i flew into tanzania after dark. my checked bag did not. (this happens fairly often and lots of people seem to blame this on africa, but i say the luggage was supposed to be loaded on the plane in amsterdam, so how is that africa's fault?) the whole getting a ride to the hotel from the airport was shifty business, but it's a whole other story. in the dark, all i could tell from what i could see on the ride to the hotel in Arusha was that i was glad iwas in a car. also, i was hoping to see Kili looming in the distance, towering over the darkened african plains, but the closest it came was lots of Kilimanjaro beer advertisements right outside of the airport. (i think beers associated with mountains sell better, because the mountain imagery makes you think FRESH, whereas beer is anything but. also, it must give you a sense of accomplishment if you down a drink with a large mountain pictured on it. but i digress.)
S` and A` were not scheduled to fly in until the next evening, so on my first day in Arusha i went out wandering by myself. There is an international conference center where the Rwanda criminal tribunals are being held, so i tried to go watch, but it turns out they don't prosecute Rwandan criminal acts on the Saboath. too bad.
arusha:
As i'm hoofin' around town in the same clothes i left seattle in two days earlier, lo and behold i meet Max.
Max:
Max is an enterprising young man from the north of town, going to tourism school. He speaks Spanish, German, French, and English, and next year is going to learn Portuguese. One of the popular things to do in the area is to get (read:pay) a guide to take you to their village and show you around, maybe go hiking, usually in one of the rural areas outside of town. Anyways, i ask Max about this waterfall i heard about up at the base of Mount Meru, and then off we go. We walk about a half mile outside of town, then catch a dala-dala (mini bus=minvan), where, as the only girl and/or non-local, i get to ride shotgun (don't worry, no one actually had to move from the shotgun position--i shared with the 5 people already there).
when we got out we walked for hours and hours. through villages and farms and the dustiest road i have ever been on. here is a scenic farm up as you enter the mountains and things start to get lush (this cow is way luckier than the ones on that dusty road):
i don't have pictures of the villages cause i just felt weird taking pictures. but there were lots of huts, soccer fields (areas?), windows in huts claiming you could buy fanta there, barbershops with amazing paintings on the outside, fruit/cabbage on blankets for sale, banana trees, children shouting at me for being foreign, grammas carrying WAY too much stuff, meandering cows, motorbikes, etc. seriously, we walked along this dirt road for like hours before we got up to the mountainside. i began wondering if anyone would ever even find my body if this turned out to be not such a good idea. (but it was really completely safe.)
after reaching the woods we paid off at least 3 people who seemed to be government/military officials (as in, they were wearing berets and wielded billy clubs) to get up to the falls.
the falls:
friend stand-in:
looked like a raspberry, tasted more like bark (tricky):
we finally got back. good thing that i told max my brother was waiting for me at the hotel, or he may have tried to get me to sign on for another 7 hour guided tour. hahha.
i transferred to another room so that i would be nearer S and A when they arrived. this one had a fan (upgrade!--also there was no rooster in the yard the next morning--major upgrade!) so i showered with my t-shirt and socks on to wash them (and protect myself from the water i was showering in) and then quasi -dried in front of the fan (i smelled worse than a downtown bus). i know, it sounded like a good idea at the time.
fan:
S` and A` arrived that night and so did my bag. i was happy to see all three of them. way to come through when it counts, airline industry!
Grimy, alone, refined: i spit the metallic taste of pride from my mouth and thank God, in the same shirt i've been wearing for three days.
*a word from the not so wise: in order to be best-prepared for said tour, one should NOT consume a cinnamon roll and two pieces of pumpkin sheet cake for breakfast. just a suggestion.
The guides on Kilimanjaro set you on a painfully slow pace from the beginning. "Pole, pole," (pronounced pol-lee, pol-lee) they say. We go slow to adjust to the altitude each day and conserve energy. Later in the trip, I realize it's gotten me into the habit of moving more carefully and deliberately. Once we attempt the summit--it's the only way I am able to move. Extra movement wastes energy and oxygen. The pace that seems so slow at the beginning of the climb sends my heartbeat soaring when we get to higher altitude. Breathing starts to feel like you're wearing a turtleneck that's too tight, or like you're wearing a lead x-ray vest at the dentist.
