After spending the last couple weeks perpetually soaked in sweat, I'm now wrapping my Zanzibari scarf around my face as buffer from the wind. What a transition! Leaving the hot, dusty, and colorful for the frozen earth and grey palette of the Dutch winter. Nobody tries to sell you things on the street here, in fact, almost no one even makes eye contact. I'll definitely miss the African color and light and warmth.
Yesterday I woke up early to see the sunrise, forgetting that the equatorial consistency of days doesn't apply here. By 8 AM the city was still dark and pretty quiet. The sun never did rise, really, it just became less dark.
I walked through the Liedesplein down to Vondelpark and over to the Van Gogh museum. The temporary retrospective on Naturalism really slaked a hunger, so I made my way to Albert Cuyp market to munch on pickled herring and frites and browse the fish mongers and cheese stalls. Near there, I hopped a boat for a canal tour, drinking fine Belgian trippels with a couple South Africans as we cruised the city. It's always nice to see a new city from the water level, especially with a beer.
Back on shore, I walked up the Prinsengracht to the beautiful Westerkerk church, and the Anne Frank house. Even though it's been many years since I read that book, the house seemed so familiar to me. It was an intense experience to walk through there, and by the time I reached Anne's bedroom I was weeping. The pictures she glued up are all still on the walls, as well as the pencil marks her father made to track the girls' height. It is so heartbreaking to think of such an extraordinary young woman's life destroyed by madness and barbarity. And all the countless others whose stories were never told. The same sort of thing has happened so often in Africa. Just two days before my visit to Anne Frank Huis, we found ourselves sharing a breakfast buffet with the son of Idi Amin, the notorious butcher of Uganda. While Otto Frank channeled his pain into the creation of a museum dedicated to overcoming hatred, Mr. Amin is devoted to rewriting history to
cast his father in a better light.
Now the sky is getting lighter, there's time for one more ramble through the streets, then an airport reunion with K, and Ahmom's by dinner.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Rift
We survived the matatu ride up the Nairobi escarpment, dropping into the dramatic Rift Valley, part of a huge fault that stretches from Oman to Mozambique. It's this fault that created Kilimanjaro, the Serengeti, the Ngorongoro Crater, and the Red Sea. In our limited experience, the town of Nakuru is a terrible place crawling with touts, scam artists, pickpockets, and prostitutes. There is also a nice coffee shop. Incongruously, just next door is Lake Nakuru National Park, a big salt lake packed at this time of year with flamingoes and surrounded by all sorts of dramatic wildlife. Despite a "guide" who couldn't drive a stick and couldn't tell an African Spoonbill from a yellow-billed stork, or even a lion from a leopard, we had a great safari drive through the park. We saw rhinos up close, both white and black, and even watched two female white rhinos fighting off a big male to protect a calf. White rhinos were extinct in East Africa, but have been reintroduced to Nakuru from South Africa. We were lucky enough to get a great view of a leopard and saw lots of buffalo a Rothschild giraffe, driven nearly to extinction when Idi Amin had his troops use them for target practice. The best part of our visit to Nakuru was the chance to stay at a cozy little banda inside the park. Usually reserved for school groups, the compound was deserted. As we cooked dinner, lions mated loudly in the darkness just beyond the fence. The fence was surrounded by big trees, and the lions of Nakuru happen to be a rare tree-climbing subspecies. The door was kept bolted and bathroom trips were more exciting than usual. It kind of reminded me of camping on a bear trail next to a salmon creek in September in Alaska. We spent the next morning exploring the park some more, with a slightly more competent guide, then heading on to Lake Naivasha. Our home here was another cozy cabin, high on a hill above the lake and surrounded by flowering cacti. It was quiet and beautiful and made a great base for exploring Hell's Gate National Park. They let people bike here and mountain biking among zebras, gazelles, warthogs, and buffalo is pretty cool. Unless, as in K's case, you are stuck in deep sand on a hill when an afternoon thunderstorm rolls in. She went back to town for coffee and cheesecake while I rode across the park in the rain, wary of angry looking buffalo. At the other end is a beautiful network of slot canyons that provided hours of fun, wet scrambling sin guia. There were cool birds, pumice rocks floating down the wash, and hot springs trickling out of the canyon walls. In the evenings we wandered down the very dark road to a tiny village where women were grilling corn on a fire and every shop seemed to include a butchery (Butchery + Hotel, Butchery+Bar, Butchery+ Bookstore), each with huge sides of meat hanging in the window. We found a great place called the Acacia Cafe, a very local affair where we feasted on heaping plates of beans, potato stew, lentils, and chapatis, garnished with a huge ripe avocado. Flourescent lights glared and Kenyan Idol blared on the TV, but the food was delicious and the bill was two dollars. Back in Nairobi for a day, we kissed giraffes at a reserve in the suburbs and ate the most delicious Ethiopian food at Habesa. In the morning we made the long trek back to Tanzania, back to work. |
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Nairobi
Octopizzo is a freestyle rapper and leader of a hip-hop collective. His career is on an upward arc, with lots of gigs, a new album, newspaper features, a song commisioned for the World Cup, and a new manager who moonlights as a VJ on MTV Africa. If things work out, he'll never have to return to the apartment we've crowded into, deep inside Kibera, one of the world's largest and most infamous urban slums.
