Africa

Days Nine to Twelve

Wednesday:

The Road to Zanzibar

Zanzibar. The very name conjures up a romantic, idyllic notion of a far-off place of exotic proportions. When I was very young, I watched an “adult” movie … Bob Hope and Bing Crosby in The Road to Zanzibar, and somehow then (I could barely watch two minutes of the movie recently) it caught my attention and Zanzibar was imprinted on my brain. So when it was suggested as an add-on to our African itinerary, I jumped at the opportunity.

Packed and ready to go, we meet Elias after breakfast. With a big smile, he promises the drive to the airport will be short … our plane is scheduled for take-off at the Manyara airstrip at ten. The drive is through lush rolling farmland and when we stop for a few minutes to view Lake Manyara we are swarmed by hawkers, selling cheap handcrafts. We buy a few things until eventually, Elias shoos them away.

We arrive at the airstrip just before ten. There is a small building, which serves as the airport, and we are ushered into a sparse lounge with well-worn furniture, and offered extremely dense coffee by one of the officials. There are a couple of small planes parked outside but they eventually leave. After about an hour it becomes clear to us that there is no chipped-in-stone departure time for us, or even a plane. It is all a kind of waiting game. Elias stays with us out of duty, but eventually we say our good byes, and encourage him to be on his way.

A party of four joins us. They are Scandinavian, Danish, as I recollect, and the one fellow, I swear, is a dead ringer for Klaus Maria Brandauer in Out of Africa. He begins a tirade on the inefficiency of the closure of the Sand River/Bologonja Gate border crossing between the Masai Mara and the Serengeti requiring the long drive, that we experienced, if one wants to visit both areas. Of course we agree with him wholeheartedly. A few more people arrive and, low and behold, a plane touches down and we are all escorted out to the tarmac. 

Once we are settled on the plane, the pilot takes a head count and determines that there are two missing. There is much form checking and comments from the passengers (that we should leave without them, being already very late) and although David and I have no paperwork regarding our flight, our names fortunately are on the list. Finally after much bickering and some rather colourful language from Klaus Maria, the pilot agrees to take off. This is when we find out that we are first going to Kilamanjaro, and maybe, Dar es Salaam … so not the direct flight we expected.

We fly through a storm. Our small twelve-seater is tossed about in the blackest clouds I have ever seen. Because David and I are near the front, I can see what the pilot sees, which is nothing but pelting rain and darkness. I do what I normally do in these situations – pretend that it is fun, and quietly pray. Fortunately the flight is short and when we touch down at Kili we get out, check that our baggage remains on the plane, and take a picture. The mountain, itself, is lost in the clouds.

Fortunately our stop is next and when we embark at the Zanzibar airport mid afternoon we see our name held up in the reception area. The airport is chaotic and the air stifling hot and humid. The fellow who greets us leads us outside to where Omar, our guide for this portion of our journey, is waiting.  We have about an hour drive ahead of us (so he says) and we settle back in the air-conditioned van to take in the sights.

The first thing we are aware of is that it we are in a very Muslim part of the world. Away from the tourists at the airport, every woman we now see is covered in varying degrees – from head to toe burkas, to the more liberal hijab and kanga. Most of the women favour the kanga, a colourful wrap of fabric (often with a border containing a message in Swahili) and I have to say, they are stunningly beautiful. David asks if it is a Muslim country and Omar is quick to answer, “No sharia law here! In Zanzibar, British law.”

As on the day we drove from the Masai Mara to the Serengeti, we pass through small villages overflowing with teems of people, hanging out … alongside the road … in front of small shops that are barely more than corrugated steel boxes … in front of mud and cement block, windowless squares, that serve as homes. Omar tells us how apathetic people are … there are so few jobs and so little hope … and yet, more babies are born, and life goes on. Omar feels lucky making about $180 a month as a driver and tour guide, but his dream is one day to own his own car. For that he will need $3,000, a daunting amount in his world.

After what I call an “African hour”, we turn off the road onto a sandy lane that meanders among small, whitewashed, stucco cubes that serve as homes – upscale ones compared to what we have been seeing. Women with babies, small children, and goats are scattered about, and behind them, a line of palms, and glimpses of turquoise ocean - the Indian ocean! We pass through a gated adobe wall and finally arrive at the Azanzi Beach Hotel compound.

