whoa!

We apologize for the delay in posting and sudden ambush of stories; the internet over the last fives weeks has been slow and few and far between. The following entries include our most recent departure from India all the way through where we left off after the safari. Happy reading!

p.s. we love comments.

additionally, I apologize for the order in which they were published--there was a technical glitch that should be worked out shortly

Katie's Birthday

To celebrate Katie turning the big double-deuce, the pair set out to go diving for the day. OneOcean, Zanzibar’s 5-star PADI dive center, took us out for two dives nearby Stone Town. The first stop was the Aquarium site, which took us to 18 meters. We saw nice corals, beautiful reef fish, and interesting marine life. Brady spotted a large red snapper before heading up. For lunch we anchored at our second dive site, just south of Bawi Island. We dined on spring rolls, samosas, and fruit. Dive #2 went close to 20 meters. The scenery changed to a coral wall and a stronger current, which sucked up our air and limited us to a 35-minute dive. Nonetheless, Katie spotted a large octopus hiding under some coral. When it finally poked its head out, we measured it at approximately 2 feet so his tentacles could have extended his entire body to about 5 or 6 ft. (we’re glad he didn’t come out any further). Minutes later we got a glimpse of a blue-spotted stingray. Several large reef fish also swam nearby—triggerfish, angelfish, anemone fish, goby, and many more. When looking down to check her air, Katie realized she was right over a green turtle! This was the one animal we both wanted to see. Since there is no dive symbol for elation, Katie did a scuba dance complete with several fist pumps to express her excitement. Since we had to do a 3-minute decompression stop at 5 meters, Katie had to buddy-breath with the dive master since she was extremely low on air. Two enjoyable and successful dives, nonetheless. For the afternoon, we used our honed bargaining skills to purchase some African jewelry and a kikoy. Dinner was at an Italian restaurant on the water where we spent time figuring our where the last year went since we remembered Charleston oh so well....

Stone Town

We were back in Stone Town to spend more time with our friends at the Jambo guesthouse. While the 8th was primarily spent underwater, the following day would include a tour of a local spice farm—apparently a must when you come to Zanzibar. We touched, smelled, and even tasted some of the following in their natural, unprocessed environment: nutmeg, cocoa, tumeric (curry), coriander, cumin, ginger, vanilla, cinnamon, pepper, and more. Afterwards, two local farm boys proposed to us so that we could teach them English and they could visit America. While they were quite persistent, we politely declined. Lunch was at a neighboring spice farm and included a few dishes cooked in almost every spice that we had just seen. We returned back to Stonetown and debated momentarily about taking a boat out to Prison Island since it was late in the afternoon. Meanwhile, the guy at our hotel desk had called a boat captain to pick us up so we said why not. We had jumped on his moped and zipped through the narrow streets and were on the boat across the harbor before we could even realize the decision was made for us. Regardless, it was worth it. Prison Island is famous for its 100+ giant tortoises ranging in age from 1 month to 180 years. These 160-200 kg turtles were a gift in 1919 from the Seychelles where they are endemic. We fed them cabbage, enjoyed their rare company, and headed back in time to catch the sunset before backing for India.

Since we had heard horror stories about the unrealiable ferry ride, we bought cheap plane tickets to Dar es Salaam to ensure we made our international departure for Mumbai. We were supposed to fly out at 12:30, but our crop-duster plane didn't land until 1:45 (almost an hour after we were due to check in). We boarded quickly. Katie had to sit in the last remaining open seat, which happened to be next to the pilot in the cockpit. Twenty minutes later we safely landed in Dar es Salaam and desperately found someone to help us cut corners (since check-in had closed) and run through the immigration and security process in time for final boarding. Whew.

We have nothing but great things to say about our time in Tanzania and Zanzibar was icing on the cake. The experience here exceeded our expectations. We arrived with wire cages on our packs ready to use our money belts, but think that it’s no longer necessary. Now it’s time to face India with the same speculation....

The Art of Bargaining

Bargain shopping in local craft markets is expected, but can be tricky. Most Tanzanians say talking is how they do business so having a 2-minute chat about the piece of art and how much you’re willing to pay is normal. However, it’s hard to answer them when they ask for your lowest price and you know in the back of your head that the average annual salary in Tanzania is $365. Most shopkeepers make more than this because they charge a tourist (or mzungu) price. What locals might pay 2,000 tsh for, we would probably pay 10,000. The situation is somewhat of a catch-22; while you know you’re dickering down their only means of income, you also know they are overcharging you just because they can. The second you pick something up to look at it (all stalls are incredibly crowded with merchandise) or ask how much it costs, you’re hassled about purchasing it until you decide to politely walk away. Sometimes, though, you might have to be more firm. Brady has been chased down the street with a guy trying to sell her something she didn’t want. Another separate time, a line of stalls heard she was looking for something in particular so every one of them had that item picked out as we walked by. In Dar es Salaam, they ask you in a soft desperate voice to support mama’s shop. It’s hard to not buy something, but we’re having trouble as it is carrying things around. The good news is that most every shop sells the same items; therefore, it's best to shop around before immediately settling on the first one you see. That way you can use your research as leverage to get the price you intend to pay--if they don't agree then feel free to move on because someone will. We felt bad at first about bargaining a lot until we sat beside a Zanzibar shop owner on the way to Mumbai for holiday (which means they can't be doing too badly). Regardless, whether or not you think you have the skills and charisma to bargain--they know the right things to say so that you leave genuinely feeling like you received, what they call a "goody" price.

