Jambo,
Well we are now on our way to lay on a beach in Zanzibar after finishing up our safari adventures. We really have seen it all – from things getting stalked then mercilessly eaten (the chocolate cake at the buffet didn’t even see me coming), to surprising instances of almost human like behaviour (American tourists have progressed but are not quite there yet). The animals have been fascinating too.
When we left you last time we had just witnessed a baby zebra get reduced to the size of Alan Jones’ humility. So with nothing left to see, we left Ngorongoro crater and moved onto Lake Masek with our guide John. This guy is amazing; while traveling at 70kmsph on dirt roads and avoiding potholes he’ll glance out the window and say ‘there is a cheetah in the grass behind the tree 200m on the left’. All the while doing so in a voice so deep that he makes James L Jones and Barry White sound like the Scissor Sisters. His eyes are so incredible that if it actually exists, he’d be the only man on earth capable of spotting some singing talent in Brian McFadden.
And this animal spotting has been done while driving on roads that are so bumpy and rutted that I feel like a human bowl of jelly left on top of a washing machine during a particularly vigorous spin cycle. Given all we have been doing is eating, drinking and sitting in a car for 2 weeks I have started jiggling in areas that I was not even aware could jiggle. How I managed to generate wrist fat I’ll never know.
But our drive took us to Serengeti for more game viewing which really has been a once in a lifetime experience. The highlight was pulling up in a field as a cheetah assessed a pack of gazelles. It seemed like a mismatch; the clueless gazelles kept their heads down, grazing on grass as the cheetah slowly crept closer. The cheetah would freeze as the gazelles occasionally looked up, and would then re commence the creep until he was close enough to strike. And then he was off, leaping out of the long grass and sprinting for the closest meal option. At this point the targeted gazelle stepped to the right, then took off leaving the cheetah embarrassingly clasping at nothing but air and standing dumbfounded in the middle of the field. All the cheetah needed was black headgear and the similarity with Jamie Soward trying to lay a tackle in the NRL would have been complete.
In terms of animals in our recent safaris, while there have been innumerable highlights, there has to be a loser. So come on down Mr Hippo for the title for the ‘Most Disappointing Animal in a Trent and Krystal Safari Tour’. All they do is climb into their mud pools at 6am, occasionally splash some mud and snort before climbing out again at 7pm. In between they just sit there essentially motionless, like big grey blobs, moving only to crap in their neighbouring hippos face (apparently this is how they mark their territory – can’t imagine it would go over that well if I tried to introduce it to the office environment – but what a way to claim your desk). The mismatch between the expectation in seeing them and the reality has only been surpassed by our trip to the Hunter Valley to see Meatloaf earlier this year. The behaviour and appearance probably isn’t dissimilar either – actually the hippos are probably ahead as at least their occasional snorts they exhale seem to carry at least some evidence of a tune.
The accommodation through Tanzania has been wonderful but very different to home. At night we require an escort back to our tent by spear carrying locals to avoid being attacked by wild animals. It’s probably the only place in the world outside of Mt Druitt that requires such a pre-bedtime routine. And sleep is constantly broken either by giraffes munching on trees outside our window, buffalos snorting next door or by Krys sleepily mumbling something about being naked in a field with Bon Jovi. I have no idea why she gets so angry when I prematurely wake her from those dreams.
And one thing you see everywhere in Tanzania are members of the Masai tribe. This tribe is renowned as the fiercest of African warriors, and they dot the countryside wrapped in their brightly coloured robes and carrying long thin spears. After one of our safaris we dropped into a Masai village to get a demonstration of their culture. And I must say, the culture does have some merit. The Masai take multiple wives; and by multiple, I mean multiple – in the village we saw the man was 75yrs old and had 15 wives. And he was about to take on 2 more. I’m not sure what I admired more – his bravery or his stamina.
Now ordinarily such a thought would be terrifying but these wives are not your modern day, bra burning, Female Eunuch reading feminists that we know at home. Instead these wives do almost all of the work; you see them either working tirelessly in the fields with babies strapped to their backs, or lugging enough food to market to satisfy a Kyle Sandilands Christmas lunch. And the set up of the village gives a further indication of the hierarchy. The man has a big house in the middle all to himself. Then there is an inner ring for……. wait for it……. his cows. Then the outer ring is for his wives and children. And the clincher is that the wives are expected to build their homes themselves.
I think I expressed a little too much admiration for the Masai culture, and my suggestion to Krys of looking to take some of that culture home with us may have overstepped the mark. She seemed to counter with her own cultural suggestion of castrating her stupid new husband with a blunt butter knife. So I think it best if we leave things at home just as they are (well at least until I buy some cows – no need to start a fight early).
But the most amusing piece of the Masai village visit came at the end. After demonstrating their intimidating cultural dance, fire making with their bare hands and the general strength required to live the way they do, they offered some souvenirs and said ‘pick what you want then we make a fair price’. So to be polite we picked two small things and asked ‘how much’ expecting around $10. The price came back ‘$50 US’.
Now I knew straight away I was being taken for a Masai ride. We had been offered the same things by street vendors for $5. But have you ever tried to haggle when standing in someone else’s village surrounded by muscular men with battle hardened faces, carrying spears? This was way beyond my previous bargaining experience of trying to get $1 a kilo off some mangos from a wiry but unarmed Chinese man at Paddys Markets. So after an involuntary nervous giggle I handed over the cash while pretending I was grateful to have become a victim of a Masai commercial attack.
Our final full day in Tanzania saw us take a balloon ride over the Serengeti. We turned up at dawn to be greeted by a stern faced African balloon pilot whose first job was to allocate people to the different balloon compartments – 4 people to each. It all seemed pretty simple until the final couple arrived. An African lady emerged from the final car packing more ass than an endless field of donkeys. You could see the emotions between the crowd; confusion for the pilot as to where this lady could fit, and fear from the other passengers at the possibility she may be inserted with a shoehorn next the them. The pilot worked his way through the group ‘you two, and you two make 4 – in here’. ‘You two and you two make 4 – up there’. Then he pointed to Miss Booty and her partner and said ‘you two’ and finally after waving his two fingers threateningly through the weaving remaining crowd…….. pointed to a Brazilian father and his young daughter just to our left, whose heads physically sank as they were condemned to an hour of airborne African pancaking.
The balloon ride itself was very special. Lifting off with the sun and floating over herds of animals awakening for the day. A pride of lions stalked their way towards a group of grazing wilderbeast. We floated over the river that cuts the plain in two where hippos did…… well not much of anything. And finally we landed in a field where our Brazilian friends emerged with basket marks imprinted in their skin, and some haunted faces after their unexpected closeness with some African backside.
Our trip to the airport (if you can call it that) added the final chapter to the elusive leopard hunt, but more on that later.
Kwaheri.
Trent and an expensive Masai necklace wearing Krys
smallthoughts 