Funnies

We are in Kampala, Uganda. We are safe and well and like this city a helluva lot more than Dar es Slum. There are lots of funny signs and ads here, including:

"OMO: Removes even hidden stains."
(If a stain is hidden, is it still a stain?)

"When you have a choice, Sleeping Baby is the right choice."
(I think all parents will agree with this!)

"Real fruit juice taste."
(mmm...)

"Need a lover? 4356678"

"Need a wife? 4356678"

"Need a husband? 4356678"

Now that's called one stop shopping!!!!

"plans"

I think it was just yesterday that I blogged, though with the days feeling as long as weeks, it could have been last year. It's funny how time slows down while one is traveling and yet still things can manage to change so fast - like our travel plans.

We looked into going south and discovered it expensive and not that appealing. After much indecisiveness and a trip out of town to a decent bookstore (where we sold a fellow traveler our Tanzania guide - turns out there aren't any to be found in Tanzania), and some wandering in and out of travel agents, and some reading and at least one sleepless night we actually have a plan -- one that involves a plane ticket. Yep, it's a real plan this time! On Saturday, we're flying to Kampala, Uganda (seemed worth the extra $$$ to avoid a 25 hour bus ride, the day-time part of which crosses country we've already seen - twice). Aftr Ugand we intend to make our way overland across Kenya to Nairobi where we'll hop on a flight to Addis Abbaba (Ethiopia). Perhaps we'll even be in Lalibela (home of immense rock-hewn churches and the ancient Christian Coptic sect) for Christmas. The thought of onward movement has me feeling fresh. I found that the lack of plan - then lack of concrete plan, made me a little crazy.

My dear friend Kelly sent me some wonderful advice about the stage of travel which goes something like:

Stage 1. Wheee! Everything's new and exciting and wonderful. Oh my god! Did you see that lion???
Stage 2. Huh? Why did we leave our comfortable bed with the clean sheets and the shower with the water in it and the car and the paved roads and the recognizable food to come to some hot, mosquito-ridden place and take Larium???
Stage 3. In the groove - enjoying travel. Things going as smoothly as can be expected. Able to laugh when confronted with absurdly frustrating circumstances.
Stage 4. Winding the trip down and preparing to come home.

I can say that after spending a certain amount of time in stage 1 and what seemed like a long time in stage 2, I think I'm working my way into stage 3. I'm quicker to laugh at the things that go wrong (exhibit A: the computer system that issues AMEX traveler's checks in Tanzania and Kenya is down. For a month!) and I think I've figured out how to cross the street. Here we are in Tanzania's main city and there are no stop signs, no yield signs and a snarl of honking cars going every which way at each corner. The few traffic lights I've seen have been red but that hasn't appeared to dissuade the cars from driving on anyway. Needless to say, crossing the street is an art - and I'm certainly getting better at it. Signs are looking good that things are getting smoother.

Happy Thanksgiving to all the Americans! Perhaps we'll have (more) Indian food???

two questions i hate

People tend to ask two questions of travelers: where are you from and where are you going. I have had no answer to either question. I'm not really from America, and compared to other Aussies, I'm not really Australian. The 9 months I spent in the U.K. (from age 0) really haven't instilled in me any sort of Britishness that I wasn't going to get from hanging out with my paternal grand-parents. Perhaps I'll settle to telling people that I'm from Gondwanaland - that covers all the bases!

The second question has proved just as tricky. We had plans to go to Zanzibar and some vague notion of a safari after that. But that was as far as our plans got. After the safari finished, I felt a bit lost, a bit aimless. We traveled back to Dar es Salaam from Arusha by way of Lushoto in the impossibly steep Usambara mountains. It was a nice town, cool with a sprinkling of Jacaranda trees. We hiked up to a view point and admired the Masai Steppe far, far below. But then I was done. I didn't want to stick around. I realized that I'm antsy for the next thing. We've been in Tanzania for over month now and I think I've seen all I need to see. There is of course more to see and do but it's either expensive (more safari) or involves really uncomfortable bus rides. I've done more than enough of those for one life time! So, we've hatched a plan - if it can be called that. Fly to Maputo, Mozambique or to Durban, South Africa. Explore. Fly to Marakesh. On to Cairo. Through the middle east and Turkey to eastern Europe. Up to Russia, onto the Trans-Siberian. Through Mongolia and China and SE Asia to Australia. It's a grand loop. You (yes, you) should plan on meeting us at some point along the way. We're doing a bit of everything so I'm sure that something in our travels will appeal to you. We'll see if we actually pull it off. It's quite likely that we'll run out of cash along the way and so may be forced to spend some time working in Prague or Sofia. Damn. That sounds terrible. Poor us.