Ode to Cholo's

Cholo’s is an open-air beach bar nestled along Nungwi beach on the northern tip of Zanzibar. Made entirely of old dhows (local wooden sailboats), the bar brings in a variety of travelers searching for a relaxing atmosphere and the epitome of paradise. When you order the cocktail, Passion under a Palm Tree, the bartenders are quick to respond, which one [palm tree]? They keep their beer chilled in an antique bath tub and their cash register is an old toilet strapped to a palm tree. You’ve got to come here barefoot because the sand looks and feels like soft flour, which is great to wiggle between your toes. There are hammocks for the anti-social or couples interested in catching a sunset intermingled with dining-hall style benches made of boats for large groups. Reggae music thumps in the background while Muslims, Rastafarians, travelers, and locals all gather together to take advantage of the carefree environment. A bonfire is lit for appeal, but it’s never cold. You can choose to talk for hours or simply enjoy the crashing of small waves as you sip a fruity cocktail from Harry’s fresh coconuts. We came here at least 5 times in 3 days and were not too happy that we had to leave.

Nungwi

Nungwi is a small town on the northern tip of the island. We found a budget bungalow practically on the water that we shared with a Canadian guy and his mom to lower costs. The white-sand beaches and turquoise blue waters were perfect for the R-and-R we needed fresh off of Kilimanjaro. The first day even a rain cloud couldn’t ruin things. Instead we caught a 30-minute, full-body massage for less than $5!
For one day we took a snorkel trip to Mnemba Atoll off of the island's eastern coast, which is well-known for its beautiful white-sand beaches and abundant reef life. The boat stopped halfway down the beach to pick up a huge tuna fish that would later be barbecued on the beach for lunch. We snorkeled for a couple hours and enjoyed smooth sailing on our return since the wind was perfect for putting out the sail. Rasta Mike hung out with us and some Swiss boys on the upper deck where we enjoyed the sun and refreshing breeze. That night our Danish friends and a British boy went to dinner where we celebrated Katie's birthday three days early. Complete with a monkey "birthday" hat, spiced cake with candles, a crazy waiter (that would only whisper or talk in a high-pitched squeal), and a wasted Rasta singing "Happy Birthday" in Swahili--the celebration was nothing short of entertaining. Cholo's even topped it off with a complimentary, yet perverted-themed drink. The other day was spent relaxing on the beach or catching up on the blog at our office--a daybed at a restaurant on the water--not bad for "work". We walked down the beach and got a glimpse of locals hard at work building dhows, which sail out in a large fleet right before sunset and do not return until dawn the following day. We shortened that excursion to a sunset cruise with our friend Ndumi (sounds like do-me). We sailed along the beach all the way down to Kendwa and back to watch the pink, orange, and golden sky change hues and fade away. Nungwi is therapeutic.

Zanzibar

Zanzibar is a small Muslim island in the Indian Ocean off of the coast of Tanzania. The main city here is Stonetown, which is known for its mesmerizing mix of European, African, American, Indian, and Arabian style and influence. The old center of Stonetown lacks any signs or direction, leaving a visitor to decipher the maze of streets and alleyways. Men in long white robes and embroidered caps can be seen riding bicycles or playing a native beans and board game. Women cool off in the ocean fully clothed and fishermen work hard for a variety of different catch on their handmade wooden dhows (sailboats). The food and vegetable market overwhelms the senses with swarming flies, strong anchovies, and several local spices. Life here is simple and enjoyed.

We spent our first day here wandering around to get a feel for the island's character, but got lost..several times. Ali (makes it easy since 1/2 of the names here are Muhammad or Ali) at the Jambo guesthouse walked us around the town and gave us an easy route to memorize so that we could find our way back. He even walked us through the nightly garden market along the water. Fishermen cook a variety of fresh seafood--squid, baracuda, tuna, octopus, lobster, prawns and more--that are organized on skewers and by type so that tourists and locals can shop for their dinner or even a late-night snack since it doesn't shut down until after midnight.

Mumbai

We selected a hotel in Colaba near the harbor and celebrated our adventure by treating ourselves at McDonald’s. To see if it was even possible, we decided to pay 100 rs to watch a guy attempt to write an extremely long name on a grain of rice (5 words). This immediately made us a target to buy every cheap and odd/random souvenir in the entire city. The next day we made a quick stop at the Gateway of India and Taj Mahal Hotel to check them off on the “1,000 places to see before you die”. For the most part, though, we took it easy.
Our final days in Mumbai were spent running a couple of errands--mailing a parcel and getting some laundry done both of which are quite interesting processes. Laundry is sent off to the dhobi-wallahs where it is washed in the river and beaten clean before it's pressed perfectly and all pieces are returned. While they wash them with millions of other garments, they have a discreet marking system to ensure the loads are separated accordingly at the end. Mailing an international parcel brought us back to the 1800s. Our packages were boxed and wrapped outside of the building. We wrote our addresses in large lettering with black Sharpies knowing the package would endure a lot in the next two months since we were shipping it by sea. We waited patiently for the end of customs' lunch break before starting the 11-step process of approval. Our poor little package of souvenirs was opening, inspected, taped and sewn shut, stamped and signed, and then sealed with tar at every seam. Then, it was weighed and slapped with a barcode as if to remind us that we really are in the 21st century. Over 2 hours later, we left very pleased to know that we would never have to do that again.