Our large room has a distinct Arabian flair to it, with a netted bed and both an indoor bath and an enclosed outdoor shower. I immediately spy a very long centipede creeping across the tiled floor and feel brave enough to fling it into the outdoor shower but make a note as to where it lands. After quickly unpacking, I check out the property, which appears long and narrow. A boardwalk connects the thatched, hut-like rooms, and at the end of the boardwalk the sunless pool sits under a huge thatched dome with dining and bar areas on either side. A few more steps and my feet hit the powdery white sand and before I know it, I am stepping through hibiscus and palms and onto the beach.

Visually, it is every bit as beautiful as the guidebooks describe. The turquoise water, the white sand, the palms, the ancient looking wooden dhows pulled up on the beach … colorful Maasai men, kanga wrapped women, naked children doing handstands along the edge of the waves … it all seems rather idyllic and dreamlike.

I leave the beach and search out David who is in the lobby trying to connect to the internet on my iPad. I can tell by his expression he is not a happy camper. But he looks up and says, “You won’t believe this! The woman partner of the managing couple here at the Azanzi is from Jacquet River!” Now, Jacquet River, New Brunswick, has a population of about 1,200 give or take, so the odds of meeting up with someone in Zanzibar from there … especially, the manager of where we are staying … is amazing. In fact, her children are visiting their grandparents in Jacquet River, while we are here. Small world, indeed.

David and I return to the room to change for dinner and find that the maids have been in to spray for bugs. This is the first time since we have been in Africa, that the spray is so obvious – it almost knocks me out – and I am sure it can’t be good for me.  Lucky for the centipede that I tossed it outside, earlier. We decide not to get changed and go for dinner, hoping the fumes will have dissipated by the time we are ready for bed.

The evening dining room is upstairs, under the large thatched dome. It is connected by a walkway, over the pool, to the evening bar on the other side (during the day, all eating and drinking activity is beside or around the pool). Other than the dome, it is open air, and the breeze is a pleasant relief from the earlier heat. The meal is buffet style – a selection of vegetable salads, fish, chicken … I think it might be themed, although not sure what the theme is tonight, but we are hungry and dig in. We scan our fellow diners … an east Indian couple seeming to be having a bit of a spat, a good looking Nordic family of four (a preppy teenage son and waif-like model daughter, perhaps college age), a middle-aged couple who appear to be either having an affair or are on their honeymoon (lots of eye gazing), and a larger family of six. The place is definitely not filled.

We return to the room and are so dead tired the lingering fumes are bearable. Our itinerary has a full two days planned for us, but I think we both mumble to each other, before falling asleep, “Let’s not go anywhere tomorrow…” 

Thursday:

A Little Local Colour

Zanzibar is known for its long varied history – for centuries merchant traders from India, Arabia, Persia, Asia, and Russia visited the two islands that comprise the archipelago, known as Zanzibar – and, for a time the Portuguese had dibs on this land, until the Sultan of Oman claimed it for himself in the late 1600’s. It soon became a centre for the slave and ivory trade and remained as such until the British took hold of Zanzibar in the 1920’s.

Stone Town, a UNESCO site, is the largest and oldest settlement on the island and we are scheduled to take in a full day there, as well as a half-day, to tour a spice farm (Zanzibar has an abundance of fresh spices). When we wake up Thursday morning somewhat refreshed, we decide that we will nix the spice farm (we know this will be a real tourist trap) and settle on a half-day in Stone Town. Omar is already waiting for us at the lobby after breakfast, and although somewhat disappointed not to show us a full day, he understands our desire to get back to the beach.

We retrace yesterday’s drive from the airport, arriving mid morning in Stone Town. We need to buy a small suitcase (we have bought very little, but still too much to fit in our two bags) so Omar stops beside a stall in the market, jumps out with David, and they quickly return with a bag. Not so much a bargain, I might add! Next we park the van and wind our way through the narrow lanes to the Anglican Cathedral, built in the late 1800’s by Bishop Steere (a fierce anti-slaver) on the site of what used to be the island’s largest slave market. Omar takes us first underground to the dank, dark, humid, holding cells of slaves … a space so small, so harsh, it is hard to fathom human beings crammed in there. It literally makes me nauseous and I quickly reverse back through the line of tourists coming in. Outside there is a sculpture dedicated to the slaves … it is both chillingly beautiful and utterly heartbreaking.

