So, my gloating about the visa was a little premature. I did get the discount to zero, but it took a long time to explain to the very nice lady immigration officer. She even had to telephone to head office in Dodoma for confirmation. She’d simply never seen an Isle of Man passport before and was, I fear, taken by surprise. I ended up being the first person into the border post and the last one to leave.

Apart from this small episode of confusion, my first crossing of a land border was pretty underwhelming. Sure, there were fences and guards, but the place was busy and things moved at a comfortable and comforting pace. We were all tired from the drive out of Amboseli and the relaxed air of the border posts was a welcome respite. The road is, frankly, pretty terrible and our first real taste of African dirt roads.

It was good to be back on a paved road and heading south towards the major city of Arusha. Heading south along the A104, the landscape of Tanzania feels much the same as did the landscape of Kenya. The bulk of Kilimanjaro is now off to our left, but the almost as impressive mass of Mount Meru is now almost directly ahead.

Somehow, perhaps because of the close proximity of Kilimanjaro, Meru had seemingly been overlooked by most of us. It’s a magnificent mountain in its own right, well over 4500m tall and in many ways far more dramatic than the rounded bulk of its bigger brother.

One side of the cone has partially collapsed and then a new cone has, at some point in the relatively recent past, regrown. It is sharp, jagged and rugged in a way that Kilimanjaro simply isn’t.

It dominates the city of Arusha in a way that’s hard to describe. The heart of the city is less than twenty kilometres from the summit and it seems to tower over the whole city. Looking north, Meru is all you see. Kilimanjaro is off to the east, still massive, yet somehow less impressive with Meru alongside.

Once again, our small lodge is approached in the last of the day’s light. It seems modern and well-appointed, but all any of us want to do is eat and get to our beds. Even Brian, who often seems to be full of energy and strength seems pretty drained by the long drive.

“I don’t think I will get used to roads like this,” I mutter to him as we head back to our room after dinner. “It was good to get off the dirt at the border. I see why they call it a massage, but I feel more like I’ve been in a fight or something.”

“It really is tiring, isn’t it,” he agrees. “I should be used to it, but I’m clearly out of practice. I should warn you that it will get worse.”

“What, really?”

“Yes. Once we get to the crater highlands, the paved roads end. It’s a full day on dirt to the Serengeti.”

“Bugger!”

“It just makes every animal sighting worth a little more. We will get used to it to some degree and it is only a couple of days taken out of the whole trip.”

“I know, but I don’t like ending a day so tired that I can’t even think straight. Even remembering to take my malaria tablet seems like a major success at the moment.”

“You’re on one of the daily ones?”

“Yes. The practice nurse suggested it was the best option for me. I was treated for my mood after the whole court-case thing. Some of the other prophylactic options are apparently a bit of an issue.”

“Oh, yeah, they are. I’ve always had to take Lariam – it’s the ministry’s drug of choice. You only need one a week, but you really do get some weird dreams when take it.”

“Yeah, she said something like that might be a bit of an issue for me. I don’t mind taking one a day, it’s just that I’m not used to taking any medication and remembering is already an issue.”

“Well, I’ll try and remember for you, but no promises.”

“Thanks, Brian. I should be fine though. Do you think I’ll have time to shower in the morning? I really don’t feel like it now.”

“Yeah, we should be fine. Tarangire is only a couple of hours or so away, I think. As I understand it, it’s a good road all the way.”

“Well, in that case, I’m turning in now. Perhaps I’ll actually get some sleep in this slightly cooler room.”

“Yeah, air conditioning is a luxury that we shouldn’t get used to!”

 

We’re ready to depart at the much more civilised time of about nine. Everyone is apparently well rested and ready to get back on the road and back into a national park. The road to Tarangire is as good a quality as we are likely to see and is well-populated with vehicles, many of them other safari-goers heading in one direction or the other.

This is the main route to the western part of the country and the number of vehicles reflect the popularity of the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater. We are, after all, following a very popular and well-frequented itinerary. There may be some differences in the order that people visit the various possible parks, but the overall destinations are mostly the same. Sure, some people plan their own trips and go off the beaten track, but that’s not for us.

The two-hour drive passes quickly, with little to see other than the local life of Tanzania and the many people going about their business. There seem to be literally hundreds of little white mini-busses stopping and starting without a care for traffic.

“They’re cheap,” Ian tells us. Quite an experience if you ever want to give it a go, but for most of us westerners, it is a little cramped. There are usually twelve people in each one and then there’s the luggage.”