With the stale smell of urine, extensive pollution, intense hassling, constant stares, and non-stop honking; India is a sensory overload. The pungent mix of smells and in-your-face commotion makes India a haven for descript adjectives that attempt to capture this country’s unique and vivid character—something that can only be fathomed by a walk down its bustling streets. We admit to seeing some beautiful places and overcoming challenges that made us stronger, more mature travelers. Being relentlessly vigilant and guarded can exhaust warm, genuine personalities. However, we learned that opening doors makes you vulnerable to India’s unfortunate corruption. After all of the chaos that this country put us through, at least we can say that we maintained a sense of humor and lived to tell about it. While we are still glad that we chose to come, we are also anxious for a return to normalcy. Meanwhile, the images of India’s widespread poverty will be a permanent and grateful reminder that we are merely fortunate travelers here temporarily to experience the reality and diversity of the world. Ironically, the deceptive driver in Jaipur told us: life is a journey and not a destination.

p.s. Brady stayed true to herself and safely maintained use of her left hand

Jaisalmer

The Golden City was a breath of fresh (but steamy and still smelly) air compared to Jaipur. Since we had absolutely no energy to search for a hotel, the first that offered within our budget was it. We ended up getting a spacious, air-cool room for the equivalent of less than $3 per person a night. We spent the rest of the day moaning at our intense stomach pains and being really angry.
The next we thought we would seek refuge on camel safari in the middle of the Thar Desert (only 60 miles from Pakistan!). We headed out of town on a paved road through the barren desert countryside dodging goats, cows, and camels along the way. We listened to Rajasthani gyspy music and stopped at an Indian truck stop, which after looking around, we decided it was officially the most random place we had ever been and was deserving of a picture. Our driver said that we would stop here because it was a nice shop, but the giant, hopping rats convinced us otherwise. Upon stopping at a local hut, gypsy kids swarmed the car doors to get a glimpse at all of our western gadgets and skin. We drove to the sand dunes to meet our camels and go on an evening ride before sunset. Katie’s camel was a bit intoxicated, running her into almost every bush nearby. We were warned by many people that the camel-riding experience can be erotic and arousing—it wasn’t, but we definitely joked about it anyways. We watched the sunset, enjoyed our first non-toxic Indian air, and chatted with fellow backpackers over dinner. We slept under a blanket of bright stars, even catching several shooting stars as we talked ourselves to sleep, hoping desperately that the giant black beetles didn’t crawl on us in the middle of the night. We rode camels for another hour in the morning and caught a Jeep back into town.
That afternoon, it was blistering hot; we found our desert oasis in a hotel’s pool, which we basked in for several hours. That night we had dinner at a Tibetan restaurant overlooking the city with the only non-couples traveling in India. For our last day in Jaisalmer, we explored the city’s fort that is full of narrow alleyways similar to Venice and packed with shops and hotels. There is little traffic (what a relief) inside the fort’s walls—only stubborn cows and persistent salesmen block the pathways. The architecture inside has intricately-carved sandstone façades and the market carts around the walls have burlap roofs and large wooden wheels—definitely a snapshot from several thousands years ago.

We had a 5 pm scheduled departure for Ahmedabad on an 11-hour sleeper bus, which would connect us to our train to Mumbai. Crazy Mr. J (our hotel owner) booked our tickets for this journey reassuring us it was a route taken by many. Still skeptical, we asked around and got similar answers. Since it was the most direct way to Bombay, we decided to hop on board. Waiting at the bus station, we were exposed to the worst of Indian touts. A solo Western traveler had at least 10 men swarming her with hotel options before she could even really get off the bus. Brady was screamed at by one them for offering the girl her recommendation. The men persisted for several minutes, shouting, pointing, and pushing to be the center of her attention. At one point, a fight even broke out—the situation was beyond ridiculous. Because there was absolutely no way to know when the bus we were taking had arrived or left (unless you read/spoke Hindi), we missed it by only a minute. We grabbed our bags and stuffed them into a rickshaw that whizzed us down the road to catch up. Luckily, we made it. We promptly received what would end up being never-ending stares from every passenger on the bus who just happened to be an Indian male—it was going to be a long ride. We took our “seats” which in reality was a filthy (rivaling that of a public toilet) double-bed platform above the seats. Thankfully, there was a window to open and a curtain to close. Then, the rattling began. After several hours of experimenting with every possible position to get comfortable (while minimizing contact with the disgusting seat), we decided it was the worst traveling experience we had. Somehow we managed to laugh about it, probably because the shock and actuality of the situation was too hard to believe. Needless to say, you get what you pay for. And while we did take the budget option (instead of a $100+ plane ticket), we are guaranteed to expect more expensive chiropractic bills in the future. It was only appropriate that Brady said the following:

“I don’t feel like I’m doing the world anymore; the world is doing me and it is not consensual.”

The bus flew for hours down a bumpy, dirt road causing it to sway and us to question our sanity. Nonetheless, we made it. We wondered why everyone was awake at 4:30 am when we arrived. Minutes later that was answered by the thousands of people carrying decorated Ganesh sculptures on their way to drown him in the river. This is a common Hindi festival to celebrate the deity Ganesh. We peeled ourselves out of the bus and creaked slowly to the train station to wait on no sleep for three hours before boarding a 9-hour train to Bombay. It sounds miserable and it was. We smelled terrible and probably looked even worse, but we can say we made it. We were skeptical about our train seats since they were dissimilar to previous ones. Rightfully so, when we boarded the train we were put in the second to lowest train class, sandwiched on benches between hundreds of Indians in an un-air-conditioned car (we’ll let you imagine the lovely smells that permeated this area). Unable to imagine ourselves in this situation any longer, we fought for thirty minutes to upgrade our ticket. This involved getting out of the train during a stop and running (luggage in-tow) down seven cabins and hopping on as soon as it started moving. We proceeded to walk up and down several cars in search for a conductor that could give us any sign of hope. No vacancy in AC—go figure. However, there was room in a fan-only cell that we still had to share with other locals. They called this first-class, but we failed to see any remote reason why this was the case. After 23 hours of travel, no sleep, and more than a day without a full meal; we arrived in Mumbai.

