We leave Gibbs farm and go to Karatu, the nearby town. The original plan was to see the market, but the rain washes that out, so instead we travel around doing a couple of errands for people. Faye is looking for a disposable camera (to replace the one she lost in Nairobi), and Idelle is looking for Amarulo liqueur. We are clearly in a local part of the little town now – suddenly the signs on the shops are all in Swahili rather than English, and when we find a liquor store it won’t accept dollars (and while we had gotten Kenya shillings, we didn’t get any Tanzania shillings). We drive around some more and end up at a nearby lodge, hoping to find a camera for Faye. While we are there, we are treated to yet another welcome dance, this time by the Iraqw tribe (no, not the same as Iraq!)
We get back on the road and stop briefly at the little museum at the entrance to Ngorongoro, however after killing all that time in the village, now we are in a hurry. Because of all the rain, the big trucks have been forced to wait at the entrance (so as to not block the way) but now they are being allowed to proceed.
We want to go ahead of them rather than behind, in case they get stuck, so we jump back in the land rover and set off. I can feel the tires slipping. It is scary enough here on the rim, and I’m more and more anxious about the road down into the crater tomorrow. The roads are amazingly bumpy, but I suspect it is because there are basically no locals -- the Maasai walk, and everyone else is either a tourist or working at the hotels.
When we arrive at the lodge, ‘H’ hands us our keys. I ask him if he has given me one with a good view. He assures me ‘yes, the best’. We go to our room and find that while the room is beautiful, it is clearly not ‘the best’. It’s on the lower level, and the grass and brush obstruct the view, so you can look out across the crater, but you can’t look down, while the second level has grand vistas. I’m a bit annoyed. I’ve had specific talks with him explaining that my priority is a good view, and he keeps yessing me, but ignoring my request. I totally understand that everyone cannot get the best room all the time, but it bugs me that he looks me in the face and tells me my room is the best when it is clearly not. At lunch, he asks how our room is, and I tell him I would prefer one with a better view, on the second floor. He says he will try, and after lunch appears with a new key. I can’t help confirming:
“Does this room have a better view?”.
“Yes”, he replies.
“Is it on the second floor?”.
“No”.
“Then why are you saying it is better?”
“I thought you just didn’t like your room and wanted a different one.”
So then we say we want to keep the old room, because it is not worth the hassle to move if the view will not be improved. So now he thinks I am irrational and hard to please. Sigh. I’m not sure whether I’m just paranoid, or whether there is really a pattern that single women get the worst rooms.
On the other hand, none of the rooms here are bad. The room is beautiful; with every amenity you could ask for, so I get over my snit and decide to have a good time. Everything is really working out perfectly, time after time. It’s just that this one detail about a view has rubbed me the wrong way.
I find the observation porch, and am enthralled looking through the telescope. I see zebras, wildebeest, elephants, and a rhino. Occasionally someone else stops by and I step back and invite them to take a look. They always seem surprised that I’m relinquishing my spot, but I don’t understand why anyone would refuse to take turns. As it is getting chilly, I run back to my room to get my fleece, only to find that the briefly clearing weather was just temporary, and the rain and clouds are back with a vengeance. I’m worried that even if it clears tomorrow, the road with be too muddy to traverse safely.
Most of our group seems to spend the afternoon either napping or in the gift shop. I’m glad I at least spent some time looking into the crater. If it doesn’t clear up that might be my only view of it! I realize that I was so worried about my unknown roommate before the trip, that I spent my energy praying about her rather than the weather. I have to admit I got a good deal out of it, because she has been a terrific roommate, so I can’t complain.
This evening we were supposed to have a walk by a naturalist at the hotel. As it turns out, the naturalist was not there, but a guide took us. It was chilly and damp and muddy, and I was surprised that our whole group went. Our guide was Maasai, and explained the tribal custom that had knocked out his bottom front teeth. In the past, there were so many cases of tetanus that they developed this idea to prepare for lockjaw, so a patient could be fed through a cow-hide straw. I asked him whether they would accept vaccinations if they were made available, and he said yes. I though it was heartbreaking that children’s teeth are being knocked out by their loving parents in an effort to protect them, when a safe vaccine exists.
After the walk, our feet had a huge build-up of mud (probably mixed with various dung). I scraped and rubbed my sneakers, and was amazed that the layer was still almost an inch thick! I’ve never had to work so hard to clean off my shoes, in fact, I was sort of getting foot claustrophobia! After scuffing through gravel and abrading it against cement steps, and shuffling through puddles, finally it was just messy in the treads. Now I grasp how it works when the Maasai build their houses and smear them with mud and dung. This stuff just refuses to wash away or to disintegrate. Our leader arranged for the hotel to wash all of our shoes for us overnight. I couldn’t believe when I saw my sneakers in the morning. I had intentionally brought ones that weren’t clean and new, and miraculously they ended up much cleaner than when I had started my trip.
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