Our next stop is the Palace Museum – built on the site of the first sultan’s palace – this current building dates back to the late 1890’s. The interior is dark and musty, with decrepit display cases of artifacts from the sultans’ dynasty. We climb to the third floor and step out onto the balcony from where we look over the harbour and listen to the drone of prayers emanating from loudspeakers atop the nearby mosque. I am finding it all oppressive and want to get away … back to the sea … back to the savannah … anywhere there is space.

 

I am saved by lunch at the lovely, heritage, oceanfront Serena Hotel and, through the open window, watch men in their long white robes and embroidered skullcaps wandering down the beach, young boys in their underwear playing in the waves, and crows squabbling over morsels of food. I feel so much better.

When we get back to the Azanzi I nab a lounge chair and settle under one of the thatched umbrellas. It is far too hot to sit in the direct sun but, even under the umbrella, I begin to lose my winter pallor. Unfortunately there are a few disappointing features of this beach – a reef lies about a kilometer offshore and, when the tide is low, it is impossible to swim with the threat sharp coral ready to rip you to shreds – as well, there are a large number of sea urchins covered in their tiny spears. When the tide is high, you have about a three-foot safety zone … but heaven forbid you place a foot down (unless you are wearing the sturdy rubber shoes supplied by the surf shop). So I find myself not only shunning the very dark and public pool but also the ocean.

In the evening before dinner we walk south down the beach. There are no high-rise resorts here but smaller fenced tourist compounds, interspersed with local huts, and palms, and wild vegetation. Locals are going about their daily routines … fishing … hanging out … selling the odd things … and it is relatively quiet, without the constant harassing found in so many other “vacation” destinations. However, what we find early the following morning, is a little too much local flavour for me.

Friday:

A Day Off

Friday morning we wake to the first completely free day we have had on this trip. Nothing is planned but a day to read, to pack for tomorrow’s departure, to get a little more sun. After breakfast we decide to walk north up the beach where we have been told there is 

a village.

Within a kilometer we begin to see a lot of activity … men, women and children … and it is soon very clear that the beach, before the tide comes in to take it away, is used as a giant latrine. David is a little slower than me to pick up on it. He is taking in the whole scene, fascinated by the goings on … but I have become fixated on exactly what we are stepping over and around and heading deeper into.

“We have to turn back now,” I say and upon seeing what I see, he agrees. It is at this moment that I long to be home again.

We spend the rest of the day reading and sleeping under the umbrella. I chit chat with some of the other vacationers – a couple from South Africa, on their fourth day here, say, “What were we thinking coming here?” A family from the Netherlands is spending a lot of time reading. No one has been using the pool or been in the ocean. I refrain from asking if others ventured north on the beach.

Friday dinner is Italian night. Well, African/Italian. Much the same as we have been eating … vegetables, fish, chicken … with some pasta added to the mix. We retire to our freshly sprayed room, finish packing (we hardly bought anything but why do we have so much extra?) and sleep our final African sleep.

Saturday:

The Long Road Home

We are in the lobby at eight to meet Omar who will take us to the airport to catch the flight to Nairobi. Again, we do not really have tickets, but only our itinerary, which indicates what time our flight leaves. I am anxious enough flying and these vague arrangements work me into a sweat.

At the airport, we take leave of Omar. The little fellow who met us upon our arrival is supposed to meet us here but is nowhere in sight. The small airport is chaos and we choose the line that looks most like the one we should be in (no one knows anything, we do not really know what airline we are on, and there are no indications where to go). We are about fifty people back in line and the line, in an hour, barely moves. As our departure time looms ever so close another wicket opens and we finally get someone’s attention.