Jaipur

Since the train from Agra to Jaipur is notoriously unreliable regarding timetables, we hopped on a “deluxe” AC bus for a 5+ hour ride to Rajasthan. We arrived at night at got lucky with a last-minute room at the Hotel Pearl Palace, which is usually always booked thanks to its extremely high approval rating from Hostelworld and Lonely Planet. Rightfully so, it’s full of art and fun design; plus, its rooftop restaurant boasts delicious food, eclectic furniture, and great views of the city. Jaipur, also known as the Pink City, is the capital of Rajasthan and the country's first planned city. We decided to use the driver recommended to us by Sonu since he only charged 30 rs per hour on a rickshaw. He took us first to the Hawa Mahal, which is the Palace of the Winds; however, it didn’t provide enough of a breeze to relieve the heat. We’ve found ourselves going through more liters of water than when we climbed Kilimanjaro. The next stop was an elaborate tomb outside of the old city walls. It was symmetrical, similar to the Taj Mahal, but instead had detailed marble carvings and no inlay work. It drives Katie crazy when she has to take a picture in order to avoid crooked images—perfectionism in extreme heat gets annoying. Beggar kids followed us around the entire time, constantly asking us to take a picture of them so they could demand rupees—we weren’t falling for that one again. Brady’s cynicism reached a fever pitch when she said, “You’re not a professional model.” Then she began lecturing the children about ways to earn money through actual work. It was funny. We’ve noticed that tourists here wear Alibaba pants, similar to ones worn by Aladdin. Their baggy balloon shape looks a little ridiculous, but they’re quite breezy and comfortable so we sought out to find a pair that afternoon.
Our driver, Krishna, had an art studio with a great view of one of the main city streets that would host the annual festival that evening. We staked out the premier spot on the rooftop overlooking the vibrantly colored crowds below. The lowest caste kicked off the parade carrying huge decorated totem poles that required a bevy of spotters to make sure they didn’t fall. Men dressed as Arabian horses followed then a procession of almost unidentifiable elephants strolled by. They were covered in jewelry, bright paint, ribbons, decorated cloth drapes, and a turban-topped driver. One elephant even had bright pink-painted toenails. Camels came shortly after intermixed with several brass instrument bands and Arabian dancers, some on giant stilts. The end of the parade was a group of men cloaked in red carrying a Hindu god in a carriage, which people threw coins at for whatever reason. While we waited for the massive crowds to clear the street, we browsed through some traditional Indian artwork. Here we were introduced to the elephant-headed, mouse-riding Hindu god Ganesh, who protects people from obstacles in life. We also learned why the swastika is painted all over India. The Hindu symbol (inverted in Germany) means good luck. To celebrate Independence Day, we went out to a nice dinner with Krishna and his friend, Vicki. They were both eager to show us genuine Indian hospitality after hearing about our hassles in Agra. We didn’t mind giving people here a second chance. We ended up having the best Indian food to date and got to taste a variety of local curries in a traditional Rajasthani thali dish.
The next morning we went to visit Amber Fort—a large maze-like fortress perched on a steep hill overlooking Jaipur. We got lost several times trying to find our way around, because yet again, we were too cheap to hire a guide. Krishna then took us up the road to an exclusive, tourist-free elephant farm where we got to play with a 2-week old baby elephant. At first he was shy and hid underneath his mother, but gradually he came out to explore with his trunk. We laughed as he got a sandal stuck on his nose and knocked over all empty chairs to show-off his destructive abilities. After feeding them several banana bunches, we got to ride one down the road and back. By this point, we were feeling weak and exhausted so we asked Krishna to take us back to the hotel so that we could rest. By that evening, we still weren’t feeling any better, but reluctantly went to see the sunset at Monkey Temple. The next day we had intentions to head west towards Jaiselmer, but were feeling much worse. Luckily, the train didn’t leave until midnight; therefore, we had all day to hope it passed us by. We even paid for an extra night so that we didn’t have to move until we absolutely had to. From that point, we might as well have just strapped a toilet to ourselves for the next three days. After enduring an extensive guilt trip, we made a narrow escape on the train only to find out when we arrived in Jaiselmer that they are notorious members of the Indian mafia who spend their time scamming tourists with their benevolence. Turns out that they had poisoned our nice dinner as an attempt to have us stay longer in Jaipur and potentially accept their generous offerings. To make a long story short, their kindness was an elaborate and expensive attempt to gain our trust, which would then be used against us to take part in an illegal gem scam. This, apparently, would strip us of everything we owned. Little did they know, this wasn’t much. The red flags started popping up when they offered us a role in a Bollywood movie, a complimentary car ride to Jaiselmer, and their company to Bombay via plane a few days later. We had been warned of several different tourist scams, but never one this convoluted and manipulative. Fortunately, we escaped with nothing but a crash Indian diet and a hard lesson learned: do not trust anyone here.
The train ride was a grueling 13 hours, but we managed to sleep most of the time.

