Gad - Welcome back to the blog! -- post safari, post madness, post experiences that I can only hope to convey to you in the short (one day!) time that I have to convert them all to this electronic medium.

We have now returned to marching in time with civilization's beat (who thought we would all be so thrilled to see bustling Arusha?), which means a blessed pair of clean jeans, clean shirt, fans, sumptuously luxurious hotels, romantically lit restaurant booths, good wine, clubbing, the like.

As wonderful as this present moment is, all of it's peripheral -- it's the past three weeks that I'm sure you're dying to hear about, and I'm eager to write about, that we'll devote the rest of this blog to.

First off, thanks to all who wrote to me while I was away! It's one of the best feelings in the world to come back to the land of internet access and see messages coming from everyone that I love. Your world feels so far away as I look out around me and see the mountains of the rift valley and slogans of Swahili or botched English (one of my favorites along our many hours of driving and town pass-throughs was "Ultra Modern Hotel and Restaurant" in a remote little derelict town; the paint on which this name was printed had all but chipped off, and was barely legible -- quite modern indeed... just one of many funny language botching situations), but yet closer to me than even when I am there as I give in to daydreams of nostalgia, stories of time where we could never stop laughing, people and places and landscapes that come back to me when I close my eyes. It's true -- you love people all the more when you have time to miss them and remember exactly why they mean the world to you.

I mean it seriously when I say I have absolutely no idea where to begin.

Three weeks of traveling in a land that supports some of the richest biodiversity in the world, but is as arid as any place I have ever passed through, a place where the guise of human life reveals itself as nothing but hardship, heat, and holdovers from a time that has all but disappeared from our own cultural conciousness. We're stuck right now in one of the worst droughts this land has seen in years; the rainy season has now failed to come in many regions for at least three years running now (do climate change naysayers still exist? Let's send them to the Serengeti for a month when it's supposed to be turning green again, look at the hundreds, thousands of dead cattle, the crackle of the land beneath their feet, the lack of any moisture on the plains, and see if their fantasties and shouts of negativity still ring through the halls of the Capitol...), and the plains of northern Tanzania, those all-too-familiar sights of the Discovery Channel, are mowed down to the ground by the hundreds of thousands of wandering ungulates in search of food. The only green that breaks the landscapes on the plain are the umbrella of the acacia trees, and our own tank-like vechiles hurtling over the rough single-track road that became our haunt for the three weeks. The situation is bleak for all -- not just humans -- and we're finally seeing a little bit of rain over the past few days. Hoping for more, for the sake of everyone here.

But through all of this hardship and what may appear to be desolation (just had to set the scene for you), life persists in all the ancient ways that it has through these valleys and mountains. Animal life, plant life, human life -- simaltaneous accents of energy playing themselves out on this ever-dramatic and heart-wrenchingly beautiful landscape, herds of zebra, impala, elephant, giraffe, all the antelopes of Africa (of which there are an absurd amount) punctuating the stillness with that purposeful yet unmistakably relaxed assertion of life amidst a place that feels hostile to even the most seasoned of us. Our journey through this land has been everything we imagined it to be (though that phjrase does nothing for the imagination), and filled with, of course, the side treks and surprises that make a journey truly worth its while.

We waved goodbye to the tourist capitol of Tanzania, the city of Arusha, on the 15th of October (whoa!) from the seats of two huge, military sized, so-incomprehensibly-large-that-I-can't-possibly-convey-how large-they-are, Mercedes safari trucks, completely open on both sides (no windows to speak of -- only open air and bars to hang onto), roaring diesel engine (not the most environmentally friendly segment of my life, as far as gas consumption goes...), and those smiles that are characteristic of anticipation.

Dry, dry, dry. As soon as we left Arusha, the artificially kept green gardens and manicured drives disappeared and gave way to the rugged bush that I think we all remember from some distant glimmer in our evolutionary past.

Our first few days were spent at the Dorobo Safari's (I must stress again how incredible these guys are -- the three brothers that run this company. You'll hear stories of how badass they are) camp outside of Elboreet Village, a streching land of Maasai pasture and failed attempts at agriculture, where we stayed for three nights, tracking elephant and giraffe, and even some lion on foot (we didn't see any of them at this point). It's incredible the amount of life that you can discern exists in a certain area simply by the tracks they leave -- and in this time period, we all became coniseurs of the many forms of dung that dot the landscape, sometimes even using the ball-like dumps of passing elephants as projectiles for across camp matches of dominance (just so you all know, maturity is overrated...). The nights were filled with card games -- Mafia being key of these -- laughter, exchange of thoughts, and oh-my-Jesus-Christ STARS. They were just as incredible on the coast, and you can't beat stargazing on the beach with the Indian Ocean lulling you to sleep, but out in what I am convinced are some of the darkest palces left on earth, your own little place in the universe is but a tiny blip of conciousness bathed in starlight. Unbelievable.