Now we're off to a bookshop to read guide books. And then to travel agents to find the best way to Mozambique. The land border crossing sounds helacious - involves wading 25-45 mintues through a river to a dug-out canoe that will take anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour to get to the other side where there may or may not be a bus waiting to take us down some crappy road to a crappy town. The good news? If we get stuck, there's a bug-ridden hotel on a sandbank in the middle of the river. I think we'll fly.

Habari za safari?

1. Day one, morning one. We've driving to little-visited Arusha National Park on the shoulders of Mt. Meru. It rained so hard during the night that our bathroom flooded. It was not comforting to wake to the sound of pounding rain on a tin roof given that we were to be leaving on an 8 day camping safari in the morning. Walking to breakfast in the rain, we avoid stepping on the fat toads that have appeared to feast on the fat insects that are swarming in the rain. And then we're on our way out of town, and then onto a bumpy road (not so bad in retrospect) and pushing under the gate and past the fence into the national park. Immediately - and I mean immediately - we see a giraffe not too far off the road, bending its long neck to eat from the low-lying scrub. We ogle. Later, we hike in the pouring rain that comes at an angle that manages to get under our rain jakets. We pass giraffes that are only 6 feet along and 21 feet up away from us. Yes, it's a good day.

2. Pushing under another gate and past another fence, we enter the immense plain of the Serengetti. Grass stretches unbroken by tree or bush to the shimmering horizon. Immense lakes appear in the distance and then evaporate as we approach: mirages. I feel very, very small. We turn off the main road and bump toward a hillock behind which is a muddy pool. Five lions lie there sleeping, one male on his back. A little above the pool in the grass rests a sixth lion. We drive around them, through them, stop to watch them from a distance of 6 feet. They do not appear to care. When the male lion rights himself and yawns, I can see the whiteness of his teeth and the pinkness of his tongue. Yes, it's a very good day.

3. We're on our way back to our tent after a long day of driving around the Serengetti. We've been moving in and out of rain, lowering and raising the roof of the land cruiser. All around us, there are small pockets of grey cloud streaked toward the horizon, interspersed with sunlit clouds. The sky looks like it was a swirling mess of twisting motion until someone just hit the pause button - all is still. We round a corner back into the rain and into the middle of a herd of wildebeest that is approaching a million strong. Masha (our driver and guide) cuts the engine and we coast to a stop. The sun probably hasn't set yet thought the heavy grey clouds give the air the color of deep dusk. Above, thunder carooms and lightening burns stripes across our retinas. On the ground, there is the grunting of the wildebeest and the barking of the zebras. In the background a buzz that I take to be flies but then realize is the sound of a million hooves moving through grass. The air is alive and crackling. We sit in silent witness. It is literally awesome.

4. Day 8 and we are tired, very very tired. We are woken up before there is any hint of morning to the air or sky. The full moon is lowering its yellow self into the acacia scrub. We are near Lake Eyasi though we're yet to see anything resembling a lake -or water, for that matter. Its dry scrubland. Before dawn, we are bouncing our way toward the Hadzabe family with whom we will be hunting. The men are gathered around a fire smoking when we arrive. We greet them, our tongues awkwardly inserting a click into the middle of "Matundo", shake hands. Then we are off and running. I'm a fast walker but they put me to shame. We're down in a dry river bed, the dirt the color of mud, scaled and curled into leaflets. It looks like it should be wet but it's bone dry. We are four hunters, one guide, two wazungu (white folk) and a pack of dogs. Occasionally the hunters speed up and the dogs get excited. A tree of fat birds but no catch. Then things get really exciting and somehow I understand that they are hunting a monkey. I run up the side of the embankment through soft red sand and into a thicket of acacia. The monkey moves by in the treetops followed by a hunter. The bush is impenetrable - as I push through, I'm sure my clothes are tearing. Then I spy a trail, so low I have to take off my day pack and crawl through. I emerge with sticks in my hair to find that the monkey has been caught. It gets thrown down from the tree where the dogs immediately go for it. Z and I follow the older of the hunters and he passes me the monkey to carry. I grip its still not yet cold front paws and try to keep the dogs away. And then it's on the fire and then it's in my mouth. I do my best to chew, my best to swallow - but the taste is so strong, so sickening that I begin to gag. I subtly spit it out and drop it to a scavenging dog. I did my best but must admit that the monkey beat me.

The road back from Eyasi to the tarmac is terrible - it's a braid of roads through fine red dust that gets into everything. I am so exhausted that I manage to fall asleep in the car, waking when a particularly deep pothole slams my head into the side of the truck. Unphased, I fall back asleep. I wake up with a start remembering the baby monkey's death. I'm awake all the way back to Arusha.