Octo's girlfriend is an old high-school friend of K's named Christine. She left a university job in Japan, came to Nairobi to work in the slums, met Octo at a party, fell in love, and is now helping raise his 18 month old daughter, Tracy. Christine works for an Irish NGO, educating mothers in the slums on infant nutrition and health issues.
The five of us spent a couple hours walking here through Kibera. It is estimated that 800,000 people live in the slum, a fifth of Nairobi's residents. They are denied access to the most basic of services and live in very close proximity to their trash and shit. It's called "chocolate city", not for this reason, nor for the river flowing through its center that looks like Willy Wonka's factory, but because from a vantage on one of the higher peripheries, the endless cluster of rusted corrugated roofs resembles a giant chocolate bar.
In the upper, more prosperous parts, one could almost romanticize Kibera. It's dirt streets are almost entirely pedestrian, and framed by blocks of tiny storefronts with hand painted signs. There's a butcher, a locksmith, loads of shops selling small buckets of charcoal for cooking. There are barber shops, little video huts screening Chuck Norris and Kung-Fu films, even a shop advertising wedding dresses. People greet each other and gather in doorways and gangs of childrens accost visitors with their sing-song mantra "how-are-YOU". The scene could be Victorian England, or 19th century Manhattan.
Since we're with Octo, we can venture further, down the labyrinth of pathways, along the sad river, over huge heaps of refuse to the belly of Kibera. This is an island of humanity, completely removed from Nairobi. At night it is ruled by brutal gangs with guns and knives. The police wouldn't think of setting foot in here.
The apartment is an 8x8 room in a long block of 8x8 rooms, mud huts win tin roofs. Octo's 12 year-old brother Jim lives here alone, cooking for himself on a small charcoal stove in the corner. There is a small bed, some chairs, and a trophy Octo won at a hip-hop event. Rats scurry along the rafters. The public toilet outside has fallen apart and sewage streams up to the front door. I can't even imagine what it's like during the rains. Octo and Christine are hoping Jim can get into a boarding school next year.
On the way back, Octo is on edge as we pass various thugs, and has me stash my little camera at times. We visit an artisan collective where cow and camel bones from a butchery are transformed into jewelry and knicknacks. As they describe the process, all we can think about is the fine bone dust everywhere and not a respirator in sight. But the crew is funny and someone I know must need a camel bone salt dish.
Tracy tolerates being dragged around all day and only cries once- when a rat scares her in Jim 's place. She is equally angelic later that night , when we gather at a nyama choma spot for goat and beer.
Despite it's fearful reputation, Nairobi is a fine place to spend a few days. We enjoy wandering the wide boulevards under blooming jacarandas and sipping on some fine Kenyan coffee. Manuevering through the downtown throngs, past the site of the US embassy, bombed by Al-Qaeda in 1998, we come to the train depot. Nairobi exists only because of this train, a fanciful British colonial idea dubbed the "Lunatic Express" because of its logistical challenges. The city sprung up out of nothing as a supply depot along the route, which connected Mombasa, on the coast, with Lake Victoria. The rail was built largely by workers from India. In standard fashion, thousands died in the process, including 134 who were devoured by two ferocious lions during the months the crew spent building a bridge over the Tsavo river. The lions escaped capture for months and the workers all fled, only returning when a British engineer cum big game hunter finally suceeded in killing them. They are now stuffed at the Field Museum in Chicago. We climb around on some derelict engines and sleeper cars and check out the bench seat fashioned for the front of an engine, allowing visiting dignitaries like Teddy Roosevelt to blast away at game as the train rolled through the African savannah.
Becoming more brave, we even try a bit of night exploration in the city, long ago dubbed "Nairobbery" by some jackass. Nothing bad happens, of course, and we steel ourselves for the truly dangerous part of this journey. Tomorrow's trip to the Rift Valley will be aboard a matatu, Kenya's ubiquitous 14 passenger van, with 17 passengers and a driver, possibly stoned on qat, careening wildly through the mountain roads.
Octo's girlfriend is an old high-school friend of K's named Christine. She left a university job in Japan, came to Nairobi to work in the slums, met Octo at a party, fell in love, and is now helping raise his 18 month old daughter, Tracy. Christine works for an Irish NGO, educating mothers in the slums on infant nutrition and health issues.
The five of us spent a couple hours walking here through Kibera. It is estimated that 800,000 people live in the slum, a fifth of Nairobi's residents. They are denied access to the most basic of services and live in very close proximity to their trash and shit. It's called "chocolate city", not for this reason, nor for the river flowing through its center that looks like Willy Wonka's factory, but because from a vantage on one of the higher peripheries, the endless cluster of rusted corrugated roofs resembles a giant chocolate bar.
