp at Lake Ndutu, tired and dirty from a long day of viewing thousands of wildebeest and zebra from the middle of the annual migration, and a visit to the Leakey museum at Oldupai Gorge.


Our camp staff and supply truck arrived earlier. The tents are raised, and hot water waits in the “shower”, a hanging rubber container and hose arrangement enclosed on three sides by a tarp. Today it feels like a luxurious spa, only no spa I've ever seen has such a view: from a bluff above the lake, overlooking acacia trees where huge maribou storks are perched.

While we sit in canvas chairs at the cloth-draped table or around the campfire, nibbling on snacks, we relive the adventures of the day. We can smell the delectable aroma of dinner being prepared. It always includes a first course of delicious spicy soup, made with fresh veggies such as pumpkin or leeks. We put our feet up and watch the sun go down. Ahhh, this is the life.


A platoon of servants cleans our pith helmets and dusty boots, and one of the two dozen kitchen staff brings tea with buffalo milk in a polished silver tea service. Gin and tonics are delivered in crystal goblets. We smoke cheroots in long ivory holders. One servant’s only duty is to keep the gramophone wound… Oh hell, I got carried away there.

We do have gin though, with tepid tonic. Or wine. Even some warm beer. And an I-pod hooked up to little speakers, playing tunes that would really date us if I named them. We are clean, warm, and dry, and getting pleasantly soused. Even without crystal goblets and silver tea pots, this is very comfortable camping. We are grateful. So far on this safari, the camping days have not been this well executed, due to unseasonably heavy rains, road washouts causing last minute route changes, and camping spot mix-ups (read: a big bad commercial safari company bribed someone to get the best spots, even though we booked and paid for them months ago).

We toast the fact our camping luck has changed. Silly, silly us.

Not Enough Cows

December 20, 2006. Lake Natron, Tanzania.

“Do you have brothers and sisters Thomas?”

“Yes, forty-six.”

Huh? I wonder if Thomas has misunderstood my question until he adds, “My father has five wives.”

Thomas is Maasai, from the Lake Natron area. We have hired him to guide us on a hike through the hills above the lake to a river gorge and waterfall. We pass many bomas, or Maasai homes; round huts made of mud and cow dung, surrounded by thorn branch fences. Men and boys tend herds of cows and goats, women build the bomas, fetch water and wood, and bend over cooking fires. Children come running to us, first bowing their heads respectfully to Thomas and to us to be greeted by a touch on top of their heads, before they giggle and chatter. Some of the older ones try to sell us their beaded jewelry, but our wrists and ankles are already adorned with Maasai beads we bought in the village yesterday.


Hiking up the gorge, Thomas offers us his hand as he skillfully leads us up the steep sides and back down to ford the river several times. B is hesitant at first, (What, you never held hands with a Maasai tribesman before?) but as the gorge narrows and the river deepens he clutches on as tightly as I do. Finally we reach the waterfall.
It is cool and clear, coming from 600 metres above us on the great Rift Valley escarpment, and we allow it to thunder down on us, washing away the dust and sweat of the hot hike. Heaven!

On the way back to our tented camp, Thomas points out his boma in the distance. "How many wives do you have?" asks B.

"Only one."

"Would you like to have more?"

Thomas smiles enigmatically. "I think only one. Wives are expensive, you have to have a large herd of cattle to support many wives."

We pass a large boma with a crowd of children waving at us, and Thomas informs us that the man living there has 12 wives. "Twelve? Cool!" says B.

Perhaps Thomas catches something hopeful in B's voice, because he asks him, "Do you own many cows?"

Forget it Sweetie, there are not enough cows in the universe.



Maasai woman

Mount Ol Donyo Lengai, sacred to the Maasai, towers over Lake Natron. I climbed it, but did not make the summit. Too steep!

Lake Natron Flamingos at dawn.

Where the Wild Things Are

Ngorongoro Crater & Conservation Area, Serengeti Park, and Tarangire Park, Tanzania. December, 2006.

Watching cheetahs hunt a wildebeest. Witnessing a baby elephant suckle. Sitting in the middle of the annual migration, with wildebeest and zebra filling the plains to the horizon in every direction. Staring into the languid eyes of a lion in the Serengeti. Rarely, a voyager finds herself in a place that so overwhelms,
there.
simply.
are.
no.
words.