Serengeti National Park, Tanzania

Our northern safari started in Ngorogoro, a 20 km wide crater situated west of Arusha (Sidenote: our guide told us Arusha is exactly half way between Cape Town and Cairo, urban legend or useless factoid?)  The crater’s base, flat and parched, was uncharacteristically devoid of life (Mikumi Part Deux?) that was until we observed rhinoceros crossing the road and a cheetah ready to pounce on his prey.

When we least expected it (code word: we were in the bathroom) seven monkeys climbed through our jeep’s sunroof to grab our food - a rookie mistake on our part!  “Not my purse!” I shrieked, as the dirty critters fumbled through my backpack.  “Not my Fritos!” Ken screamed, as they snatched our lunch leftovers.  Fortunately, they got off with only apple cores and chicken bones leftover from earlier that day.

Camping on the craters ridge, our guide warned, “Under no circumstances can we leave our tents at night” or we would be attacked (by lions) or shot (by overzealous rangers mistaking us for poachers).  For four days I avoided liquids like the plague; Ken (having certain issues) took Cipro to block-it-up so to speak.  Safari camping gave new meaning to the phrase, “Hold it.”

On the second day we entered Serengeti (Maasai for “endless plains”) National Park - the expanse an unending sea of plains.  The internationally famous park was home to the star attraction: wildebeest.  No Ken, not Wild Beast, Wildebeest.  We weren’t to be disappointed.  (Inside joke: one of my best friends is nicknamed Beast, so we had a riot yelling and pointing, “Wild Beast, Wild Beast!”)

You make the call...


The wildebeest migration, along with their sidekick the zebra, was unprecedented for us as their shear number astounded.  Driving for hours, in every direction for as far as the binoculars could reach, were hundreds of thousands of hoofed animals searching for food and water.  The unparalleled experience left us in awe - as we imagined this was perhaps what the old U.S. might have looked like when the buffalo roamed.

Not only did we encounter elephants, giraffe, lions, hyenas (ugliest animal ever), camel, and cheetah, but we detected leopards hiding in the trees (apparently very rare to see).  We can’t take credit for the sightings though, as our driver had truly enviable 10-10 vision.  “There, off in the distance on the horizon, can you see it?” he’d question us squinting with his bare eyesight.  Thinking his view fabricated, while ourselves looking through binoculars, we could barely make out a tail hanging from a tree perhaps 100 yards in the distance.  Ken under muttered breath would say to me, “I don’t see anything... ok, yeah... maybe.”  The driver would park the car, and within five minutes the distant animals would make their way towards our vehicle.

On day three we happened upon an elephant herd twenty strong.  They stepped up to our parked jeep so as to completely surround us; they bathed in the cool mud puddles on every side of us less than three feet away.  Ken, standing out the sunroof, in a whispered (and I’ll add “trembling” - which he disputes) voice, questioned “Are we safe?”  Then he slowly sank back into his seat, not wanting to make any sudden movements, pulling his camera back into his body.  An adorable tiny baby caught our hearts as he hid behind his mother’s leg.  So cute.

At this point our northern safari circuit was declared an unanimous success.  While the landscape was less beautiful than Selous, the number of herds encountered demonstrated a raw power unseen in the south.  In hindsight, our two safari experiences (southern and northern Tanzania) were equally  memorable -- we had to chuckle because researching operators, we originally planned to hire ROY’s Safari (ranked #1 on TripAdvisor) but then in the spontaneity we chose CHARLIE’s Safari (for his strong salesmanship and convincing nature), only to end up seeking out ROY’s Safari and ultimately loving it.  Sometimes life mimics life.  (Inside joke: Ken’s dad is Charlie, his stepdad is Roy).

In other driving events, we passed an active volcano (Mountain of God) and the Oldupai Gorge, a canyon whose famous fossils document the birthplace of humanity (1.8 million year old Australopithecus).  So when people ask where we are from, I’m now tempted to respond, “Africa” (my dad always used to say this, and I’d retort, “No dad, we’re from Germany.”... Perhaps he was right after all?)