In the upper, more prosperous parts, one could almost romanticize Kibera. It's dirt streets are almost entirely pedestrian, and framed by blocks of tiny storefronts with hand painted signs. There's a butcher, a locksmith, loads of shops selling small buckets of charcoal for cooking. There are barber shops, little video huts screening Chuck Norris and Kung-Fu films, even a shop advertising wedding dresses. People greet each other and gather in doorways and gangs of childrens accost visitors with their sing-song mantra "how-are-YOU". The scene could be Victorian England, or 19th century Manhattan.
Since we're with Octo, we can venture further, down the labyrinth of pathways, along the sad river, over huge heaps of refuse to the belly of Kibera. This is an island of humanity, completely removed from Nairobi. At night it is ruled by brutal gangs with guns and knives. The police wouldn't think of setting foot in here.
The apartment is an 8x8 room in a long block of 8x8 rooms, mud huts win tin roofs. Octo's 12 year-old brother Jim lives here alone, cooking for himself on a small charcoal stove in the corner. There is a small bed, some chairs, and a trophy Octo won at a hip-hop event. Rats scurry along the rafters. The public toilet outside has fallen apart and sewage streams up to the front door. I can't even imagine what it's like during the rains. Octo and Christine are hoping Jim can get into a boarding school next year.
On the way back, Octo is on edge as we pass various thugs, and has me stash my little camera at times. We visit an artisan collective where cow and camel bones from a butchery are transformed into jewelry and knicknacks. As they describe the process, all we can think about is the fine bone dust everywhere and not a respirator in sight. But the crew is funny and someone I know must need a camel bone salt dish.
Tracy tolerates being dragged around all day and only cries once- when a rat scares her in Jim 's place. She is equally angelic later that night , when we gather at a nyama choma spot for goat and beer.
Despite it's fearful reputation, Nairobi is a fine place to spend a few days. We enjoy wandering the wide boulevards under blooming jacarandas and sipping on some fine Kenyan coffee. Manuevering through the downtown throngs, past the site of the US embassy, bombed by Al-Qaeda in 1998, we come to the train depot. Nairobi exists only because of this train, a fanciful British colonial idea dubbed the "Lunatic Express" because of its logistical challenges. The city sprung up out of nothing as a supply depot along the route, which connected Mombasa, on the coast, with Lake Victoria. The rail was built largely by workers from India. In standard fashion, thousands died in the process, including 134 who were devoured by two ferocious lions during the months the crew spent building a bridge over the Tsavo river. The lions escaped capture for months and the workers all fled, only returning when a British engineer cum big game hunter finally suceeded in killing them. They are now stuffed at the Field Museum in Chicago. We climb around on some derelict engines and sleeper cars and check out the bench seat fashioned for the front of an engine, allowing visiting dignitaries like Teddy Roosevelt to blast away at game as the train rolled through the African savannah.
Becoming more brave, we even try a bit of night exploration in the city, long ago dubbed "Nairobbery" by some jackass. Nothing bad happens, of course, and we steel ourselves for the truly dangerous part of this journey. Tomorrow's trip to the Rift Valley will be aboard a matatu, Kenya's ubiquitous 14 passenger van, with 17 passengers and a driver, possibly stoned on qat, careening wildly through the mountain roads.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Monsoon
The short rainy season has begun, more or less. Two days ago the
clouds broke on Kilimanjaro to reveal loads of fresh snow on Kibo and
Mawenzi, two of the three volcanoes that make up the massif. It was a
thrilling sight, a brief throwback to Hemingway's time, when the peak
was perpetually covered. It's still very dry and dusty in Moshi, though. The strong northeast winds kick up huge clouds of dust, which
finds it's way into the room and covers everything in a layer of
grit. Last night I went to pick up clients at the airport. Just
venturing beyond the hotel walls gave the eerie effect of stepping
into a snowstorm, the wind whipping up thick dust clouds and making
the driver, Salim, look like an apparition across the road.
Using these same winds at this time of year, traders for centuries
sailed from the Arabian peninsula to the coast and islands of what is
now Tanzania. They plied their wares and refilled their little wooden
boats, sailing back in the spring when the wind shifted. Over time,
routes became established that supplied slaves, gold, ivory and wood
to India and Asia, and returned spices, glassware, and textiles to the
blossoming city-state of Zanzibar.
This Arab influence shaped the region-its religion, architecture,
language, and food. People here still move around in little wooden
sailing boats with downwind sails. Both K and I had a couple weeks off,
so we left Moshi with a vague plan to explore the coast and islands,
to see where the trade winds brought us.
A long, hot bus ride brought us through the coastal plain to the port
town of Tanga, and a smaller bus took us further south. A tiny baby
was quickly deposited on K's lap for the trip. The little creature held tightly onto my
finger the whole way. A man in front of us was inebriated, much to the disgust of
other passengers in this
Muslim region. Soon the drunk was deposited in a village, the baby
was reclaimed, and we were dropped by the roadside, a short walk from
the funky seaside resort called Peponi, where we pitched our tent on
the beach for a few days. We swam and ate delicious fish masala and
sailed in their wooden dhow out to beautiful islets to snorkel. I met
some folks in the village and checked out their outrigger canoes and
handsome woven fish traps.
