Foothills of Kili
From the Serengeti, we spent another night in Mto wa Mbu, reunited with the beast and our driver. A nice tour lead by local guides introduced us to some farms and a local wood carving collective, mostly composed of men who had fled Mozambique during the civil war. To end the tour, we tasted banana beer (yuck) and banana wine (not bad).
The next day we departed to spend some quality time in Arusha. There were a few sites of interest there, including a Maasai museum, a snake museum (no thank you) where you can learn about a bunch of different species of snakes found in the region, and a Maasai women’s collective that sell various handmade goods. Yes please! I got a ton of earrings to bring back to friends and family.
From there, we drove to Marangu, which rests at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro. Our campsite there actually has a long history of working with the Intrepid Foundation, and prioritizes education work — particularly training programs for teachers and literacy. There’s some interesting history to this work because after Tanzanian independence, there was great resistance to teaching children English. It’s an understandable sentiment, but it had troubling consequences for the country and the economic mobility of Tanzanians. Among other priorities, this program emphasizes English at a young age.
A fairly easy hike in Marangu introduced us to the Chagga tribe, brought us to some additional farming sites of interest and a gorgeous waterfall. Minus the banana trees strewn about, you wouldn’t know this was Africa. Particularly with the number of pine trees in the area, it felt like a hike in the Pacific Northwest. I wish we had more time to explore Kilimanjaro, but that’s an entirely different trip altogether.
The final stop before we headed toward the ocean was the Usambara Mountains. Minus our time in the Serengeti, this was perhaps my favorite few days in Tanzania. First of all, we saw so many chameleons. We also had a fantastic hike to the Irente viewpoint, which was a bit harrowing at first, but really peaceful and lovely. The view allows you to see mountains and plains reaching toward Kenya in one direction and toward the coast in the other.
We ended our time there with a delicious lunch and traditional dance with Sambara/Shambaa men and women. It started out innocently enough, but eventually we were all pulled into the circle and called upon to grind with them. I’m 95% sure this is where twerking comes from. They can get down.
There should be an audio recording of the dance that Steve from our trip will be sharing soon. So be on the lookout for that. I’ll link it here!
Meet the Aussies
Speaking of Steve, now seems as good a time as any to underline one particular problem with this otherwise lovely, interesting trip: the Australians. Before I go on, why don’t we take a moment to introduce you to the crazy crew:
Steve & Ally
Meet Steve. Steve is a young, 23-year-old Australian whipper-snapper who is in a Canberra-based band named Young Monks. He is very opinionated and likes to pick fights about things he knows nothing about — for example, food and agricultural policy. He also likes to whisper things under his breath about how I do or say things “just like an American.”
Other fun facts about Steve:
- He loves pizza and only wanted to eat pizza the entire time. He literally just sent our group a picture over What’s App of a pizza he’s eating as I type this.
- Despite his young face and many tattoos, he has the soul and dance moves of a conservative old man.
- His favorite band is…wait for it…THE EAGLES. Because why wouldn’t I meet the Australian version of my father while I’m on vacation? He would occasionally drop them into a conversation to justify his point of view. For example, “yeah sure, but when you compare them to The Eagles and what they did in [XYZ song]…”
His girlfriend Ally is a perfectly lovely person who I enjoyed hanging out with a lot. Her only flaw is that she loves Steve. That flaw gets slightly neutralized by the fact that she rolls her eyes at him all the time.
Kieran
Meet Kieran. Kieran is 30 and is actually a pretty cool guy, were it not for his love of this “make fun of Americans” nonsense. Kieran’s “uni job” was being a casino dealer, which was made evident during card games played in our down time. He left that storied career to enter financial services and moved to London, leaving him a weird hybrid Aussie-British accent. Several months ago, he quit his job as a financial analyst to go tour the world for a year. After his trip down to Cape Town, he will spend a few months volunteering in Madagascar. Again: cool guy. Unfortunate nationality.
Chelsea
Meet Chelsea. At a wee 20-years-old, Chelsea is pretty mature for her age. I’m sure traveling to Africa with your mother (Carol) has its proper bummers, but she takes it in stride. She reminds me so much of my sister Katja that I couldn’t help but feel a sisterly affection for her. She does have a regrettable habit of picking fights, however (see below) and I worry for her as she completes another month on the road with the other Aussies on her way to Cape Town. Don’t let them taint you, Chelsea!