“Ah, your plane is leaving in five minutes! You must go through!” He takes our extra bag to check (which we think we will never see again), ushers us over to the immigration counter where we are to get our passports stamped and pay our departure tax … but they just wave us on and point to security … where we wait again for someone to arrive. In the tiny passenger lounge we ask a fellow traveler if he is on the plane to Nairobi and he points and says, “That one, closing the doors. You better run!” And run we do, out on the tarmac, dodging small prop planes that look a little too close for comfort. By the time we haul our carry-on luggage up the stairs and sit, our bodies are so drenched we could be hung up to dry.

The flight is actually quite pleasant, once my heart rate returns to normal.

We arrive at the Nairobi airport late in the afternoon and as our flight does not leave until around midnight, Jackson meets us to take us to a “fancy’ restaurant for dinner. After a short drive we pass through a gate with armed guards, who once again, check under the van for bombs. The building we enter is a modern multi storey structure that apparently houses high-end shops and a restaurant, which is Argentinean “churrasco” style. It is New Years Eve and it looks like they are hoping for lots of customers, but so far we are the only ones. Our waiter is very disappointed I don’t eat meat, but David obliges him the best he can. Eventually a large group of about fifteen comes in, in their most sparkly attire, and it takes the pressure off us to eat more.

By the time we get back to the airport, we are beat and not looking forward to the overnight flight to Amsterdam. At security, one of our carry-ons requires opening, and the agent holds up the beaded talking stick we bought from the Massai friends we met at Mara West. “This cannot be carried on,” he says, at which point, David, in his most tired state, says, “Well, you can have it!”

“No, no, no,” says the agent. “We will check it through for you.” And sure enough, a tag is attached to the most lovely beaded stick as David and I both look at each other and say, “I’ll believe it when I see it!”

We have wonderful seats and before we know it the plane takes off and everyone is counting down to the New Year. There is free champagne for all, and David and I do a special quiet toast to our thirty-third anniversary (well, wedding that is … we celebrate several anniversaries each year!) We thought there might be too much noise and merriment, but it seems that everyone on the plane is as tired as we are and soon we are passing over the African continent and sleeping until we land.

Upon booking this trip we made a wise decision and booked a day room at the Amsterdam Sheridan Hotel. We arrive around 5:00 am and our flight doesn’t leave until 3:00 pm so the room is a blessing on the long road home. We do manage to get a little more sleep and a good meal before we head across the ocean.

When we arrive in Montreal, late Sunday evening, enroute to Moncton, we have to pick up our luggage to pass through customs. “What about the talking stick?” I ask David. “Ha!” he replies as we watch the luggage spill unto the carousel. “I’ll check the ‘oversize baggage’,” I reply, and sure enough, as I watch the large boxes, and golf clubs, and other ‘unusual’ items emerge, there, all by itself, in its beaded glory, is the talking stick.

As I pick it up I am sure I hear the tinkle of the cattle bells, smell the scent of the savannah, feel the breath of a giraffe gliding by … and even though I am only a few hours from home, I am already planning our next trip back.

Africa

Day Eight: Tuesday

Into the Crater

Because of its proximity to Dar es Salaam, Arusha, and Moshi, three of the largest cities in Tanzania, the crater attracts almost a half million tourists a year. We are staying at the Sopa Hotel and we find the Mbalageti camp experience, it is definitely not. While the rooms are large and spacious, this accommodation is equivalent to a very nice Holiday Inn but, one that has not been renovated for twenty years and, it is very very busy. But in fairness, the location is breathtaking – perched on the edge, overlooking the crater floor – and the dining room is excellent and has a truly spectacular view. Of course, we are not here to hang out in our room all day!

The whole of the Ngorongoro Conservation Area covers some 8,288 sq kms but the crater itself (the world’s largest unbroken volcanic caldera, created 2 – 3 million years ago) is a circular area encompassing a 260 sq km valley, and home to one of the densest populations of wildlife on earth. The crater walls drop 610 m and when standing on the edge, everything below appears in miniature – a jeep, for instance, is barely a visible dot.

We have an early breakfast and witness two vervet monkeys swoop down upon the buffet table and make off with some choice pieces of fruit. We have decided not to do a full day (again, as a result of being exhausted from the previous day’s drive), but when we meet Elias in the lobby and mention this, he looks quite disappointed. “I have picnics,” he says with a smile. “Yea,” I think to myself. But, we agree that we will see how the day goes and return when we have had enough.