We booked passage on a cargo ship for the five hour journey to Pemba,
the forgotten half of the Zanzibar archipelago. A very Islamic, very
conservative island, it sees very few tourists, despite its stunning
beaches and fantastic coral reef.
On our first night in Pemba we watched from the roof of the guesthouse
as thousands of "flying foxes", huge fruit bats endemic to the island,
came out to feed.
We journeyed to the north to explore a fabled beach and dive with
Swahili Divers. We camped nearby in a stunning cove called Verani, an attempt at a
resort that was apparently abandoned to a group of teenage boys. The toilets and
showers didn't work, but the boys caught and cooked delicious white
snapper with coconut rice. The sunset was sublime, there were
fireflies on the beach and the night sky was beyond description.
Returning south through fragrant forests that once supplied 90% of the
world's cloves, we discovered that the ferry to Zanzibar was a no-show.
Our extra day in the little port of Mkoani turned out to be a
nice bonus. We found a friendly boat captain, Said, to deliver us to the
deserted island of Kwata. If you saw his boat on a beach in the US,
you might call it a shipwreck. But it proved to be skookum, and when
he returned for us in the evening he came in his wooden sailing boat
similiar to a dhow, known as a mashua. He let me have the tiller and
we coasted down a stretch of island, listening to the birds in the
palm trees and watching the sun go down on the water.
The ferry that did arrive was a fancy high-speed catamaran with A/C
and reclining seats, but still a crazy crush of people and chickens.
Before boarding we sampled some great street food- sugar cane juice,
grilled squid, dried clams on a stick. I was sorry to leave Pemba...
clouds broke on Kilimanjaro to reveal loads of fresh snow on Kibo and
Mawenzi, two of the three volcanoes that make up the massif. It was a
thrilling sight, a brief throwback to Hemingway's time, when the peak
was perpetually covered. It's still very dry and dusty in Moshi, though. The strong northeast winds kick up huge clouds of dust, which
finds it's way into the room and covers everything in a layer of
grit. Last night I went to pick up clients at the airport. Just
venturing beyond the hotel walls gave the eerie effect of stepping
into a snowstorm, the wind whipping up thick dust clouds and making
the driver, Salim, look like an apparition across the road.
Using these same winds at this time of year, traders for centuries
sailed from the Arabian peninsula to the coast and islands of what is
now Tanzania. They plied their wares and refilled their little wooden
boats, sailing back in the spring when the wind shifted. Over time,
routes became established that supplied slaves, gold, ivory and wood
to India and Asia, and returned spices, glassware, and textiles to the
blossoming city-state of Zanzibar.
This Arab influence shaped the region-its religion, architecture,
language, and food. People here still move around in little wooden
sailing boats with downwind sails. Both K and I had a couple weeks off,
so we left Moshi with a vague plan to explore the coast and islands,
to see where the trade winds brought us.
A long, hot bus ride brought us through the coastal plain to the port
town of Tanga, and a smaller bus took us further south. A tiny baby
was quickly deposited on K's lap for the trip. The little creature held tightly onto my
finger the whole way. A man in front of us was inebriated, much to the disgust of
other passengers in this
Muslim region. Soon the drunk was deposited in a village, the baby
was reclaimed, and we were dropped by the roadside, a short walk from
the funky seaside resort called Peponi, where we pitched our tent on
the beach for a few days. We swam and ate delicious fish masala and
sailed in their wooden dhow out to beautiful islets to snorkel. I met
some folks in the village and checked out their outrigger canoes and
handsome woven fish traps.
We booked passage on a cargo ship for the five hour journey to Pemba,
the forgotten half of the Zanzibar archipelago. A very Islamic, very
conservative island, it sees very few tourists, despite its stunning
beaches and fantastic coral reef.
On our first night in Pemba we watched from the roof of the guesthouse
as thousands of "flying foxes", huge fruit bats endemic to the island,
came out to feed.
We journeyed to the north to explore a fabled beach and dive with
Swahili Divers. We camped nearby in a stunning cove called Verani, an attempt at a
resort that was apparently abandoned to a group of teenage boys. The toilets and
showers didn't work, but the boys caught and cooked delicious white
snapper with coconut rice. The sunset was sublime, there were
fireflies on the beach and the night sky was beyond description.
Returning south through fragrant forests that once supplied 90% of the
world's cloves, we discovered that the ferry to Zanzibar was a no-show.
Our extra day in the little port of Mkoani turned out to be a
nice bonus. We found a friendly boat captain, Said, to deliver us to the
deserted island of Kwata. If you saw his boat on a beach in the US,
you might call it a shipwreck. But it proved to be skookum, and when
he returned for us in the evening he came in his wooden sailing boat
similiar to a dhow, known as a mashua. He let me have the tiller and
we coasted down a stretch of island, listening to the birds in the
palm trees and watching the sun go down on the water.
The ferry that did arrive was a fancy high-speed catamaran with A/C
and reclining seats, but still a crazy crush of people and chickens.
Before boarding we sampled some great street food- sugar cane juice,
grilled squid, dried clams on a stick. I was sorry to leave Pemba...