Holly
Meet Holly. Holly is 33 and awesome and we are soul sisters. She is a veterinarian for horses. Her job mostly consists of flying around the globe with horses in giant cargo planes. And, I assume, administering care to equine patients. Let’s be honest, I have a great job, but she wins. Unfortunately, she is also Australian.
Tom-arrr-toe Sauce
A quick wiki read on kangaroos, Australia’s national animal, reveals that they travel in mobs — groups of 10 or more kangaroos that live together and provide protection for the weakest of the group. They also fight a lot.
In strikingly similar fashion, the mob of Aussies formed a strange cluster around me during dinner in the Usambara Mountains. Imagine me, innocently eating a delicious spaghetti meal prepared by Emmanuel, twirling my fork around, gearing up for a bite when:
“You know,” Chelsea begins, with a hint of mischief in her eyes, “you Americans have a funny way of saying things.”
“We do?” I respond.
“Yes. You tend to dumb everything down to its most obvious form.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“What do you call it when you ride a horse?” she asks.
“Horseback riding,” I answer. Obviously.
Cue Aussies bursting out laughing.
“Why? What do you call it?”
“Horse riding. You don’t need to be so literal and spell out horse back riding.”
Fair enough. This goes on for quite a while with several examples. Maybe even a full hour. Sometimes they make decent points. Mostly though, it’s complete rubbish. (Sorry, the hood of the car is the hood, not the bonnet.)
“What do you call this?” Steve asks, pointing to the red condiment universally known as ketchup. I respond as such.
“Nooooooooo!” they laugh. “It’s tom-arr-toe sauce.”
“No,” I quip back. “Tomato sauce is tomato sauce. Ketchup…is ketchup.” Of course, my mind is scrambling to pull together justification for the obvious. Ketchup is made with things like sugar and vinegar. It’s served cold and is a condiment. One puts it on burgers and french fries (or, you know, chips). Tomato sauce is made with oil and spices and sometimes meat, and it is served hot, over pasta or in a lasagna or whatever else the Italians intended tomato sauce to be used for.
“I mean ketchup,” Steve scoffs, squeezing ketchup onto his pasta. (gross) “What does ketchup even mean?”
I don’t know how to answer this question. What does the meaning of the word ketchup have anything to do with whether ketchup is ketchup? Still, I spent a little energy explaining the difference.
Steve and Kieran, ever stubborn, were having none of it.
Slowly, the Brits weighed in. They were on my side on this one (although they do call the hood of the car a bonnet. Sigh). Finally the Swiss girls, forgoing neutral status, jumped in. “No, you are wrong,” they say, shaking their heads. “Ketchup is not tomato sauce.”
Thank you, Swiss girls! Only Aussies are stumped by this not-age-old question of the difference between ketchup and tomato sauce.
And then, of course, they go on to talk about how Vegemite is actually delicious and foreigners just make the mistake of putting too much of it on toast. If only they used a little, they would love it.
Ridiculous argument. First of all, it’s just a fact that Vegemite sucks. But more to the point: usually if something is truly delicious, more of it is more delicious. Nutella? Nutella doesn’t get ruined by putting more nutella on something. More makes it better. Peanut butter? Same thing. Butter? Don’t even get me started. There’s no such thing as too much butter.
Hugh Jackman tried to make the same argument on Jimmy Fallon a few years ago. Despite Jimmy and Questlove’s enthusiasm, I find the display just as unconvincing.
Aussiesauce
For this post, I give you Men at Work’s Down Under, because I would like to perpetuate any and all stereotypes about Aussies and will seize any opportunity to make them look ridiculous. I like to imagine I’d be the “strange lady” in this video, who made him nervous (and then rolled her eyes at him).
I will also share Toto’s Africa, because Steve felt it was imperative to play this song — the MOST CLICHE SONG ABOUT AFRICA — and insist on what a great band Toto is. They aren’t (although I do like Rosanna), but this video is so terrible that it’s kinda wonderful, if for no other reason than the fashion.
I know that I must do what’s right
As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti
I seek to cure what’s deep inside
Frightened of this thing that I’ve become [and the fact that I’m Australian*]~ Toto, Africa *author’s addition
And sigh…here’s Young Monks performing Jarmin’ in the Dark. Whatever the heck “jarmin'” is…
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