The neon sun set over the horizon behind scattered trees and in the vastness of night over our Serengeti campsite the multitude of stars illuminated the sky.  The perfect crescent moon shone and (not joking) lions roared in the background.  Carved pumpkins and trick-or-treat candy lacking, our Halloween under the stars will never be forgotten.

Arusha, Tanzania

The bus ride to Arusha was eye-opening... you haven’t seen a full bus until you’ve taken a local bus in Africa.  For the one hour ride, our bus was over capacity by 26 people!  We made it to Arusha and booked a four day trip to the Serengeti.  We also found a cottage for the night, but there was a huge downpour with major flooding so we’re sitting here without electricity.  Also instead of a pet dog the owners have some kind of giant pet peacock who is like 5 feet tall.  Where are we?!?!?

Moshi, Tanzania

It didn’t work out with our driver (“the longest two hours I ever waited was three days” said our friend, which turned out to be true for us as well) so we ended up taking the bus from Dar to Moshi -- it was uneventful except the one hour wait at the weigh station (all buses and trucks had to queue up to ensure they were light enough to get over the bridge).  We found a cute place with a balcony that looked out to Mt. Kilimanjaro!  The best part was splurging for air conditioning and Internet, yeah!!!!!!!!!  We considered hiking Kilimanjaro, but as our friend Steven says, “If you can’t climb Kilimanjaro, then drink it!” (Kilimanjaro is a brand of beer).

Mikumi National Park, Tanzania (cont.)

Our driver stopped at a roadside where they sold skewers of BBQ goat meat.  Literally, a mob scene of twenty boys came rushing towards our car, screaming.  They thrust meat in through every open car window and begged us to purchase.  We ended up buying one skewer just to stop the commotion that had descended upon us.

Well, we had a string of bad luck the last few days.  First, a large rat crawled through the drivers side window into our VW van.  We couldn’t catch him so we drove for two days with him sporadically appearing (and all three of us screaming in unison).  

Next, our car had a series of breakdowns: 

Overheating fan (happened several times); 

Loose fan belt, which involved removing everything from the trunk since the engine was 

in the rear; 

Broken starter (so Ken and I had to push the car to start it, very Little Miss Sunshine-esque); 

Broken horn, which honked about every 30 seconds for two hours (ironically honked more when we passed people walking along the road), until we stopped to disconnect it -- we blamed the rat for eating through the wire;

First flat tire in a remote village and the second flat tire in the park; yes the list goes on... 

A motorcyclist hit the car, knocking off the rear bumper so the police had to be called; 

Broken seat: the mechanic who removed the second row of seats to fix something couldn’t get it back in properly, so we sat on it unattached (it also fell into the mud so had to be cleaned which gave me a wet butt, but that was the least of our problems); 

The speedometer broke; and 

To top it off we drove three hours through Mikumi National Park and didn’t see any animals.  

Disappointed, on the fifth day we decided to cut our losses and head home early.  Since the trip didn’t go as planned, we negotiated with our driver to take us north to Arusha.  Even with all this, we still have positive attitudes and are loving our adventures in Africa!


While we came home early, we still enjoyed our time.  Here is a pic of the owners kids playing with us at Mahaba.

Mikumi National Park, Tanzania

Tanzania is one of the most beautiful countries we’ve experienced - endless beaches, mountains, wildlife, and jungles.  The southern safari circuit had hardly any tourists, which served as our advantage and made for a more authentic experience.  In the villages we passed, we were the only muzungas (white people) but sensed a palpable recognition of community.  Encounters with the people demonstrated that our fears were misplaced as everyone was exceptionally friendly, especially when we tried some Swahili.  The language was easy to learn (compared to others) and it was amusing to get smiles when I offered some key phrases (“husband, give me more money”). 

On the downside, we’ve experienced the government taking advantage of the tourists, for example charging a local $5 for park entrance but $65 for non-residents (the same goes for hotel rooms, food, pretty much everything).  They also required us to pay in U.S. dollars, a hassle because we could only get Tanzanian shillings at the ATM.