Born Free
We came down off the mountain a filthy, happy mess and reunited with
K. at the hotel. I then spent 20 minutes on the phone, ordering pizza from
a restaurant in town. They have a bunch of elaborate ones and the guy
was explaining them in detail and offering suggestions. I chose two
of each in a wide variety. We gathered shillings, and found a driver and car to make the
trip. The ten pizzas that arrived all were exactly the same-with only green
peppers and super-hot jalapenos. You really have to adjust your idea
of customer service in Tanzania. Luckily the novelty of pizza was
enough to make everyone happy.
In the morning we left on safari with six of the clients, the
Arrowsmith clan from New Mexico. K and I rode in one vehicle Sam, a hilarious teacher in his early twenties. His dad John joined us later in the trip. John brother Jim, his wife Grace and friends Robert and Chris were in th other vehicle. They, along with the rest of the 12 had been great clients on the mountain, so I was happy to be on safari with them. K. was finished with her teaching position in Moshi and really excited also. With binoculars, cameras, silly hats, and guide books we were off.
I'm sure I will always count those five days of safari among the best
ever. We had a nice rig- a classic safari Land Cruiser with a pop-up
top, a fantastic guide, and some great accomodations. But all that
mattered in the end was that chance to spend five days roaming the
Serengeti, the Ngorongoro crater, and Lake Manyara.
Shafino grew up in the little town where we stayed by the crater. The
animals and birds a part of his entire life. He father ran the only
auto shop around and once showed him a fender that had been twisted by
the jaws of a hyena. I knew he'd be great when we stepped into his
rig and saw the nice maps and a well loved copy of "Birds of Kenya and
Northern Tanzania" on the dash (plus a cooler for a small beer stash
in back). We grabbed that book all the time and in the end Id'd 85
bird species, plus 30 mammals and three reptiles. He has amazing
vision and ability to differentiate animals at a great distance. But
more than just spotting creatures and checking them off the list he
was able to show us how the system worked as a whole- how different
cats hunt- and how their prey stays alive. How wildebeest and zebras
work together, one with a good nose, the other with good eyes. How the
male silvery-cheeked hornbill encases his mate in a mud covered hole
in a tree so she can roost safely, then feeds her figs through a small
opening.
We stayed at a couple very nice hotels- one really nice where we sipped the
rare Guiness under warthog sconces, surrounded by flowers and birds.
But my favorite spot was the tent camp by the Ikoma gate in the
Serengeti. The walls zipped open so from bed we could see an
incredible night sky and beautiful sunrises. I woke up early and
walked down the road to see the thousands of wildebeest gathered in
the front yard. We were lucky enough to catch the beginning of their
annual migration south, one of the world's great ones. They move by
smelling rain and seeing lightning, working their way to the south for
the monsoon season. I tried to slip away from camp unnoticed ,
but the management sent a Maasai guide to track me down.
They don't want to chance having a guest eaten by a lion. We took photos of each other and had
fun scattering hundreds of wildebeest in every direction. On the way
back he showed me where elephants had eaten the acacia trees.
Later that day we were able to go on foot to see hippos mating ( the
female is really good at holding her breath), while an enormous
crocodile ( the "aquatic killing machine") sunned itself nearby. We
watched a lioness stalk gazelle (unsuccessfully), but later saw a
whole pride tearing into a Cape buffalo they had taken down together.
We saw a leopard in tree feasting on a gazelle, and watched the
beautiful cheetah cruise the plains. Most predators have to rely on
surprise, but the cheetah can chase down anything in a short distance.
In the crater we saw ai interesting scene play out. Thousands and
thousands of flamingoes had gathered at the salt lake, feeding on blue-
green algae. This was an impressive sight my itself, but the we
noticed three jackals trying to be nonchalant as they cruised the
shore, waiting to pick off a bird from the edge of the flock. Nearby,
six hyenas were pretending to be sleeping, but fooling no one. Strong
but slow, they wait for a jackal to make a kill, then steal his lunch.
Beside the flamingoes and horbills we saw so many amazing birds: big
ones liber ibis, pelicans, storks, the elegant grey-crowned crane, the
secretary bird, and the Kory Bustard in its outrageous mating
display. Also little, beautiful birds like sunbirds, bee-eaters,
weavers, and the stunning lilac breasted roller. Some pick ticks off
impalas, some feast on termite larvae, others grab insects stirred up
by passing cars.
We watched the tiny dik-dik, an antelope the size of a big rabbit, and
spotted two of the 600 enormous black rhinos left on earth.
K. at the hotel. I then spent 20 minutes on the phone, ordering pizza from
a restaurant in town. They have a bunch of elaborate ones and the guy
was explaining them in detail and offering suggestions. I chose two
of each in a wide variety. We gathered shillings, and found a driver and car to make the
trip. The ten pizzas that arrived all were exactly the same-with only green
peppers and super-hot jalapenos. You really have to adjust your idea
of customer service in Tanzania. Luckily the novelty of pizza was
enough to make everyone happy.