The road down into the crater is indeed close to the hotel and we begin the descent by winding through extremely tall acacias which we have not previously seen on our trip. Amazingly, elephants climb the inside crater walls to graze these tall trees, but no giraffes – they are one of the few animals that are not seen within the crater. There should be everything else, Elias assures us, maybe even a kill! This, I am not so sure I want to witness. However, I really hope to see a cheetah although we have heard reports that sightings in the crater have been rare lately.

Once below the tree line we are driving on the best dirt road we have been on, traversing verdant, rolling green hills. The landscape is just stunning. Off in the distant we can see the thin line of blue lake but everything else is layers of golds, greens, and smokey grey shadows.

We are barely on the crater floor when Elias stops the jeep and we see the majestic head of a male lion not fifty feet from the road. Unperturbed by us, he is perfectly visible in the short grass and turns his head several times as we snap away. What an animal – we are so awed in his presence! Elias explains that it is the female lions (several hunting together) that take down the prey and then the male moves in, eats his fill, and leaves the remainder for the females and young. He thinks this lion has already eaten … or … is he waiting for something?

Ahead on the road, Elias points to a dark mass, which, when we view through focused binoculars, becomes a cluster of jeeps. “A kill,” he says under his breath, and we are in motion again, making a beeline for the jeeps. As we get closer a small herd of buffalo, with a scattering of zebra close by on its periphery, comes into view, and all seem to be staring at the jeeps. But closer again, we see it is a tawny mass they are all staring at. It is indeed a kill – a baby buffalo – and at least six snarling lionesses, splattered with blood, are tearing and gnawing at the flesh. Five buffalo stand not four feet away – perhaps two are the mother and father – and it is hard not to project a mournful look on their faces. There is nothing they can do against this many lions. Eventually they move away and the zebras move in for a closer look. The prey animals seem to know that while the predators are thus engaged they are safe, and so, are drawn to the scene, out of what … curiosity? Perhaps relief … that it is not one of them?

We leave the lions to their feeding frenzy and drive on, catching the heads of a couple of hyenas popping up in the taller grasses. There is vulture activity as well … all are waiting their turn at the baby buffalo. I ask Elias if people ever get upset at seeing the real thing and he laughs and answers, “Once, a lady I was driving witnessed a lion snatch a baby cheetah. She was so distraught, and crying hysterically, that I had to take her back to the lodge. She did not go out again.”

The circle of life can be a gruesome thing!

Driving through the grasslands we encounter many more wildebeests, zebras, gazelles, buffalos, ostriches, and birds: vultures, hawks, ducks, geese, egrets, crested cranes, and brightly coloured little birds. Elias hands me a bird book but I will never remember them all. There is also a large herd of grazing cattle and we can see their brightly clothed Massai guardians taking a break, resting, with their spears dug into the ground.

Elias turns the jeep onto another trail that leads towards the lake and we notice a couple of stopped jeeps, the people in the pop-tops looking intently at something. All we can see are a few zebra and what appears to be a lone baby Thompson’s gazelle. “It’s a cheetah,” Elias whispers, but strain as we might, we see nothing … until … in a low clump of flowering bushes, not ten feet from the baby gazelle, the feline head appears.

My first reaction is, “Please, please, I do not want to see the baby killed,” but we are so excited to see the cheetah that of course we stop and watch. After about five minutes we surmise that the cheetah must be well fed because after the gazelle wanders off a tiny baby zebra walks within a few feet of it. We hold our breath, but the cheetah does not flinch. We wonder if perhaps it is a she and has some kittens hidden with her. So we wish her well, and move on.

The road winds close to the lake and a huge flock of pink flamingos take to the air. There are two jackals playing tag on the muddy banks and then just off the shore are two Black Rhinos – a mother and youngster. In the same frame of view, are zebras and wildebeests and, in the distant, an elephant. As a bonus, a little further back into the grassland, we see the tawny head of another male lion and not ten feet away, three zebra watching him. One zebra looks very pregnant and we wonder what the heck they are doing hanging around staring at this lion.