It’s complex to witness such poverty from the perspective of someone who has financial security.  Why don’t these people have running water?  Why can’t the government or a private utility company run electricity to these villages?  Why aren’t the roads paved (so we wouldn’t get flat tires and it wouldn’t be so dusty)?  And by the way, why is it socially acceptable to throw trash on the ground instead of using a garbage can?  As an outsider, its easy for me to ask these questions, when I know there are a complicated mix of reasons of which I can’t understand.  Until then, I try not to judge and only hope the lives of these villagers are filled with happiness.

Morogoro, Tanzania

Ken and I became separated from our driver so our only option was to purchase a local SIM card to call him - this turned into a laborious affair.  So in case you’re ever in Tanzania, here’s how you buy a SIM card for your cell phone:

1.  Find a kiosk that sells SIM cards (not entirely difficult)

2.  Go across the street to the photocopy store and get a copy of your passport (increased difficulty)

3.  Take the copy and the phone to “the place near the blue van” and ask the vendor to call someone and get the phone “registered” (nearly impossible)

4.  Take the newly registered phone and wander around until you find a telecom operator, there you can buy minutes of talk-time (this is impossible unless the vendor speaks English or you are a professional mime)

5.  Figure out the Tanzanian telephone country code (255) so you can place a local call.

Ken decoded and completed this process in only one hour... impressive for someone who’s only Swahili was “mambo” (hello) and “poa” (cool).

Selous National Park, Tanzania

We left early and headed south in an old VW van (not exactly your typical 4WD safari jeep).  After driving for five hours through the bush we successfully removed ourselves from civilization; local children would run up to our car and yell and wave as we drove through their remote villages.  The villagers, sustained by fishing and rice farming, had houses made of mud and roofs of grass.  The more fortunate villages (nearer the park) had homes with tin roofs and women used sewing machines.

Our camp set-up on the river included ten tents with a separate large hut for meals.  We took a quick boat safari and caught a glimpse of animals along the riverfront at sunset.  The next day, our first “game drive” through the national park produced significant animals and caused us to gawk like little kids:

Giraffe (over 300, we counted them)

Hippopotamus (in the water and on land)

Water Buffalo

Kurus (kind of like big elk)

Elephants

Zebras

One lion sleeping under a tree





Crocodiles

Birds (vibrant colors of blue, red, yellow)

Monkeys

Impalas (not Chevy, but more like a deer, too many to count)

Warthogs

Wildebeest

We had a laugh with our “armed guard” at the campsite that night, as he was required to escort us to our tent safely should any animals attack.

Ununio (Mahaba Beach), Tanzania

Today a local fisherman and his son took us out on their boat.  The man spoke no English and his son was about as proficient in English was we were in Swahili (aka not at all).  We ventured east towards a large sandbar where we snorkeled in the clear ocean in search of fish and coral.

We, accompanied by our host, joined the local fish auction and bought a large sole fish.  We shared it as a group, whole-fish-style, at dinner that night.

We also met a friend of our host, a mechanic who specialized in local safaris.  While our original plan was the northern safari circuit (Serengeti), after his description of the southern circuit (substantially less tourists) we made an impromptu game plan and hired him on the spot for a seven day safari.  We had no idea what would be in store.

Dar es Salaam, Tanzania (our sixth continent! ... only Antarctica remains to be visited)

Our anxiety was on high alert as we landed in Africa due to the uncertainty - we had heard such varied reports between friends, government warnings, and our own biases: rampant corruption, pure natural beauty, tourists being taken advantage of, warm and open local people, lack of safety, and also no safety problems.  Our friends from Turkey connected us with their friends in Tanzania (we’ve learned to never turn down an introduction) and arranged an airport pick up for us.  I had completed the requisite visa paperwork before departing the U.S., so customs and immigration was uneventful.  We grabbed our checked luggage and immediately upon exiting the airport our glasses fogged up from the humidity and sweat drenched our clothes.

