travels with janne

The huge herds of bison in Yellowstone take my thoughts back to a time when these mighty vegetarians roamed the plains in the millions, a time before the Europeans came and changed things with horses and guns and ambitions. It is not much use sighing for the past and romanticising it, but when we drive down to Grand Teton National Park, which is really just a continuation of Yellowstone, we see a log cabin nestled at the foot of the mountains and once again my thoughts turn to the past. This time to thoughts of homesteading, of cowboys and ranchers, of tough men and women who managed to survive frosty, lonely winters and other hardships. A time when men were men (and women liked it).

Grand Teton is smaller and less crowded than Yellowstone but postcard beautiful. Snow-clad mountains are reflected in clear, clean mountain lakes, the air is crisp and fresh and wonderful to breathe. We live in a log cabin on Jackson Lake. I go for a bracing swim in the water. We dine on delicious bison stew. We drive and hike and see elk (aka wapiti), muledeer (aka black-tailed deer), pronghorn antelope, cormorants, ducks, pelicans, eagles and osprey.

Next morning, after yet another sumptuous American breakfast, we take leave of this wonderful little national park and head southwards on the long drive towards Bryce Canyon National Park. The drive is scenic. The background is mountain range, the foreground cowboyland with corrals, ranches and rundown barns. Gradually, the mountains turn to scrubby hills with greenish-grey shades and then the rocks start to take on a reddish hue.

We continue to be struck by the sheer vastness of the landscape.

Yellowstone
National Park is famed for being the world’s first national park (thank you
president Ulysses S. Grant for being so far-sighted). It is also famous for its
hot springs and geysers, notably Old Faithful, that dependably squirts about
8000 gallons of steamy hot water up from the ground every one and a half hours
or so.

We drive
the circular route that takes us past the various geothermal activities,
stepping out of the car for short hikes and to view the sights (and smell the
odours). It is a landscape of contrasts. On the one hand the heat and chemistry
of the hot springs cover the landscape with death and desolation and emit a
nauseous smell of sulphur. It is as if hell itself has breached the earth’s crust
and bubbled over. On the other hand some of the hot springs are like colourful
abstract paintings, with hues coming from mineral and microorganic activity.

Next day,
we escape the vapours and smells of rotten eggs and enjoy instead the fog and mist
of a morning sunrise in the flat and lovely Hayden Valley. Here the air is crisp
and cool, tinged with the refreshing fragrance of pine.

Suddenly, tons
and tons of bison block our way. They ramble and rumble on and by the roadside and take
dust baths in the loose soil. There are calves and cows and bulls. They pass
very close past the car, close enough to touch, if we were so foolishly inclined.
They are not in a hurry, so we wait patiently for the parade to pass.

The day
also offers sightings of bald eagles, golden eagles, pelicans, Canada geese,
heron, osprey, ravens, mule deer, chipmunks and the ubiquitous squirrels.

A vast
plain of fragrant sagebrush and rustling grass stretches before us as we hike
for two hours in the Lamar Valley in Yellowstone National Park. Distant
mountains form the backdrop. We follow a beaten dirt path through this palette
of late summer colours, hoping that we are following the right route and not
just being led astray by a bison trail. The bison are present. They are in the
distance but on the move. Will they approach us? Will they block our route? We
want to see them but at a comfortable distance. And we do not want to take a
long detour because our backpacks are heavy and we still have some way to go.

Along the
route we see graceful pronghorn antelope, pretty mountain bluebirds, Clark’s
nutcrackers, ravens, squirrels and chipmunks. And bison in the distance.

In time, we
arrive at the backcountry campsite we reserved months ago, situated by Cache
Creek in the Lamar Valley. We have Nature all to ourselves. The peacefulness is
overwhelming, the vastness humbling. We set up camp, fiddling with the tents,
the food, a campfire (no success on that front). My friends try to sound eager
about the food I have served: instant spaghetti a la carbonara made from powder.

As dusk falls
a herd of bison rambles down the hill we have only just come down ourselves.
They make comfortable rumbling sounds that come from deep within. The mighty
animals cross the river and move up the hill on the opposite bank. They
disappear over the crest of the hill, presumably to partake of their evening
meal before lying down for the night.

The day was
pleasantly warm but the evening is chill. We lie snug as bugs in rugs in our
sleeping bags. Next morning we see a lone bison bull coming down a path that
seems to head right towards our camp. He catches sight of us and looks like he
is wondering what we are doing in his territory. He follows the path faithfully
as it leads directly towards us. We wonder what to do. Suddenly the path veers
away from our camp and the big fellow continues over the river in the same
direction as the herd from last night. We breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Breakfast
is oatmeal with dried apricots. My friends were sceptical at the sound of it and
once they taste it I sense a mutiny. After a short stroll along the river we
break camp a day early and return the way we came.

I find myself challenged. Learning the niceties of snorkelling, swimming with fins on my feet, finding my way around the reef, not crashing into the corals, being gobsmacked at the utter beauty of it all, keeping an eye out for my guide’s signalled instructions and trying to figure out my brand new underwater camera all at once is just too much. So, much to my chagrin, I drop the underwater photography and concentrate on enjoying the sights. The underwater pictures in this blog article are therefore the ones taken by my excellent guide, Khaled Said.