We climbed up onto a mountain called Oldonyo-Sambu on the third day we were there, watched a family of baboons make there lumbering way down the mountain from atop a rock (Anton and I will hopefully be doing our independent study project on those same baboons! Hell yes), made our own lumbering and labored breathing way up, which involved crawling through a skethcy tunnel up over some rocks, and sitting on the summit surrounded by beautiful friends (it's a bit absurd how much we all love each other sometimes), baboons below, banana chips in our stomachs, spirits sooooaring.

Daudi (the oldest of the badass Peterson brothers -- he's in his 60s now, though is still incredibly young at heart and in actions, and has the most subtle wit of anyone I know) then proposed offhand to us that we bushwhack down the side of the mountain back to camp, which was a good 10K away. We all laughed -- of course he was kidding -- but then he just shrugged his shoulders and starting walking down the hill. We looked around in shock, and the more eager and adventurous of us (about half the group) quickly shouldered our bags and ran off to join him. Walking off the side of a mountain to get back to camp? I like this guy already.

We bushwhacked down a steep side of the mountain and eventually made it back down to the acacia studded plains at the foor of the hill, led by our Maasai guides, and treked across, gradually making our way back to camp. Along the way we surprised a family of giraffes from behind and watched their awkward gallop as they ran from us, occasionally looking back to see why we were there to begin with. The land seemed too dry to even support all the little grassland ungulates (think deer back at home, except in every shape, size, color, and horn type imaginable), let alone the hordes of cattle that the pastoral Maasai try to keep on the land. Population pressures (too many people on far too little resources) have made the Maasai fall on hard times. In a way, I don't feel particularly sorry for some of the hard times thy're having -- as long as they keep on pumping out kids (I think I found a statistic saying that over 50% of Maasai are under 18), they will keep on running into these problems. I know, I know, it's unfair to these people to say that, but there is nothing that makes you more axcutely aware of the world's inabilty to hold this burgeoning population of humans afloat than being in a place where it is physically impossible to squeeze more from the land. We need to turn our efforts to encouraging birth control (the prevalence of Catholic missionaries in the land has only exacerbated this, as many Maasai in the Arusha area cannot appeal for birth control methods because this imposed religion forbids it -- talk about frustrating!) and while it can be argued that these families need these children for help with work, given the experience I just came from where I stayed with a Maasai family for three days, I don't think this is the case. Removing the individual people-based perspective from the population arguement is never a sound idea, but I do think the ideas I've gleaned from being here can be seen as a microcosm for population control as a whole. Our experiences with the Hadzabe hunter-gatherer people gives an even more interesting tilt to these ideas. More on that soon.

Got back to camp exhausted, physically and mentally.

The next day we moved onto Tarangire National Park, which out last camp bordered. Not a minute after we crossed the parks borders we saw our first family of elephants. No lie. The fascinating thing about elephants (one of the many) is that during the poaching wave of the 80s, the population of elephants within the park skyrocketed. While poaching was covertly doable in the park boundaries, the elephants for the most part were safe inside. Knowing this, elephants flocked from all over their wandering areas back to Tarangire to escape from the poachers that lay in wait in the thousands all over land that was unprotected. They even discovered that they were completely immune to shooting if they gathered around the gates to the park where the highest concentration of rangers were. A chillingly cool example of animal intelligence, and added to the fact that elephants have mouring rituals over the skulls of disceased family members, and that they communicate by way of subsonic (deep, deep sounds) means, it gives us, by way of those massive relics of the age of the mammoths, a glimpse of the tendency of evolution to move towards more intelligent beings. And this, above all else, gives me hope -- and an immutable reason -- to call for more sustainable means of life so that others, like the elephants (who may come to "rule the world" as the most highly evolved, self-aware animals if we allow them to after us) may simply continue to live.

Thanks for listening to my enviro-philosophical rants. You know that I appreciate it.

In Tarangire, we saw pretty much everything. And I'll have to say that that statement is the only, and best, way to put it. A leopard, a family of lions, thousands of elephants (I kid you not), impala, zebra, warthog, wildebeest, buffalo, griaffe, water birds galore, kudu, hartebeest, gazelles, everythiiiing. The day of gamedriving even ended in a freak rainstorm which we embraced with all of our Portland love of those drops from the sky. Sam, Anton and I sat atop the bars of the truck, holding on and swiging back, as we hurlted through the bush, watching the sun set through the clouds and the animals run in palpable excitement. Needless to say, the opening of the Lion King rang through my head (we may have had a rousing, off key, chorus of it later that night...)

Tarangire gave us that "Africa Experience" that we all expected and looked forward to, and in all reality, will be remembered as one of the most beautiful, "in touch" days of the trip. But even that could be viewed as peripherary compared the next 20 days of safari -- all those moments that made us turn to each other and say, wait, this right here around me is Africa? The things that catch you off gaurd are the things that you remember the most.