Stepping out of baggage claim, two local boys aged four and six stood in the front row of a throng of people awaiting the arriving passengers, their hand-made signs in crayon read, “Mahaba Beach” (translation: Romantic Beach).  We quickly learned our host had driven to Dar es Salaam with her kids to pick us up.  We piled into their minivan and drove north through the urban streets.  

In all directions, the lanes teemed with makeshift vendors selling everything imaginable from second hand t-shirts, mobile phones, tomatoes, charcoal to cement blocks.  Much of the merchandise was carefully laid out on floor mats on the sidewalk.  The blaring audible car horns, accompanied by the smell of humidity, and the visual bright colors (blue houses, soccer jerseys, multi-colored signs, yellow bananas) was overwhelming to the maiden African arrival.  I sat quietly in the back seat in awe of the scene, as dust swirled around the car.  Many of the people wore their finest attire as they walked home from church with families in tow.  Boys with ice cream carts sauntered through the traffic as we sat in gridlock.  Another boy, uninvited, started washing our windshield in hopes of money.  

After driving 40 km along coastal villages we arrived to our destination, shocked: an isolated white sand beach, turquoise water, local fishermen's boats anchored, swaying coconut trees, and NO tourists.  Literally post card perfect, we exchanged glances and high-fived unable to believe our luck!

Definitely not in the Lonely Planet guide, our hosts owned a small beach lodge that catered to the local well-to-do.  The property included a giant open-air thatch roof hut where up to 40 people could eat; a smaller hut 30 feet from the Indian Ocean that served as the bar, three smallish guest huts, two larger duplex-style guest houses, a reception hut, and the owners house.  Our room was one side of a duplex, which housed a bed (with mosquito net of course) and a bathroom.

The entire beachfront property was covered in sand with tropical pink and purple flowers lining the perimeter.  It sat south of Bagomoyo facing east to the island of Zanzibar.  Palm trees held up hammocks; the ocean so warm it could have been a giant hot tub.  On the south side of the property a Muslim fishing village contained a blue roofed mosque and an unpaved main street with 20 huts on each side.  To the north, a fish market auctioned off the local daily catch (we heard them every day at 3pm over the loud speakers).  Beyond that was the bush (scrappy trees and grasses).

For dinner the German chef served up fresh (we knew it was fresh because the fishermen were all sitting at our bar) kingfish, calamari, and sole.  Our days consisted of lounging in the shade, drinking beer or coconut juice, and practicing our Swahili.  On the downside, the water pressure was slight, the electricity sporadic, the ants crawled everywhere, the mosquitos swarmed at night, and the village was littered with plastic bags and trash... but when you’re in paradise you can hardly be bothered by such inconveniences.

“Classic Ken” line from the day, after I told him he was being too picky about something, “I’m not picky... I just have strong preferences.”

Doha, Qatar

First sign that something is amiss: as we land in Doha the plane starts filling with what looks to be dry ice - clouds of cold fog are streaming from every crevice of the plane.  Ken and I look at each other: what is going on?  Is this some kind of toxic chemical leaking into the plane?  Are our last breaths on Earth going to be inhaled tear gas in the Middle East causing our ultimate demise?  Alas, the flight attendant reassured us that because the plane descended so quickly from such high altitude and frigid temperature (I’ll say like -50 degrees F) and landed in the dessert (like +120 F) the plane’s air conditioner went on wack-out mode trying to cool the plane.  It is then we realized we were watching too much “Breaking Bad.”

Second sign that Doha is exceptional: this being the cross-roads of international travel (sorry London), thousands of nationalities are intermixing amongst the gates and shopping at Duty Free.  Loners are curled up on the floor awaiting their 3am departures to Kathmandu.  We arrived at 12:30am and didn’t depart until 7am (perhaps our most painful layover?).  We were pleasantly surprised to locate what I’ll call a “sleeping lounge” near gate 7, essentially a quartered off area with vinyl recliners each with its own blanket.  An Arab man in full white garb from head to toe watched to ensure no one disturbed us.  Qatar Airways you rock, we were planning to sleep on the floor with the commoners.    