In the morning we left on safari with six of the clients, the
Arrowsmith clan from New Mexico. K and I rode in one vehicle Sam, a hilarious teacher in his early twenties. His dad John joined us later in the trip. John brother Jim, his wife Grace and friends Robert and Chris were in th other vehicle. They, along with the rest of the 12 had been great clients on the mountain, so I was happy to be on safari with them. K. was finished with her teaching position in Moshi and really excited also. With binoculars, cameras, silly hats, and guide books we were off.
I'm sure I will always count those five days of safari among the best
ever. We had a nice rig- a classic safari Land Cruiser with a pop-up
top, a fantastic guide, and some great accomodations. But all that
mattered in the end was that chance to spend five days roaming the
Serengeti, the Ngorongoro crater, and Lake Manyara.
Shafino grew up in the little town where we stayed by the crater. The
animals and birds a part of his entire life. He father ran the only
auto shop around and once showed him a fender that had been twisted by
the jaws of a hyena. I knew he'd be great when we stepped into his
rig and saw the nice maps and a well loved copy of "Birds of Kenya and
Northern Tanzania" on the dash (plus a cooler for a small beer stash
in back). We grabbed that book all the time and in the end Id'd 85
bird species, plus 30 mammals and three reptiles. He has amazing
vision and ability to differentiate animals at a great distance. But
more than just spotting creatures and checking them off the list he
was able to show us how the system worked as a whole- how different
cats hunt- and how their prey stays alive. How wildebeest and zebras
work together, one with a good nose, the other with good eyes. How the
male silvery-cheeked hornbill encases his mate in a mud covered hole
in a tree so she can roost safely, then feeds her figs through a small
opening.
We stayed at a couple very nice hotels- one really nice where we sipped the
rare Guiness under warthog sconces, surrounded by flowers and birds.
But my favorite spot was the tent camp by the Ikoma gate in the
Serengeti. The walls zipped open so from bed we could see an
incredible night sky and beautiful sunrises. I woke up early and
walked down the road to see the thousands of wildebeest gathered in
the front yard. We were lucky enough to catch the beginning of their
annual migration south, one of the world's great ones. They move by
smelling rain and seeing lightning, working their way to the south for
the monsoon season. I tried to slip away from camp unnoticed ,
but the management sent a Maasai guide to track me down.
They don't want to chance having a guest eaten by a lion. We took photos of each other and had
fun scattering hundreds of wildebeest in every direction. On the way
back he showed me where elephants had eaten the acacia trees.
Later that day we were able to go on foot to see hippos mating ( the
female is really good at holding her breath), while an enormous
crocodile ( the "aquatic killing machine") sunned itself nearby. We
watched a lioness stalk gazelle (unsuccessfully), but later saw a
whole pride tearing into a Cape buffalo they had taken down together.
We saw a leopard in tree feasting on a gazelle, and watched the
beautiful cheetah cruise the plains. Most predators have to rely on
surprise, but the cheetah can chase down anything in a short distance.
In the crater we saw ai interesting scene play out. Thousands and
thousands of flamingoes had gathered at the salt lake, feeding on blue-
green algae. This was an impressive sight my itself, but the we
noticed three jackals trying to be nonchalant as they cruised the
shore, waiting to pick off a bird from the edge of the flock. Nearby,
six hyenas were pretending to be sleeping, but fooling no one. Strong
but slow, they wait for a jackal to make a kill, then steal his lunch.
Beside the flamingoes and horbills we saw so many amazing birds: big
ones liber ibis, pelicans, storks, the elegant grey-crowned crane, the
secretary bird, and the Kory Bustard in its outrageous mating
display. Also little, beautiful birds like sunbirds, bee-eaters,
weavers, and the stunning lilac breasted roller. Some pick ticks off
impalas, some feast on termite larvae, others grab insects stirred up
by passing cars.