“I suppose there’s always the back of a bike,” Sue suggests with a smile as yet another one buzzes to overtake us with two people on the back.”

“Yes, there is that option, but honestly, you can see how they ride. You’d be really taking your life in your hands,” Ian mutters.

It’s honestly fascinating. Tanzania seems so industrious. Everybody seems to be doing whatever they can to make a living, even if that is trying to sell peanuts or bananas to passing vehicles at every pedestrian crossing or junction.

There really are motorcycles everywhere, either loaded with a couple of passengers or, more surprisingly, with huge quantities of goods. There’s everything from sacks of charcoal to corrugated steel roofing and lumber with little concern for the width of the load or the aerodynamics of safe progress.

Then there are the people who have no transport. They walk along the side of the road singly or in groups, but always with a slow and deliberate pace that seems perfectly suited to the heat and their needs. Scattered among those dressed in simple western-style clothes there are Massai. They stand out from the crowd, not just by their tallness, but more by their choice to wear their brightly checked blanket-like wrap-around one-piece attire.

Some are just walking along, but there are also groups of young men and boys tending herds of cattle. They seem to be taking advantage of the dead ground along the roadsides to graze them for free, another sign of the entrepreneurial spirit that is apparently all-pervasive. 

“We come back this way in a couple of days,” Ian points out as we come to a major junction and turn towards the south. “That is the road to the Serengeti.”

Soon enough we are at another national park gate. Tarangire is perhaps not quite as popular as some of the other parks, but it is still busy enough. Our Tanzanian paperwork is all in order and, after only about ten minutes, we are once again on safari.

“You can pop the roof if you like, guys,” Ian tells us as we start off into the park. “It’s about ten kilometres to the lodge. We’ll get some lunch and go out for a drive once it cools down a little again, as usual.”

The first thing that strikes me is the landscape, subtly different from any we have seen so far. The rolling low hills are a patchwork of shrubs and tall grasses that are just the brown side of green. The whole area is, however, dominated by thousands of huge baobab trees. They are, for want of a better word, monstrously big. I’ve never seen a tree with a five-metre diameter trunk before and they are stunning. Seeing a massive example with the trunk hollowed clear-through yet still thriving is weird to say the least.

Then there are the elephants. Quite a lot of elephants actually. They are mostly small family groups, happily browsing between the trees and shrubs or taking shelter from the heat beneath the great canopies of the biggest of the baobab trees.

Reluctantly we allow Ian to move us along at a reasonable pace. It really is too hot to be out here and not driving along. Besides, I don’t think the wildlife is going anywhere soon.

We turn off the main track and quickly arrive at our destination when the road opens out into a parking area to one side of a huge thatched-roofed round house. The staff grab our bags and lead us along the slight escarpment to the south. Brian and I are all the way at the end of the row of tents, perhaps a hundred metres or so from the main lodge buildings. The footpath is shaded and cool, but the view to the south-east and south is spectacular. We have an uninterrupted view of the river, apparently just past flood levels and there are elephants on the shore on the other side, just a few hundred metres from us.

Our porter gives us a quick tour of our tent. He also makes sure that we understand the security and safety requirements. I don’t need to be reminded that we are in an unfenced area and in the middle of a National Park.

It’s much more like a proper hotel room than a tent, just a room with canvas walls. The bathroom off the back is built solidly out of local rock and open to the sky. Above the canvas roof of the tent is another made of thatch. It, apparently provides a still-air gap that helps to keep the heat under control. The furnishings are basic but comfortable, with two single beds and a couple of shelving units. Outside on the veranda are a couple of canvas director-style chairs and a small folding table.

There’s also something knocking on the trunk of the tree right outside our tent. We have woodpeckers at home, but I’ve never been lucky enough to see one. Now there’s a brightly coloured example right in front of me. The problem is, having looked at the book a bit too much, I’m aware that there are a dozen different ones that it could be and I simply don’t have a clue which. Getting photos of him proves to be a challenge and my frustrated noises soon have Brian standing behind me, right on the threshold of the tent, giggling to himself.

“Relax,” he tells me softly. “It probably lives here and will surely be back.”

“I know,” I tell him as I lower the camera, finally satisfied. “I just want a decent one to identify which species it is – well, to get Geoff or Tim to help me to identify it.”

“You’re really getting into this whole bird thing, aren’t you?”

“I guess. I just never thought there was such variety of colour and shape and size and everything.”

“Well, we should go and get some lunch, then you can sit out here and watch the birds until we go on our drive later.”

“That sounds like a pretty good plan,” I tell him with a smile. “I wish I had your practicality.”