Istanbul, Turkey

The mega-city of Istanbul aka Byzantium aka Constantinople is a Muslim city at the cross-roads of Europe and Asia.  The land, inhabited since 660BC, is seeped in history of conquest and siege - with a skyline of ancient countless mosques and minarets contrasted against modern luxury cruise ships from Greece (half empty?) and neons lights from Taksim Square.  The city sprawls for as far as the eye can see, with houses built on the shoreline in every direction.  The majority of buildings are less that five stories, so you can see how a city of 20 million people extends to over 100km end to end.

Ken arranged for us to stay with a local couple in their apartment (an English girl and her Tanzanian husband).  Unbeknownst to us, their Beyoglu neighborhood turned out to be an ideal location near Taksim Square.  On our first night they took us out on the town -- to a Reggae club!  We danced all night -- the nightlife was enjoyable but odd because it was surprisingly 90% men (most of the women weren’t allowed).  

The daily calls to prayer over the loudspeakers immediately told us we were in an unfamiliar land, along with women cloaked in headscarfs (granted only a minority, as the country is proudly secular) and chain smoking men chain luring us into their storefronts.  The main phrase we had to learn in Turkish was “no thank you.”  This was demonstrated on the Prince’s Islands (an hour offshore from the mainland) where we were verbally accosted by waiters encouraging us to eat at their restaurants while shoving menus in our faces, such that we purposely selected the only restaurant that didn’t haggle us to come in. 

We hopped around the city (in the rain, unfortunately) seeing the classic sites: Grand Bazaar, Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia, among others.  We found ourselves in the classic tourist trap of Sultanamet, where we were (unknowingly) lured into a carpet shop.  We assured the salesman that we did not want to buy anything and were brought in under false pretenses, but he would not take no for an answer -- and we ended up sitting there, drinking tea for 30 minutes, while we chatted about family and culture.

On the day Ken turned 35 we visited two continents and went to a traditional restaurant where we sat on floor pillows and took our shoes off before entering.  The service was chaotic (they couldn’t get anyone’s meal right and it took one hour to get the bill... “that’s sooo Turkish,” we were told later) but the food and ambiance were worth it.  Back at home we ate birthday cake to celebrate - well actually it was cheese cake with a tea light for a candle, but it was the best I could do (it was either that or baklava).

Even with the cold and rainy weather, we did a fair share of walking.  We lost ourselves along the slopes of Beyoglu (our neighborhood) with houses crammed together, random antique shops and corner stores, with wild cats and dogs roaming.  (Side note: Our friend Greg says he can judge the modernity of any city by the number and look of its wild mangy dogs... these weren’t terrible... definitely better than Bolivia).

Funny stories from the last week:

1.  Delivery of beer through the window: yes, this might be a Muslim country but the owner of the corner market literally walked across the street and hand delivered beer through the street-facing living room window.  We handed him some lira (money) in exchange.  The upstairs neighbors did the same thing but they lowered a basket (with money in it) tied to a rope and the beer was then raised to their third floor balcony.

2.  The street vendors (e.g., shoe shiners, street sweepers, guys selling corn on the cob)  in Taksim Square were actually undercover police.  This shocked us, especially since most of them could not have been more than 17 and were not particularly menacing.  

3.  After meeting an American financial executive in the Budapest airport lounge (and subsequently having a hilarious dinner with him and his wife in Istanbul)... he offered Ken a job... hmmm... not ready to quit our travels yet, but it just goes to show how opportunities come your way when you’re not looking!

4.  At the end of the Reggae dancing night I ended up with two salt shakers in my purse, with the obvious result of spilled white salt all over the interior of the bag.  (We now have salt permanently lodged in my camera, glasses, wallet, etc.)  After a few adult beverages we ordered durum kebabs at 5 am, and ironically Kayte (our host) said, “This is amazing but it needs some salt.”  I stealthily reached into my salt-filled purse and pinched salt onto her sandwich.  Classic.

Special thanks to our new friends Kayte and Eric for being such welcoming hosts for us over this last week.  These are friends we will treasure for many years to come.  Plus they introduced us to British comedian Michael McIntyre - we laughed so hard tears streamed down our faces and our stomachs ached with pain.    