I set out on safari hoping to see a zebra and a giraffe, a hyena and an ostrich and maybe, just maybe, a lion. I saw so much more. Over the years of hiking in the California wilderness I have seen a bear or three, a mountain lion, a bobcat, a bunch of deer and a few foxes. And here, in eight short days, I saw so so so much life. Life and death. Lions mating by the side of the road. A hyena with a tail in its mouth. Ostriches doing a mating dance. Vultures and lions tearing at carcasses. Baby elephants. A baby giraffe in the road not sure which way to turn, a car in either direction. It runs off the road toward its kin. Its legs move like those of a horse, fast. But above the churning feet all is still - the head on that impossibly long neck glides above. It's graceful and yet also awkward. The giraffe is almost my favorite animal, though after all consideration, the prize goes to the warthogs which look exactly like Disney caricatures of themselves. It's easy to give them gruff voices and impatient personalities. And there were cheetahs in the grass and a leopard in a tree. It's astonishing. I can't recommend safari enough. Everyone should see the Serengetti. And then after you've visited there, you should meet up with us wherever we may be.

here i am

We're in Arusha, northern Tanzania at the foot of Mt. Meru. It's cooler here. The drive from Dar es Salaam passed incredibly steep mountains and wide plains with cinder cones in the distance. Outside Moshi, the horizon becomes one big mountain: Kilimanjaro. I think I spy the summit which is about twice as tall as anything nearby. It's wreathed in clouds. Then I look to the side and realize that higher still is the actual summit: just a small patch of snow looming above the clouds. It's impossibly tall - mind-blowingly large. Big.

This afternoon, we were walking on the dirt at the side of the road that constitutes the sidewalk. It's dusty, the sky was looming rain and minivans full full full of people rushed by competing with bikes, pedestrians, cars, trucks and buses for the tarmac. Ahead of me, I saw an African woman in a colorful kanga (wrap) - it's yellow, red and black print. She had a matching piece wrapped around her head. On her back was slung a small child with big black eyes staring out at the world. I stepped around her and looked up to see a tall Masai tribesman walk by in colorful purple and red robes. Then my field of vision jumps further out to the dusty road and the loud cars and the thronging people and the crappy shacks that pass for stores and I realize: I am in Africa.

Tomorrow we go on an 8 day safari. I cannot wait to see zebras and lions and leopards.

Zippers

We left the beautiful beach of Kendwa a few days ago, having grown sick and tired of paradise. Yep, that's right: I got sick of lying on a beautiful beach doing nothing. Never thought I'd say that! We hitched a ride with a large group of Aussies/Kiwis because things were still a little iffy in Stone Town due to the election (safety in numbers). The morning of the departure found me in our room at White Sands Bungalows packing my bag, the contents of which had kinda exploded into a big pile that was more on top of the bag than in it. Step one was to empty the bag. I lifted up a stuff sack and found beneath is a very flat, very dead scorpion. I uttered a little shriek as one tends to do in such situations, took the bag outside and attempted to shake the scorpion out. Instead, the critter slipped into a fold of the fabric and wouldn't budge. Z helped and together we managed to get the thing out and onto the porch. It still hadn't budged and we peered at it agreeing that it was very squished and very dead. I picked up my pack cable and nudged it into the grass. We both shrieked as the scorpion came to life, got up on its toes and scuttled into our room and hid under a shoe. I gingerly picked up the shoe and Z swiped it out the door into the grass. Seeing us staring at a patch of "lawn", one of the staff women asked us what was going on. When she heard that it was a scorpion she asked, "Were you fright?" "Kidogokidogo" was our response - a little bit.

Of course, I still had to pack and I very gingerly went through every pocket and fold in my bag looking for unwelcome guests. Lesson learned: always leave a bag zipped up.

Another lesson learned is that the best way to get rid of touts is to claim that you have already done what ever it is that they are offering:

Q: "My friend, welcome, this way, you have dinner, mzuri sana".
A: "No thank you, we have just eaten."

Q: "Jambo rafiki! You want spice tour? Very nice..."
A: "We have gone on spice tour, thank you."

Q: "Karibu sana. You come in, just looking."
A: "Thank you, I already have Massai jewelry/picture on banana leaf/wooden carving."

Q: "Taxi?"
A: "I am a taxicab, thank you."

Actually, the pressures to look and buy and do are much less than expected. Perhaps the street kids were all arrested after the unrest that followed the election? Perhaps people are so happy that Ramadan is over that they are too busy celebrating (and eating) to be a hassle? Whatever the reason, I am not complaining.

So, tomorrow we really do go on a spice tour (with ambivalence) and the day after that to Dar es Salaam. From there, who knows!