What a jackpot of animal activity we are witnessing!

It is early afternoon and we are starving. Elias heads to the picnic spot, a small lake surrounded by some tall leafy trees and low bushes. Fortunately, it has facilities. The lake doubles as the crater’s hippo pool and at the moment their boulder like bodies are mostly submerged with only their nostrils, eye mounds, and ears visible. This is a busy spot but David and I find a few rocks to sit on and open our picnic boxes. Elias warns us to watch out for the hawks that are dive bombing unprotected food and we watch one family that has gone to all the trouble of setting up a linen laid table, only to retreat to the safety of their jeep.  We eat in relative peace, watching the very colourful, exquisitely feathered, guinea hens pecking around our feet and the small yellow weaver birds flitting about, stealing what crumbs they can.

It’s mid-afternoon and we are ready to go back to the hotel but before we do, Elias decides we should check out the kill sight again. The lionesses are still there but the scene is much more subdued. Perhaps the male had eaten earlier and this kill was meant for them alone. There are a few zebras in the vicinity but the buffalo have all moved on.  We turn around and head back towards the winding road that will take us back up through the giant acacias. Just before the descent, we see two jeeps stopped ahead of us, and there, literally on the side of the road, a large male lion is taking his siesta. He is so close, we can count the flies on his back, smell his smell, and reach out and grab his tail (but of course, we don’t!). He is obviously lost in dreams and pays us no mind to us, so after five minutes or so we move on.

Back at the hotel we invite Elias to join us for dinner. It will be our last evening with him. First, we have just enough time for me to try out the pool (it is so cold and the tiles so slippery, shamefully, I am in for only a few minutes) and have refreshments on the deck, chit chatting with an Italian couple. It is he who tells us the secret of the many pocketed safari vest (which we unfortunately left at home at the last minute). “It’s for the airplanes,” he says. “I load up my pockets … how else can one get around their *#!*#! baggage weight restrictions!” Good point.

Dinner with Elias is interesting. We really have not shared a lot of personal information between us, our conversations mostly wildlife related or, the “when are we going to get there?” banter – mostly, because in the jeep it is either just too noisy, or we are trying to be quiet around the animals. But tonight we find out he has a wife and five year old boy in Arusha, he has been working for this travel company for about eight years, and through it he gets to do a wide variety of tours – like once hiking Kilimanjaro. Again, we find when talking with Elias, like with Mathew and Katherine back at the Mara West, that he really does not want much, certainly not the excesses North Americans have – nor can he barely comprehend it. He simply wants a steady good job, to feed his family, and hopefully to live in a corrupt free Africa. The conversation winds its way back to the wildlife we have in North America – bears, moose, and the sea creatures! I draw a picture of a lobster for him and we explain that whales are actually mammals. He finds it all intriguing and we promise to send him some books when we get home.

As we make our way back to the room, we realize the safari portion of our trip has come to an end. We are off tomorrow on an entirely different adventure that perhaps, we could do without – with all we have seen and done over the last eight days, we are ready to go home. However when suggesting our itinerary, our tour organizer thought we should end our African journey with some down time at a beach resort so, in taking her advise, we will head to Zanzibar and whatever awaits us there.

Africa

Day Seven: Monday

To Ngorongoro

Today we leave the wonderful Mbalageti camp and head east across the central Serengeti to the day’s final destination, the Ngorongoro Conservation Area. Elias wants us to depart from the main lodge no later than 8:00 am, as once again, according to our itinerary, we have a five to six hour drive (or longer during rainy season) ahead of us. Well, one thing we know for certain … it is the rainy season! In fact we meet la Famille Plouffe, also departing today, and they have just been advised that the local airstrip is washed out and they will need to drive further than planned to another remote airstrip.

The muddy water is broiling under the suspension bridge as we cross it one last time, and the submerged road seems more bottomless than ever. But Elias gets us through. At the main park road we turn right, instead of left, in the direction of the central Serengeti, the most popular region of the park for tourists due to its varied and stable wildlife population.

The road is a bumpy dirt and rough gravel track, slow going, but mostly dry, which is a real relief. The diverse landscapes merge as we travel through open savanna as far as the eye can see, rolling hills densely populated with leafy acacias, and swampy areas with thickets of leafless thorny bushes.