Agra

A local guide in Agra convinced us to hire him for the day and he’d show us the sites. Since our Lonely Planet was taken on the train, we decided this wouldn’t be a terrible investment. First stop was the Taj Mahal at sunrise. Sunrise; however, was nonexistent because of the smog so instead it was just the Taj Mahal really early, which was still nice because there were no crowds. 35,000 people per day (mostly Indians) visit this world wonder, but over one million came for this past weekend to celebrate Shah Jejan’s birthday and enjoy free entry. To be a tomb, the monument is quite impressive. Every aspect of its design is meticulously symmetrical except for one flaw. Shah Jejan was imprisoned after building the Taj for his wife’s cenotaph because of its outrageous price. He died before building his tomb and is therefore placed beside his wife (who is in the center) which offsets the balance of his strategic masterpiece. There is rumor that Shah Jejan cut off the arms and stabbed the eyes of the 22,000 people who built the Taj Mahal so that it could not be reproduced or outdone; however, we learned this was false and that the laborers were actually paid quite well. The marble monument took 20 years to complete—all for love (gag). Here we were also introduced to the odd trend of men wanting to take their pictures with us. One would shyly approach us and request just one photo, but then 15 of them would line up and begin the rotation as we stood there and smiled like Mickey Mouse. We were in at least 50 pictures by the end of the day.
The rest of Agra was a shopping nightmare. He took us to a carpet-making cottage industry where we got to see the process from design to wool spinning to the tying of knots, cleaning, and trimming. 288 knots per square inch is the desired amount for a quality, handmade carpet. The operation is subsidized by the government and gives jobs to local villagers outside of Agra. Then the made entertained us with Chai and soda in the carpet-viewing room where we wondered how to escape without buying one. No worries though, Katie took one for the team and broke down to buy a wall-hanging rug. The high-pressure selling techniques and guilt trips are not for the soft-hearted. Now it was Brady’s turn. We were then taken to a marble inlay shop where we watched another demonstration and thrown into another sales pitch—this time for a $2,000 table. The technique; however, was the same used to build the Taj Mahal, which was interesting to see on a smaller scale. Brady managed to tiptoe out by reluctantly purchasing a small marble carving of a Hindu deity. For some reason everyone here thinks we have tons of money to spend. Perhaps this is why the begging children tap and touch us for urgent attention. There are no road rules here so a couple times we even drove down the wrong way honking our horn at oncoming traffic. Additionally, at any given moment there is one or more of the following causing some sort of traffic jam and reason to honk: auto-rickshaws, buses, children, tractors, donkeys, cars, motorcycles, bikes, carts, cows, camels...you name it. After paying almost $50 in entry fees, we joked that we had been “rupeed” (a play on words with the date rape drug). Other stops included Agra Fort and Itimadud-Daula, which is known as the “baby Taj”. It was a long and intense first day so we made it an early night. Our cue to leave Agra was the following day when our driver and gem-scamming travel agent propositioned us to stay longer (2 separate times) for inappropriate reasons. The advice for women to wear a fake wedding in India is a good one, but unfortunately won’t stop most men from trying or at least giving a dirty look.

India

We arrived in Mumbai (Bombay) at 2 am on August 11th. Mr. Deepak of Highway Residency Hotel kindly greeted us with a sign that read, Mr. Laura Brady. When we got to the hotel, there were some complications with our booking since we needed a room for the night of the 10th, but technically arrived on the 11th. Since the hotel was full, they had set up a makeshift room in their office for a discounted price, which was fine with us. However, mid-way through the night Katie looked up to see a hand coming through the window and grasping the curtain. Startled, she woke Laura from her slumber only to have had him disappear. We shut the window that we didn’t know was open and finally made it to sleep.
The next morning, we hopped in an auto-rickshaw and made our way to the train station to decipher the ticket-purchasing process. Across the street we eyed a McDonald’s, but getting there was something like crossing the last lap of the Indy 500 with several hundred cars on the track. Dodging auto-rickshaws, taxis, cars, buses, and cows; we made it only to find that the Hindu culture doesn’t eat beef so there were no burgers. Nonetheless, we enjoyed French fries and soft serve, which was quite a lovely treat. With the recent, heavy flooding in India, we were concerned about the monsoon season, but so far we have not encountered any problems. At 5:30 we got a taxi to drive us across town to the train station. Here, we got our first feel for the extent of India’s poverty—it’s almost indescribable. The porter at the train station directed us to the correct platform and waiting area, which we could have technically found ourselves. Regardless, they don’t take no for an answer and stand there looking at you until you give them money. First time—no big deal, but wait until helper #36 wants money for lack of services rendered and you’ll surprisingly be short several hundred rupees at the end of the day. We boarded a train for Agra at 7:40 knowing that we wouldn’t get off until almost 24 hours later. Once it arrived, we were startled to find hundreds of Indians making a mad dash towards the car. Katie thought they were running to take our seat and Laura thought we were being left—turns out, that was just open seating and we had a 6x3 ft. bunk in AC2 class with our name on it (not literally). Everyone says riding a train in India is an experience; ours was a 2-year old, non-stop screaming child and constant, perverted stares from bored men.

Safari

Day 1
Feeling refreshed and clean, we boarded a caravan of Land Cruisers from Bushbuck Safaris and headed towards Tarangire National Park. Upon entering we saw a herd of zebra running into a pond with wildebeest. Our off-road vehicles were outfitted with the classic safari pop-top, which allowed us to stand on our seats and hang out the roof of the car for a great view and cool breeze. After driving further, we saw giraffes, impala, warthogs, and got stuck behind an elephant on the road. We watched vultures swarm over Africa's native acacia tree. The park was also full of Boabab trees, some of which were over 1,000 years old. It was hard to believe we were driving through the African plains since yesterday we were still on the mountain, but it was great to watch the animals in their natural habitat. Lunch involved a close and very entertaining encounter with baboons. Several of them hung around the picnic site, which we thought was neat until they stole our food. Laura tried a kicking motion to scare them away, but at this point they went from sneaking up to charging. Within seconds they had snagged a sandwhich, cake, an apple, fruit juice, and a Twix bar. 30 minutes later they ambushed Rick and Valerie with the large male baboon grabbing two boxes and running away. Valerie also tried the kicking motion, but again, he ran off with one in his mouth and the other tucked underneath his arm. Humans 0; Baboons 2. We surrendered and left. After an afternoon game drive, we learned more about the flora and fauna of the area. Then we checked into the Sopa Lodge, which is situated in the middle of the park with no fence allowing animals to roam freely on its grounds (also why you have personal escorts to your door after dark).

