The Cessna Grand Caravan, a boxy metal bird, rattled us from Zanzibar to Arusha, offering a stark introduction to Africa’s untamed interior. Below, a vast and empty canvas stretched out, broken only by the occasional smear of a Masai village, a stark contrast to the sunbaked sprawl we’d left behind. The Arusha airport itself was a utilitarian affair, a small terminal building adorned with a sign that declared, with a touch of wry amusement, “Welcome to the Geneva of Africa.” This was a no-nonsense operation, perfect for getting you where you needed to go, but with all the ambiance of a bus stop. For the fancy-dancy international arrivals experience, you needed to head to Kilimanjaro International, an hour away.
Our guide, Ole, was waiting for us with a smile as wide as the Serengeti and a handshake about as firm as overcooked spaghetti. A Masai with a welcoming air, he wasn’t quite what we had in mind when we pictured our safari guide. We were expecting khaki and a Land Rover, but Ole looked more like your friendly neighborhood mailman. Our chariot wasn’t exactly what we’d envisioned either. The Land Cruiser, far from the gleaming behemoths that graced travel brochures and the European suburbs, looked like a relic from an 80s time capsule, complete with a plastic interior that wouldn’t have looked out of place in your grandma’s Cortina.
But hey, function over form, right? As we bounced along those dusty, rutted Tanzanian roads, we came to understand the wisdom of this utilitarian choice. A fancy SUV, we soon realized, would have been reduced to a pile of scrap metal within a dozen safari roundtrips.
Our first taste of Africa’s wild soul came at Lake Manyara National Park, a wildlife haven nestled around a shallow lake about an hour east of Arusha. Ole, ever the chatterbox, filled the car with a running commentary on Masai culture, including some details about their circumcision rituals that made us wince (let’s just say their coming-of-age traditions weren’t for the squeamish). This man, it turned out, was a scholar in disguise, armed with a degree in Environmental Studies and a passion for wildlife. By the end of our trip, we’d formed a bond that was as strong and enduring as the soles of our hiking boots.
The magic truly began with our first encounter with wildlife in its natural habitat. Lake Manyara is famous for its birds, monkeys and herbivores, so it was no surprise when our inaugural brush with nature came courtesy of a troop of baboons. There were babies clinging to their mothers like furry backpacks, adults grooming each other and squabbling over territory with an enthusiasm that would put a soccer game to shame, and me, of course, clicking away on my camera like a tourist possessed.
Next up? A parade of East Africa’s finest, all strolling by our Land Cruiser as if on some grand wildlife runway show. Elephants lumbered past, their wrinkled hides like living landscapes. Giraffes ambled by, their long necks swaying like metronomes set to slow. Buffalo grazed nonchalantly, hippos wallowed in the mud pool like overstuffed armchairs, and zebras and wildebeest grazed in the distance, their stripes a mesmerizing dance against the golden savanna. Even the blue monkeys swinging through the trees added a touch of acrobatic flair. It was a wildlife extravaganza, and we were right in the front row (well, technically in the back of a Land Cruiser, but you get the idea).
By six, we were on the move again, heading to Karatu, a nearby town where a haven of comfort awaited us: Gibbs Farm. Imagine a picturesque lodge nestled beside the Ngorongoro Crater, boasting cozy rooms and service that could charm the socks off a grumpy badger.
The next morning, we awoke to a misty wonderland, greeted by a couple of curious bush babies peering at us from the trees. Our destination? The mighty Ngorongoro Crater itself. The half hour climb to the rim of the crater was along a narrow and bumpy track. The temperature plummeted as we ascended, and the landscape transformed from dusty savanna to a lush rainforest clinging to the crater walls. This colossal crater wasn’t some geological afterthought. It was the handiwork of a monstrous volcanic eruption millions of years ago, leaving behind the world’s largest unfilled caldera. Imagine a giant bowl, 2,200 meters high, with a floor 600 meters deep and sprawling over 260 square kilometers. Unique, wouldn’t you say? And teeming with wildlife.
Reaching the crater floor was like entering a whole new world. Here, lions surveyed their domain from rocky outcrops, elephants grazed casually, and wildebeest thundered across the plains in a dusty ballet. Zebras grazed in mesmerizing black and white stripes, hippos wallowed in muddy pools, and the occasional grumpy rhino lumbered by (a rare treat, as there were only about fifteen left). Even the birds were a spectacle, from the graceful grey crowned cranes to the rather sinister-looking marabou storks.
It was a wildlife extravaganza, but one with a few limitations. The safari vehicles had to stick to designated tracks, so unless the animals decided to wander by, getting super close wasn’t on the cards. Luckily for us, we arrived early and snagged some prime viewing spots before the tourist hordes descended. We spent a glorious four hours exploring this wildlife haven, feeling a thrill each time we spotted a new creature.
Our next stop? Olduvai Gorge, one of the most important paleo-anthropological sites on the planet, stretches for roughly 48 kilometers across the eastern Serengeti Plains, tucked within the vast Ngorongoro Conservation Area. Apparently, Homo Habilis hung out here a cool 1.9 million years ago.
Olduvai Gorge isn’t just another scenic overlook, but one of the most important paleo-anthropological sites on the planet. It’s a time capsule whispering secrets of our distant past. Here, in the layers of dust and sediment, lies evidence of a crucial turning point in human evolution – the rise of the Hominina.
These early ancestors weren’t just grabbing whatever scraps they could find. Gnaw marks on bones, older than any cut marks, hint at scavenging, and the changing ratio of meat to plants in their diet suggests they may have even started hunting. But the real game-changer? Stone tools. Finding them scattered around the gorge, alongside animal remains, tells a story of developing social interaction and shared activities. It all points to one thing: a growing brain. As hominids transitioned into Hominina, the ancestors of humans, their cognitive abilities were taking a leap forward. If you’re the kind of person who gets a kick out of pondering the origins of humankind, this place will blow your mind. However, let’s just say it needs a little TLC in the “tourist attraction” department.