Dazzling birds are abundant everywhere and wildlife is plentiful. Gazelles, zebras, wildebeests, topis, buffalos, giraffes, elands, and one dikdik. We also see many more baboons, warthogs, and a tree full of vervet monkeys, the males with their colourful “privates” of turquoise and pink, and several females with babies clinging to their under-bellies. For miles we see (unmistakable) elephant droppings on the road and Elias assures us that these are fresh and we will eventually come upon the elephants. It is several hours before we do – a large herd in among the bare acacias – and I can’t believe how far they have travelled (judging by the trail of fresh droppings!)

It is getting close to lunch when we reach the central Seronera valley, the hub of tourist activity in the Serengeti and where, we indeed see, far more jeeps than we have seen on the whole trip so far. Elias has a few things to show us before our picnic break and we turn off onto a lesser track and almost immediately run into a lone female hyena. As Elias applies the brakes, she casually walks towards and past the jeep, as if we weren’t even there, and then disappears into the tall grass. I am not a big fan of hyenas but this one captures my heart. She is battle scarred with sagging teats that suggest recent babies and, what I feel is, a look of exhaustion – like she has simply had enough.

We turn off again onto a thin track that leads to the river and another hippo pool. We see two hippos sparing, their enormous mouths locked in play or combat … it’s hard to tell. Further along the pool are many hippo bodies, almost indistinguishable from the rocks lining the shore. It is eerily beautiful here (though the smell is rank) … a little like Jurassic Park without the raptors. As we linger by the river, Elias gets a call on his mobile and we are on our way again. He will not say but he is definitely on a mission and we whisper the “L” word to each other.

Ahead we see a traffic jam of about ten or so stopped jeeps and as we approach a very large “sausage” tree (yes, the fruit of this tree looks exactly like hanging sausages) comes into view. Elias jostles for a better position, but the track is extremely muddy from all the traffic, and the best he can do is nose the front end between two other jeeps without getting stuck. Our binoculars are instantly to our eyes and we scan the tree. Within the concealment of leaves, branches, and sausages … there … just to the left of one sausage … a tail hangs down like a lower case “j”.

We feel sure this must be the same leopard the young couple at the Mbalageti told us about. But it’s a day later and, perhaps, it has one antelope more in its tummy …  its body stretched along a branch with five descenders: four legs and a tail! Its head rests on another branch. Once again I am reminded of Minou, sleeping along the back of our couch. We watch it for a while, hoping for a little more activity, but this leopard is one content kitty and not moving a muscle. The thrill is not lost on us however, and we move off with big smiles on our faces and many photos of this well disguised, naturally camouflaged cat.

I have no idea what is in our picnic today but I am beginning to fantasize about it, I am so hungry. Still, we must circle back passed the hippo pool, and pick up the main park road south again before travelling a short distance to the Visitors’ Centre. This proves to be a busy spot with about fifty jeeps in the parking lot and the picnic tables and benches teaming with hungry, dusty, people just like us. David and I find two plastic lawn chairs and sit under an enormous candelabra tree (which Elias later tells us is highly poisonous and that if the sap comes in contact with one’s eyes, blindness can occur!) and devour the contents of our box lunches. Fortunately, we survive the candelabra as well as the small mongooses and hyraxes (both rodent-like animals – the mongoose like a weasel and the hyrax like a large guinea pig) that are mooching for handouts.

It is early afternoon and something tells us that we have barely begun the day’s drive. The five to six hour guideline for the day’s drive is now already behind us and we are wondering if we are on yet another incredible (or impossible) journey. Elias, does not lie to us but is quite vague with his answer to our question, “Just how much longer, Elias?” He purses together his lips and tips his head side to side, as if this question requires great thought. What he is really doing is trying to figure out a way to tell us it will be another five to six hours, and the fun (aka: the rutted road) has just begun.