Day 2
The next morning we drove to Lake Manyara. On the way out of the park we got 'yelled' at by an elephant for tailgating (not your typical road rage!). In the lake's national park we saw herds of buffalo and a pool of hippos. While they weigh approximately 3 tons, they can run up to 40 kph and poop 15 kg per day. Katie saw a 4 ft. black spit cobra jump into the air and dive into a nearby bush as we drove by. The vegetation in this are was much more lush and dense. We had lunch at the luxurious Serena Lodge and drove 2 hours to the Ngorongoro Crater. We stopped briefly at a Masai boma to learn about their tribe. We watched warriors do a traditional jumping dance (Rick thinks Coach K should recruit here) and the women do a separate dance. They were all cloaked in blue and red chukas (cloth wraps) and elaborate beaded necklaces and bracelets. They have a unique ear-piercing practice where the ear lobe can stretch up to two inches long. We received a tour inside their dung huts and learned their meals consist primarily of meat, blood, and milk. We decided to leave their home after Brady almost spilt the gourd of milk thinking it was a maraca. Even though they have stuck to many of their tribal traditions, many have adapted the modern use of a cell phone. We thought it was interesting to be exposed to their way of life. We made our final stop of the day at the Sopa Lodge nestled on the edge of the crater's rim, which was high in elevation and made for a chilly night.

Day 3
Within minutes of driving along the bottom of the crater, a male lion was headed straight for our car. It was a big adrenaline rush to see him stroll only inches by us! We were lucky to catch them in action since they are known to sleep 22 hours per day. After exitedely updating the cybercast, we found even more around the corner. In the crater's saltwater lake, we saw resident flamingoes (in late August the migration brings in millions), more hippoes, cape buffalo, thomson's gazelle and two very distant rhinos. Along with 13 other vehicles, we followed 2 cheetah on the prey. Unfortunately, because of the audience they avoided an attack on the zebra across the road who were vigilantly watching their every move. Lucky for us, our driver thought he had to be in front and has an eagle eye for spotting hard-to-find animals. We then drove the 2 hours out of the crater and to the Serengeti--the bumpiest and dustiest ride of our life. We got a flat tire right beside two jackals devouring the carcass of a thomson's gazelle that appeared to be hit by a car. Two hyenas tried moving in on the feast, but were too scared by our presence. Minutes later a cheetah walked right in front of our car. The Serengeti is spotted with hills of boulders that serve as animal dens and look exactly like a scene from the Lion King.
That night we enjoyed our last dinner as a group and John presented us with Kilimanjaro certificates signed by our guides and the national park warden--proof for all of you at home who don't think we made it.

Day 4
We had a short game drive in the morning before catching a puddle-jumper from the Serengeti to Arusha. We drove very slowly, gazing at every tree, but didn't have any luck spotting a leopard. We did see a pride of lions resting under a tree with their cubs and several more giraffe and elephants. The airstrip had a car that would drive before incoming and outgoing flights in order to remove the animals from the dirt runway. While most people had to organize their luggage before catching late flights, we had the opportunity to do some local market shopping with our friend Kitambi. That night we took two of our Tanzanian guides, Michael and Eric, out to dinner in order to see them one last time. It was a great end to our trip. (many thanks, Rick!)

Kilimanjaro

Day 1

We arrived at the Macheme Gate a little before noon to check in with the National Park. The Alpine Ascents group included 16 hikers: Lou, Patrice, Marissa, Greg, Ted, and Jennifer from California; Paul and Katy from Florida (doing Climb for Cancer); Martha and Valerie from Arizona; David from NJ; Lilliana from Canada and the NC crew; Rick, Dawn and us. Our expedition also included 85 staff members, which includes porters, waiters, cooks, and local guides. The porters carry various loads on their heads and backs as the run past us to the next camp, oftentimes only wearing dress shoes, sandals, ragged socks, trousers, or hand-me-down outdoor gear from previous climbers. The climb started at 1800 meters and by the time we reached Macheme Hut 6 hours later, we had reached 3000 meters. Lunch was a pleasant surprise. At the gate, we received what they called trail snacks, which we thought was lunch; however, a few hours later we were greeted by the staff that had set up a picnic lunch with tables, chairs, silverware, and tons of food and drink options ranging from Milo, hot tea, African coffee, and fresh fruit, sandwiches, cheese, U.S. imported Pringles, and chips and cookies. We can’t forget to mention the flowers decorating the center of the table that was the icing on the cake as other hikers walked by with boxed lunches and looks of envy and dismay. The scenery was lush jungle with squishy mud. Our Alpine Ascents’ guide, John Hauf, set a slow pace; what the porters reiterate as “pole, pole” (slowly). Everyone was initially surprised, but would soon realize it was necessary for the remainder of the week as we ascended to higher altitudes. By the time we arrived at camp, everything was set up for us, including our dining and private toilet tents. Dinner was leek soup, steamed vegetables and potatoes, pepper steak with tomato sauce, and muffins drizzled in caramel. Yes, we were spoiled. We tried a pee funnel for the first time since bush bathrooms are female friendly. It quickly received the name, Wenis, short for, well you can figure that one out. By the end of the first day, we regained the confidence we needed to make it to the top after a nervous start.