Words cannot really describe the myriad colours, patterns, shapes and sizes of the fish and the corals I see. A large school of small, deep purple fish move in an iridescent ballet. Stingrays glide by sleekly along the shallow sea bottom. I see a couple of them mating, the large male covering the small female before dashing off after completed business. Psychedelic blue and orange stripes on one kind of fish, interwoven black and yellow stripes on another, and giant clams with wavy, sky blue lips; Mother Nature has a good artisitc sense we can only hope to emulate.

I see huge sea turtles munching greenery on the sea bottom. From time to time they take a break and make a beeline for the surface to get a gulp of air. However, the biggest highlight for me is meeting the spinner dolphins. On my first dolphin swim, Khaled takes my hand and guides me among 60 dolphins. We have them all to ourselves – no other tourists. It is magical! I make eye contact with them and some of them swim over to greet me. Otherwise they just hang around and let me swim alongside them. They play with eachother, twisting and turning, sometimes swimming belly to belly.

During my week in the area I have a few more swims with the dolphins. Many times they just swim away. But one morning, at 6:30 am, we take the zodiac out to a group of about 30-40 of these sleek animals and slide into the water with them. What a great way to start the day! They let us hang around with them for quite a while before they decide to leave. In my next life I want to be a mermaid.

An imam calls out in the darkness, beckoning to prayer at 4:30 am. I lie in the bed in my tent and listen to the waves of the Red Sea brush the shore in front of my door. An hour later the sun rises. The sky blushes a faint pink, then lights up in a rosy glow in celebration of a new day in Egypt.

I am in the area of Marsa Alam, three hours drive south of touristy Hurghada. Here is quiet, just people intent on swimming, snorkelling, diving, meeting dolphins, sea turtles, corals and fish. No loud music, no partygoers. Not much of anything on land, really, except endless desert. The attractions are submerged in the clear, aquamarine water.

Driving on the main road is like driving though a quarry. We meet several trucks with camels gazing serenely at the landscape, ignorant of the fact that they are on their way to Cairo to become dinner for somebody. My driver takes me to a boat that will sail me out to the star attraction: the spinner dolphins. Another day we go looking for sea turtles and dugongs. The time in between is spent snorkelling along the coral reefs.

Then the sun goes down with a flourish in a shameless burst of colour, turning the clouds as red as cotton on fire. Shortly thereafter the full moon rises from behind pastel-coloured clouds. When the sun is completely gone the moon casts its silvery light on the water and the sand.

Whether grinding maize by hand on a stone in a Datoga hut to the sound of their women singing in harmony while I work, looking up at laid-back lions and leopards in trees, spotting a small apple-green chameleon on the road, or rejoicing in the majesty of a baobab silhouette, Tanzania has been a great experience.

The best part of a safari in Africa is getting close to the wildlife. Birds, prey and predators each have their own beauty and fascination. I will let the photos speak for themselves.

Ah, such a life of ease. We start each day with a breakfast consisting of a bowl of fresh tropical fruit, a freshly pressed tropical fruit smoothie, eggs, toast, and coffee. The temperature hovers around 30 degrees. The sun shines all the time. The beach tempts. Always. We alternate between the hammock, the lounge chair, the sand and the water. Through the shimmering heat we lie and lazily observe Zanzibar women and children gathering seaweed and shellfish at low tide. Lunch makes a change in the routine.

We do, of course, find other activities. One day we visit a spice farm (see previous blog). Another day we snorkel. We make our way out to a special spot in a traditional ngalawa – a traditional, simple, one-masted outrigger sailboat made of a dugout log. Despite waves the trip is surprisingly calm because of the outriggers.

Snorkelling opens up a new and totally exciting world for me. I enjoy letting myself float and drift, face down and hands behind my back, just watching the show unfold in front of me. The shapes and colours of the corals and fish are amazing and hard to describe without sounding over the top.

Another day we swim with dolphins that glide effortlessly past us, squeaking in their dolphin language as they go. I try my hand at a few dolphin words but don’t seem to have the right dialect. Or else my vocabulary is lacking.

We spend a day in exotic Stone Town, where thousands of African slaves were sold and shipped from in the past. The slave trade has been going on in Africa for centuries but a major increase took place with the advent of Muslim trade. Then the Europeans got into the game and the slave trade from Zanzibar got even worse. Thankfully, all that is left of the slave trade in Stone Town, the main city of Zanzibar, are memories and a few ruins.

Compared to the rest of Tanzania, Zanzibar and Stone Town in particular are visibly Muslim. Even little girls are covered from head to toe and some women leave only a narrow slit for their eyes to peep through. It must be awfully hot and confining! The men also dress in traditional Muslim garb – kanzu (white robes) and embroidered kofia (caps). And every morning, long before the sun rises, there is a call to prayer from numerous minarets. Who needs an alarm clock? Or, should I say, why don’t they use alarm clocks instead of waking everybody??

Anyway, Stone Town fascinates in a shabby sort of way, with its confusing alleyways, lively markets and beautifully carved wooden doors.

After an incredibly hot day in noisy but colourful Stone Town it is refreshing to come back to my little beach bungalow where the maid has decorated my bed with 24 red bougainvillea flowers.