But we are soon driving through grasslands again, and here the vegetation is much shorter. The migration has passed this way recently and tromped upon or eaten everything in its path. Strange outcroppings of rocks are dispersed along the plains, as if a bulldozer has pushed large boulders into piles. These are kopjes and are often great places to find wildlife. Elias is constantly scanning for wildlife. But David has noted that I am pretty good to at spotting things too. I see the large ears and backs of a pair of silver backed jackels and quickly snap a shot before they are gone.

Elias abruptly turns off onto another track and we make our way towards a kopje we see off in the distance. There are jeeps there already and the passengers are in the pop-ups gazing through binoculars. High up on one of the rock outcroppings a beautiful male lion is dozing. He shifts his position so that we can now see his face, but he does not open an eye to acknowledge us. We drive around the kopje once, and then the second time around, on the opposite side, we see the female. She is far more willing to pose and gives us her regal profile. I can tell Elias is proud of these “viewings’ and he should be – we are delighted!

Late in the afternoon we finally get to the eastern Naabi Hill Gate. Elias warns us we could be an hour here as he gets the paperwork approved to continue on through the Ngorongoro Conservation Area. There are a good forty or fifty jeeps parked on this side of the gate but on the other side there must be at least a hundred – all waiting to get into the Serengeti – the exasperated travelers with nothing to do but wait. David and I stretch our legs a little and find a shady spot to sit but it is not long before we are on our way again …with just a brief stop on the other side of the gate to show the required paperwork again. It has proven to be a very valuable time saver that our tour company has prepared all the park entry forms and fees.

We still have about forty miles ahead of us before we reach the crater and judging by the speed we are going, we’ll be on the road for several more hours. The road (described as atrocious in one guide book) is extremely rough and rocky and the jeep drives like a jackhammer. Almost all jeeps carry two spare tires (and two main gas tanks and two spare gas cans) and it’s no wonder, as we pass more than one jeep pulled over with a blown out tire. Elias stops to help one fellow pull the wheel off and we notice the replacement spare being rolled along is as bald as a baby. Yikes … just how long will it last. (We casually check out our tires and spares – by comparison, they are all like new.)

We stop at an archway over the road bearing a sign to the Serengeti National Park, World Heritage Sight (looking back from where we came) and Tanzania National Parks (in the direction we are going). At one time the Ngorongoro Conservation Area was part of the Serengeti National Park but a conflict, in the late fifties, between park authorities and the Maasai (primarily over land usage and herding rights) resulted in the the Maasai leaving the Serengeti and resettling in the newly designated conservation area. At the same time, using miles of barbed wire, steps were taken to keep the migration out of Ngorongoro, but the millions of wildebeest ignored this intrusion and simply trampled the fence. Today the Ngorongoro is the only conservation area in Africa that provides full protection status for its wildlife as well as the interests of its indigenous people.

The open plains are breathtaking and, as far as the eye can see, there are thousands of wildebeests, interspersed with large herds of zebras and gazelles, grazing on the short, nutrient-rich grass. This is where most of these animals will have their young before their long trek back westwards across the Serengeti and north to the Masai Mara.

We risk asking Elias, again, how much longer. Our itinerary has us stopping at the Olduvai Gorge Museum, the spot where Louis and Mary Leakey (actually it was Mary) discovered some fossils that would confirm the existence of hominids two million years ago in East Africa – the “Cradle of Mankind.” Not to our surprise, Elias says it is too late to visit the museum, and eyes us in the rear view mirror. I am sure he is expecting some disappointment but we assure him, at this moment, all we want to do is get to the hotel!

We leave the plains and start the climb to the crater rim, passing a gorgeous gathering of giraffes, and also a large herd of Maasai cattle. Another gate to stop at, more papers to show, and then we are on the crater rim. We are travelling the rim counter-clockwise and pass one of the entry roads down into the crater. Elias catches our eyes in the mirror again and, instantly, David says, “So just how long now, Elias?” At least another hour – our hotel is on the opposite side – but the good news, Elias tells us, is that tomorrow morning, the second route down into the crater is beside out hotel.

We stop once at a scenic view looking over the crater floor. Tomorrow we will descend to it, for our last full safari day. Finally we stop at our hotel, a good twelve hours after leaving the Mbalageti. It is impossible to put into words just how grueling and how long this day has been, but we are ready for dinner, for sleep, and another big day tomorrow.