After our two days of touristy experience in Tarangire, we headed up to the verdant, green, rugged, jungle-laden mountains of the Nou Forest. Never heard of it? No one has. Another check on the cool factor of Dorobo. The drive up was nothing short of spectacular. We hung off the side of the trucks the whole way up. I cannot wait to be able to actually show you guys pictures. Even then though, it might not be enough. I'll try with words.

Immidiately, everything was green. The mountains were almost perpetually in fog and misty rain, which fed the myriad cyrtal streams than crossed through untouched jungle. And....

Pine Trees! You have no idea how excited a group of Portlandians can get over the sight of a coniferous tree when you haven't seen one in a few months. We quite literally jumped out of the truck to grab at its branches and pull them in, crunching the needles in our fingers and breathing in the oil that all of us miss so dearly. And moss as well! In Africa? What is going on?

The forest was freezing at night, and our campsite was tucked away in a spongy little groove on the edge of a meadow, where we seriously all got the best sleep we have had all night. Fleece came out, knit hats, wool pants, wool socks, snuggling in tents to keep warm (ah, the life). Even slugs to keep us company (along with leopards, vervet monekys, and everything else that remained hidden in the forest and out of sight [but not out of mind]). These days were built in to the trip to allow us to see a side of East Africa that rarely anyone ever sees, and so that we could have some time to talk with the Iraqw people (the name of the agriculturalist tride that inhabits these hills) who thankfully spoke some Swahili. Their native language involves clicks, and has no sort of relation to any of the Bantu or Nilotic language groups that surround them, which is yet another fascinating thing about the evolution of languages. These days were also relaxing ones, where we could catch up on our course readings and journaling (I am still having class, just so you know! :p ), which Anton and I of course did, we wouldn't dare think otherwise, and we certainly wouldn't spend our time tracking animals in the deep jungle for four hours. Or getting lost too on the way back.

What can I say...

We found the tracks of some sort of fairly large jungle cat though, and got scared off by the aggresive barking of a hidden animal in the bushes! Totally worth it.

Our last full day in the forest was mainly spent trekking off to a hidden waterfall way way way off the beaten track (I'm convinced that I'm probably the only person in the state of Maryland, probably much of the East Coast other than previous LC trip goers, who have seen this waterfall). The hike was basically bushwhacking through the jungle -- we do this often -- for two or three hours, following our local guides, and ending up at this spectacular, crystal clear 200 foot tall waterfall pouring over the side of a rock face into a huge basin. And what do you think we all did? Stood there and took pictures, marvelling at just how "gorgeous" and "serene" and "beautiful" the cascade was? That's a big no. We quickly stripped down to our skivies (not that we're good at that yet... there haven't been anu naked runs on the beach or skinny dipping in the Indian Ocean or anything of the sort....) and threw ourselves into the pool. It took my breath away, the glacial freeze of it shocking your lungs and heart, and I couldn't help but remember when I watched some people dip themselves into a glacial meltwater lake on the side of Mt. Adams, where an Antartica of ice still floated like a perpetual ice cube, and saying to myself that I would never put myself into water that cold. We cursed and laughed and tauted each other to come in and join us; we bathed under the hail storm of water falling from great heights; we picked leeches off of each other afterwards; we took EA09 Swimsuit Edition calendar pictures; we broke the cardinal rule of African watersources -- to never get into them (although this one was fresh enough that it was completely safe, no parasites for me...); we emerged from the water and froze and ate cookies and gave each other hugs and listened to the thunder of the jungle coming to greet us. And then we made the trek back and fit six people in a three person tent and spooned until it was time for dinner and class. This is the Africa that I will remember. And it keeps on going.

On one of the mornings, a group of six of us got up at 4:30 to go and hike into the jungle to look for leopards. They're most active at dawn and dusk, and we wanted to hear one calling or at least spot its eyes in a tree. As far as big cats go, they're actually not all that dangerous, mainly because they are solitary and will only go after you if a) you provoke them or b) you look particularly tasty. Being a stringy runner has its perks sometimes. While our moonlit, foggy walk proved to not yield any leopards, we did see two sets of eyes, green and luminescent in the beams of our headlamps. Pretty damn cool.

The trek out of the Nou Forest was soggy and cold, and it was with sadness that we left the pine trees and soothing sounds of the jungle at night. But -- we were headed to the Yaeda Valley, home of one of the last hunter-gatherer people in existence -- the Hadzabe -- and there was nothing but excitement in the air.


BUT, I need to take an internet break. Three hours in a hot room is tough. I'll be typing part two of this later today, don't worry.

Love and miss everyone, more so than ever as we launch into the last bit of this trip. One day of internet to get back in touch with everyone! Ah! Not enough. Sorry that I haven't responded to any personal emails, but I will try to later today, and of course I love hearing from you and thank you for taking the time to do so.

All together strange to be back again. But tonight will be a night of Club AQ, perhaps more wine, and a much needed dose of civilization after the bush.

More soon.

Zach