Day 2
We were awakened at 7 am by the waiters who provided us with “tent tea” and cookies—the closest you can get to room service on Kilimanjaro. The scenery today changed to less vegetation with much more rocks and dust. We went through the moorlands yesterday ascending through the heath zone today and up into the lower alpine. We’ve now climbed above the majority of the clouds, which creates a fluffy blanket look that appears incredibly soft. Other clouds linger overhead and seem to follow us up the mountain providing a cool mist and minimal visibility. The hike today involved a rock scramble as we made our ascent another 1000 meters to the Shira Plateau. We were welcomed by our porters who were singing, dancing, and chanting; congratulating us on our arrival to camp. Again, we received the jealous looks of the other 200 people at camp. Our campsite looks up at Kibo, Kilimanjaro’s summit, which is stunning, exciting, and intimidating all at the same time. Some people have begun to feel the effects of the altitude, appropriately calling it the Kilimanjaro hangover.

Day 3
By this point, we’ve had to change from shorts and shirt attire to warmer gear. Although John originally joked we would only have porridge for breakfast, we would soon learn it was the first of four courses: sausage, eggs, toast, and fruit. The porters like us more and more every day because the entire group consumes 200 lbs of food daily that they would otherwise have to carry. They also enjoy our enthusiasm as they whiz pass us; thanking them with high fives or “mambo, poa”. Today we rose to over 15,000 feet, which was an altitude record for most members of our group. Rick and Katie climbed Lava Tower as an optional side hike to get even higher and see a beautiful view of the surrounding mountain and its glaciers. While we made it this high, we descended two hours to camp low as a strategy for acclimatization. It was a 2 hour descent through a rocky gorge with Dr. Seuss-like tree called senicios to the Barranco Camp at elevation 3950m. Once again, we were greeted by the entire group of porters chanting to welcome us to camp. It was our longest day so far—8 hours of hiking—so most of us crashed early. The stars were bright, and the glaciers had a glow about them as the mountain towered overhead.

Day 4
We were all excited to learn that today would be a shorter day of hiking. At 8am we started up the Barranco Wall, which John described as climbing a ramp, but in reality it was much more like climbing up a cliff. We’ve chosen ClimbMed as our team name because Alpine is so good to us but we all joke that ClimbOnMeds would be a truer statement. Brady had a very successful wenis pee today so the fear is gone. It’s just a hassle. Peeing is a big deal around here because it is a dehydration test; it should be clear and copious, John says. After a long walk through what looked like volcanic rock interspersed with flowers, we saw a long uphill climb ahead. We were told that lunch was just at the top so we took it step by step, pole pole, and in 30 min were greeted by our singing and dancing porters. Other groups were filming their dance this time and everyone in our group joined in a circle and danced with them to their Swahili song --another amazing welcome. We wish we could take them home with us to wake us up every morning. It inevitably puts a smile on your face. Lunch was amazing as usual and the food on the mountain is surprisingly delicious. They managed to bake a cake without an oven, and out comes soup, steak, and four other options from a small tent! We are now at the Karanga Camp at 3950m, which is also known as peanut camp because 100 yrs ago an elephant made the climb up and left his skeleton as an ominous sign for the thousands of hikers that attempt the mountain. Tonight it got pretty cold, and heavy winds blew a dusty dirt in and around everything. Most groups skip over this camp and head straight to high camp arriving in the evening and attempting summit at midnight. This strategy, however, greatly decreases your chances of making it to the top because of the altitude.

Day 5
Today was another steady, uphill climb in fog to high camp. The scenery lacked almost any vegetation and consisted mostly of more dirt and slate. We made it to Barafu high camp at 4600 meters for lunch, but continued on to Cosovo camp 300 meters higher where we would nap before attempting the summit. Alpine has the exclusive privilege to camp high because of park connections and their leave no trace behind practice. We were all glad we saved an hour of hiking during the day because there were some tricky rock faces we wouldn’t want to climb in the dark. At camp we had a group meeting to discuss necessary gear, preparations, and our plan of action for our 12:000 (no later!) departure. We loaded up on carbs for dinner and had an early breakfast at 11:15 after a brief and anxious nap.