Budapest, Hungary

Arriving from Vienna, our first impression of Budapest: “like Vienna, but more bohemian.”  Case in point:

1. Ken arranged for us to stay in an apartment for two nights and the owner told us he would pick us up from the train station.  This was somewhat odd, but we figured, maybe he’s just a nice guy?  His email correspondence said, “I’ll meet you at the beginning of the train.”  Hmmm... kind of vague instructions, right?  We had no idea where the house was located, but sure enough, we stepped off the train in Hungary and he was standing right there on our platform. “Ken?”  he asked, as he picked us out from the crowd.  We piled into his car as he multi-tasked on his iPhone (Ken instantly liked him).  We sped to his neighborhood, where his gave us the keys to his house and even set us up with dinner reservations that night (best goulash ever!).
2. At the ATM on our way to dinner, Ken decided to pull out $US 100 in Hungarian currency -- and the machine spit out one bill (only one bill!) with the value of 20,000 forint.  We laughed -- when the dinner bill came to 8,000 dollars, it felt like we were playing with Monopoly money.  (As a sidenote, Hungary’s long term plan is to replace their currency with the Euro).
3. The following day was “annual trash day,” that is everyone piled junk from their house onto the streets (i.e., broken bookcases, old toilets, flat tires... not your conventional bagged garbage) and we were told, “please ignore the garbage, the gypsies take what they want and then the garbage trucks will come along tomorrow.”  Sure enough, massive junk piles of over ten feet accumulated in the streets but by the next morning the streets were perfectly cleared.

Vienna, Austria

Do you have a fondness towards something but you never really consciously thought, Why?  Maybe it’s potato salad, apple strudel, or hazelnut wafers... something from childhood your grandparents loved, but you didn’t because you were a kid and you preferred McDonald’s?  Now as an adult, you are lured in by the nostalgia and would fain to order the potato salad?

We both instantly felt the connection with the German-speaking Vienna, something subtle in the speech, the decorations, the food.  Our families having collectively hailed from the region (Austria, Poland, Germany), there is a simple familiarity that we couldn’t name but thoroughly appreciated.  

Walking within “the ring” (the center of town) the level of wealth, history, and architecture astounded -- each opulent building more magnificent than the last.  The longing for the past is transparent: art-filled museums, majestic palaces, and horse drawn carriages (for the tourists of course).  The vibe is one of elegance, historical significance, and newly leaning globalization.

Vienna is incredibly easy to get around, with an efficient and cheap public transit system.  I, being geographically inclined, always like to use a map (whereas Ken is a spontaneous wanderer), thus had a comical moment when I put the map into the confines of my purse and Ken took lead navigating us through the winding streets of the inner city.  He kept referring to street signs that said “Einbahn” and saying, “Ok, I know where we’re at now” and he’d confidently lead us towards the direction and I would follow him.  Unbeknownst to him (or me for that matter), the sign is not a street name but simply means “One-Way.”  Even with this minor mis-translation, he seemed to always get us to a pleasant destination.

Another few highlights:

Eating at our favorite restaurant, Figl Muller’s, with schnitzel so large it fell off the plate, our stomachs so full we swore not to eat again (although that didn’t stop us from visiting two nights in a row).

Finding Ken’s great-great aunt’s house via a local family friend.  The house was under construction and she encouraged us, “Just go in and if they question you, just say your grandma lived here.”  We looked once, twice, and then snuck through the construction signs to find a grandiose old mansion the size of a city block under restoration.  (She also told us the new owner was possibly in jail on corruption charges, but that is another story).

Riding the 1897 ferris wheel (you may know it from an episode of the Amazing Race)

Wandering through the gardens of the Schonbrunn Palace (see picture at top of post)

Walking to the Belvedere Museum, home of Gustav Klimt’s famous paintings (minus a few)

48 hours later we’ve agreed: we will definitely come back for a longer visit.  Who knows, maybe I can convince Ken to open a schnitzel house?