We watched the tiny dik-dik, an antelope the size of a big rabbit, and
spotted two of the 600 enormous black rhinos left on earth.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Kilimanjaro pt. 2
| We thought an ascent of Kilimanjaro that coincided with the full harvest moon would be a good idea. That is, the clients who booked the trip thought so. So did 323 other clients who checked into Machame gate the same day. When you add porters and guides, it means about 1200 people on one trail on the same schedule. That's just one route, on one day! So, we had some bottle-necks on the trail and the campsites looked more like Bonnaroo than bush. But, it was worth the minor hassles to stand on the crater rim as the equinoctal sun broke on a clear view of the African savannah 17000 ft below. Our route was Machame again, which we like for its gradual ascent which aids acclimatization, and also its fantastic beauty. One of the best parts of climbing to altitude on the equator is the chance to go through a bunch of different climate zones on one short trip. On machame we spend the first and last days in the dank cloud forest, a lush contrast to the alpine zones. Here there are huge camphorwood trees dripping with moss and bromeliads and lichen. The forest floor is covered in giant ferns and many different flowers, including the beautiful endemic impatiens kilimanjari. Sykes monkeys and hornbills can be seen and heard cruising about the canopy. A little bit higher, around the Machame camp, you start to see giant heather trees covered in old man's beard lichen, just like we have in Alaska. Then you break out above the clouds and the heather shrinks and things start to look like the English moors. This gives way to a sub-alpine dominated by the groundsel trees and lobelia and the dessicated Helicrysum flowers. The area reminds me a lot of the southern Californian desert. Higher still only some lichens and yellow "everlasting" flowers survive. The top of the crater is stark volcanic country: a mix of rock, ash, and ice. Our clients were tough and fit and pushed on despite a variety of ailments- respiratory infections, blurred vision, numb extremities, and a host of GI problems, including two bouts of unannounced diarrhea that left one client cursing the wicking properties of synthetic underwear. It all seemed to come to a head at Barranco camp, our beautiful day three home. On this day we climb to 15000 ft. by lunch, but then drop back down to 13000 to sleep. This helps the body adjust, but often leaves people feeling pretty crappy. We shuffled into camp and found the spot the porters had carved out amongst 1000 of our closest friends. Our group was in pretty rough shape, and antibiotics were being swapped and popped like penny candy. I went next door to check on an Israeli guy from a friend's group who'd shown some signs of altitude sickness that morning. He was doing better, but a South African guy nearby asked for help with his finger. It was pointing the wrong way. There is a disturbing lack on medical training and equipment on the mountain, so my newly minted EMT certification was the best thing going. That night I woke up and marveled at the near silence. Moments later, from across camp came the sounds of the most horrendous wretching I've heard since college. The place was taking on the air of a refugee camp. The frosty morning brought renewed strength, however, and our group charged up the Barranco wall en route to Karanga camp. From there, the porters left a night earlier to stake out a spot at high camp. The porters are complete badasses and a joy to work with. They carry heavy loads and never stop smiling. Granted they are higher than a dozen gypsies in a trapeeze act, but still. We left in two groups for the summit, one at midnight and some speed demons at 1 AM. Both groups did a lot of passing and by 5 AM everyone was in a pretty good position to summit. Even though we we're spread out I got to celebrate with all 12 clients at the crater rim or on the summit. All12 summited and there were many hugs, tears, laughs and photos. The sun lit up the crater and began to warm our toes and we began our 14000 ft. descent to cold beer and warm showers. |
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Kilimanjaro, pt. one
We've been walking up a steep hill for several hours, at first giddy will the novelty of a midnight ascent, now just trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other. In the early hours the headlamps behind us snaked down the ridge like a torchlight parade, now they are mostly just ahead, rising almost directly above us, the the length of the chain never changing before it disappears over a false summit. False indeed. I know from my watch we have hours to go. Lift a foot. Step forward. Lock the back leg. Pause. Repeat. It's very dark, but my headlamp is off, the cones of light in front and behind plenty with which to see. We shuffle along as tight as a chain gang. I look at my watch. 3:20. Could it possibly be only ten minutes since I last looked? In Swahili, I don't think there is even a name for this time. The day begins at six AM, so seven is called one o'clock. My feet are cold, but just barely. As long as we keep walking. It's the breaks I dread. The altitude and the night steal body heat like caravan thieves. Just keep moving, people! Even if it's a crawl. Pole pole is the mantra you hear from every guide and porter. Pole pole kama cobe. Slowly slowly like a turtle. Swahili is so melodic. It pleases the ear. Especially the honey baritone of some of the porters. The stars are incredible. Some familiar constellations- Cassiopeia, Taurus, Scorpio, Orion. But different- on their sides or upside-down. And also the southern hemisphere nebulas- like chunks of Milky Way, but free-floating. I've seen three meteors already. Enough of a reason to keep the headlamp off. It's definitely getting colder, and time is crawling. In college, I worked as a night security guard in the dorms. I remember the same kind of delirium creeping in between 3 and 4. Time slows, thoughts are disjointed, the neck slumps and snaps. Suddenly there is light in the sky behind Mawenzi Peak! The hard part is over. Soon the sun's rays, magnified at 18000 feet, will warm our bodies and recharge our spirits. Soon we'll reach the crater rim of this magnificent volcano, past the shimmering, shrinking glaciers, and then the summit. We'll get the clients to the top, despite the struggles, and take in the view from the rooftop of the continent. I came to Africa to lead groups up Kilimanjaro. But first, I had to climb it myself. There were two