Summit Day
Two layers of long underwear, fleece pants and jacket, shell pants and parka with a down jacket and Goretex gloves, balaclava and a warm hat and we were ready to go. John made sure we stayed in a group as long as possible because this proves to help morale and the overall success rate. August, the person setting the pace for our climb, had reached the summit over 250 times since he was 9 so we were confident in our strategy. While everyone initially used their headlamps for direction and light, the full moon, bright stars, and clear skies was enough to the lead the way. Our breaks were few and far between, but it was enough time to drink and refuel. John kept saying, “If you can make it to Stella Point you can make it to the summit.” We all had our eyes on Stella Point, which seemed to get further and further away the longer we climbed. As sunrise approached we could see head lamps at the top and we were no where near Stella Point. The air got thinner, but we could only tell because we were having to take deeper and deeper breaths—almost 2 per step. At first we thought the pace was ridiculously slow, but learned persistence and endurance were the keys to success. The steep climb was also exhausting because every step we took, the loose rocks and dirt would make us slide back a little. We watched several groups fly past us, gasping for air, only to see them having to turn around before reached Stella Point. We’d ask John, “how much further?”, but he would be vague, which was good because if we knew the truth we would probably have turned around. The guides were great—John would whistle and the others would sing and cheer us on while walking alongside our single file, close-knit line, almost as if they were herding us. We finally reached Stella Point and hour after sunrise. There was an incoherent hiker being carried down from the summit because he could no longer walk. Rick squirted some GU in his mouth and sent him on his way down the mountain. The view of the crater was amazing and it gave us renewed faith that we could make it the extra 45 min to the summit. We walked through the snow past the glaciers to the summit. The sign read: “Congratulations you are now at Uhuru [Freedom] Peak, Tanzania, 5895M, AMSL; Africa’s highest point, the world’s tallest free-standing mountain, and one of the world’s largest volcanoes”. At 19,340 feet and after having hiked a total of 61 kilometers, there were feelings of delirious joy. Lou surprised Patrice with a marriage proposal, which added to the excitement of the moment. 100% of our group made it to the top--congratulations to everyone! After 8 hours of climbing, we realized the hike was much more mental than physical—you had to make yourself go slower than your body thought it should be going and continue for quite a while, step by step. The day was far from being over. The loose dirt that gave us trouble going up, helped us slide down the mountain and back to high camp in 2 hours. There was little time to pack things up and grab a bite to eat in the snowstorm that blanketed our camp. We were off at 1:30 pm to descend to 3100 meters to Maweka Hut, which would be our last night in tents and without showers. The descent took much longer we expected because hiking downhill was actually hard on our already exhausted bodies. It didn’t help that the path had heaps of uneven rocks that made every step an opportunity to twist an ankle. For our last night, the chefs made a traditional African meal and a celebratory cake. We were glad the long haul was over and looked forward to being clean, but it was going to be hard to say goodbye.

Day 7
After sleeping like rocks, we all woke up a little sore. We could see the summit from camp and it was hard to believe we were on top only the day before. After talking to Erik for four hours about mixing banana and pancakes, Brady received an ndizi chapati made to order from the chefs who were excited to try her suggestion. We set out for our final hike with Frenk as our guide. While John said the hike would only be about 1 ½, we realized that was porter speed and instead took us three hours to get down. There was an elaborate celebration at the bottom: one last cheer from the porters, a glass of fresh juice, a white tent with catered food, a string band, free beer, and a man cleaning boots. We sang and danced with the porters until the final group came down. For the last time, we received jealous glares from other hikers checking out as we sipped on Kilimanjaro beers and stuffed our faces. Rick wanted to show his appreciation so he said ashante sana to all the porters and staff while they were together. To emphasize his gratitude, he bowed to them with his arms as if to say we owe you and couldn’t have done it without you, but that communication got lost in translation. Instead, all 85 of them sat in unison thinking that’s what he wanted. He clarified and started yelling yea! with a fist pump in the air and they all joined in—it was great! We loaded up in a bus and headed back to Arusha with two things on our mind: laundry and showers. We soaked in soapy water for a while to get the dirt out of all cracks and crevices of our bodies. It would be fair to compare it to a greasy pan you have to let sit in water for a while before you scrub and washed it...more than once. Today confirmed our satisfaction with Alpine Ascents—we can’t imagine a better company. Looking at others take the same climb, we know Alpine played a large role in the enjoyment and success of our trip.

Dar es Salaam

Dar Es Salaam is the capital of Tanzania and the country’s largest city. We stayed here at the local YWCA for 2 days before flying to Arusha. Our accommodation resembled an insane asylum complete with a fan, lock, and mosquito, but no AC or hot water. On the way to dinner, Katie fell in a giant hole in the middle of the road trying to avoid an oncoming dalla dalla (local bus that is the size of an old Volkswagen van and fits 20 plus people). Her wound attracted the attention of our very kind waiters who highly recommended she clean it with mentholated spirits (mind you, the 100% alcohol we put on our feet to harden the skin before Kili). It stung like hell, but healed nicely after attracting more than 30 mosquitoes. No malaria, yet. We both enjoyed a Kilimanjaro beer for dinner—it’s tagline was classic: “as refreshing as the people who drink it.” We tried exploring the city the next morning, but realized we had no idea where we going or how to find anything. The YWCA has a local canteen where we enjoyed Tanzanian cuisine after, of course, a Swahili lesson that enabled us to read the menu. Wali kuku=chicken and rice. Even if the entire room is empty, locals enjoy sitting at mzungu’s (white people) table to practice their English. In return, we got some great advice about how to spend our time in Dar without our trusty Lonely Planet guidebook. We befriended a taxi driver named Choro who drove us to the Village Museum, where you can watch a tribal dance and see a variety of huts from all regions in Tanzania. We paid for his entry (80 cents for locals, $4 for mzungus) because he had never been and would otherwise have waited outside for us. We were the object of about 100 curious eyes when we walked in. A large school group couldn’t stop smiling and looking at us since we were the only two mzungus there. Once we smiled back, all they wanted to do was touch us and show off their English skills. We spent the rest of the afternoon in the art corner looking at over 100 paintings and chatting with the artists, eventually settling on two for “special price”. Somehow the conversation shifted to how white people can’t dance at which point we demonstrated the Carolina shag and got a couple good laughs. We returned to the same restaurant because the service and food was good the night before. Obey, our waiter, promised the chef would cook our meal “extra professional” since we returned. He also taught us the catch phrase “Poa kichizi kama ndizi” (cool like bananas). The next day Choro’s friend, Enock, ate lunch with us, taught us more key Swahili phrases, and took us to an awesome craft market before dropping us off at the airport. The market had stalls and stalls of anything African you could think of, but we found it hard to say hapana ashante (no, thank you). In the center, you could watch the artists at work, carving elaborate ebony into masks, animals, jewelry—you name it. After spending two days here, we’re pretty confident Tanzanians are the nicest people in the world.