clients- a middle-aged couple from Tennessee, plus my colleague Caleb, Tanzanian guide Saimon, Abi the cook, Innocent the waiter, Babu the toilet guy, and six other porters. They work incredibly hard- charging up the mountain with loads slung along their backs and more balanced on their heads. In the evening they crammed into the cook tent, smoking cigarettes and joints and joking with Abi. The hike itself is fantastic. Starting in the cloud forest dripping with lichens and epiphytes, blue monkeys jumping tree to tree. The strange call of the Heartlaub's Turaco. Then out of the forest and into the moorland, the heather becoming smaller and more shrub-like as you climb higher. Into the alpine where the senecio and lobelia cling to the more lush valleys, only bare dirt, rock, and glacial moraine in others . Beautiful little yellow "everlasting" flowers defy logic at 15000 ft. And then the glaciers. Monkeys and glaciers in the same trip? The Machame route is perfect for acclimatizing because you spend a lot of time sleeping in the 12000 ft range. On day three we climbed up to Lava Tower at 15000 ft, then back down to Barranca Camp at 12. From there we climbed to the beautiful Karanga valley camp, then onto Barafu, the high camp. It was from here that we made our successful summit push. 15300 to 19331 in one long night. The trip down was maddingly slow, the clients pushed to their limits. Finally we put one in the "stranger", a wheeled litter with shocks driven by a team of eight porters, for the last 14 km. The rest of us plodded along, dropping back down into the forest full of wild flowers and Colobus monkeys. At the Mweka gate- Cokes and smiles. Had a date on Friday, but she had to fly to Rwanda. Got stood up for some mountain gorillas. Better than a mountin' guerilla. Tomorrow we'll climb that peak again. I can't wait. |
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Two Africas
I arrived in Moshi, Tanzania, five days ago after three days of travel involving a ferry and four planes. Included in my 160 lbs of luggage were 6 sleeping bags, an enormous dining tent, ultra-violet lamps for water purification, 1000 ft of parachute cord, some smoked salmon and wild mushrooms (dropped with family in Boston), and lots of gear to be distributed to porters. I settled into the Springlands Hotel, my base for the next three months while I guide some Kilimanjaro trips for Alaska Mountain Guides. The Springlands is the base for Zara Tours, the local outfit we work with in Tanzania. It is a logistical wonder, employing some 150 guides, 800 porters, and loads of other staff. Every morning, a series of Land Rovers pull in and Massai workers draped in their colorful shukas load the roofs with bags. Clients from around the world are whisked off to Kili or on a safari or to the airport. The grounds of the compound are beautiful- loads of flowers and birds along the meandering pathways. Everyone is incredibly friendly and helpful and patient with a newcomer's attempts at Swahili. There is a pool where hip young Europeans mix with an assortment of North Americans to sip cocktails in the shade. The entire operation is under the watchful eye of Mama Zainab- a pioneering Tanzanian businesswoman. She is warm and welcoming and runs a tight ship. Just beyond the walled compound is Tanzania- impoverished, dusty, and beautiful. If you venture out you will come to a little neighborhood centered around an enormous baobab tree. My American colleague Caleb took me to meet some friends at the bodega that is the social center of the community. His friend Baragash lead us to a little shack near the dalla-dalla stop. We sat on low stools as a young woman spread a huge lunch before us- ugali (a sort of African polenta), some stinky little lake fish, delicious kale, beans, rice, and tripe. We took chapatis (there is a huge Indian influence in East Africa) and wrapped everything up with avocado picked up along the way. The result- a huge multi ethnic "burrito" that dribbled down our arm and gave the chickens something to do. It was delicious and the bill was $1.50 for three. After lunch we grabbed some of the local banana cider and walked across some fields opposite the Springlands. Huge maribou storks soared above us and the air was sweet with wild mint. We sat by a lovely spring under an enormous ficus tree and watched a huge train of ants build a bridge ( out of ants!) to get across the waterway. People came by to gather water, bathe, or eat lunch. Beyond the spring are huge rice fields. The Chagga people of this region have historically been more wealthy than their neighbors because of the fertile soil and irrigation potential afforded by Mt. Kilimanjaro towering above. Sometimes at dawn, when I leave the compound i'll catch a view of the peak coming out of the clouds, its glaciers just catching the first light. Nepahenda hapa- I love it here! In one hour we leave for the first climb- Caleb, myself, Tanzanian guide Simon, two clients from Tennessee and some porters. I've been up for hours,my pack checked and re-checked. Hakuna matata! |
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Summer 2010
The season began with guide training in beautiful Haines.
Then a 24 day IWLS sea kayak course in Glacier Bay. We spotted a wolverine in the East Arm, and a humpback whale carcass in the West Arm. The weather was fantastic.
In June- a trekking and whitewater course in the Yukon.
Then, in July, a traverse with Brian and Corn. We paddled 40 miles up the East Arm of Glacier Bay, climbed 40 miles over the Riggs glacier, and rafted 40 miles of river to Haines. Barely made it back to work........
Now all is packed in various piles- Tomorrow taking a ferry, then 5 planes to get from Haines to Africa.
Hebu nenda!
Monday, August 30, 2010
Foraging
But foraging can happen anywhere. Last spring I noticed snails all over K's San Diego neighborhood one morning. It had rained and they were crawling all over the sidewalk and into the sea fig that lines the canyons of the city. Turns out, these guys are the descendants of snails brought to California by a Frenchman during the Gold Rush. They escaped and thrived. Commonly viewed as nothing more than a stubborn garden pest, these were in fact the esteemed escargot snail, Helix aspersa .
I captured around 60 and put them into a small wooden wine crate with holes drilled into it.
They enjoyed a nice diet of beet greens, pasta, and beer for a couple weeks. Their systems thus flushed, they were steamed and sauteed with butter, garlic, shallots and herbs, and baked in a puff pastry.
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