The GOM was up for a trip to the forest reserve in the Pugu Hills ( technically just a 20 minute drive beyond the airport) but looked decidedly blue when I said this included a hike. This created an interesting juxtaposition: he keeps himself pretty fit and I manifestly do not, so my enthusiasm and his lack of it can only be explained, in his terms, by his firmer grasp on reality.Uniquely for Tz, booking is obligatory, which I did a couple of hours before we set out so that he had no opportunity to change his mind. The directions to get there were ( perhaps intentionally?) misleading, and it was only by following our noses that we made it to the last 1.5km which were on dirt. This branched off in all directions, and we must have done - eventually - three times that distance on false trails. My kiswahili was stretched beyond breaking point trying to understand instructions on how to get to get back on the right track. I can confirm that the male reluctance ever to ask for directions does not extend only to the English language.
However he got a chance to show off his 4WD skills, and I learnt, yet again, how important impromptu prayer is - much to the annoyance of the GOM who took my involuntary calls on a higher being as being a reflection on his ability to keep the car in a semi upright position.It is only marginally less terrifying to be looking down on the driver from the passenger seat, than to be looking up at him. It's at these points he asks when I am going to have a go. Never is a long time.
Again by following our nose and heading in the general direction of the large modern ediface we could see high in the hills, we arrived at the padlocked entry gate and received a somewhat surprised response to our phone call to be let in. The owner is a Dutchman called Kiki, whose primary interest is in the conservation of the remaining vestiges of coastal rainforest at Pugu and Kazimzumburi, something he has been trying, and failing, for the past 14 years, to get the government to take seriously.
To fund his passion he has a resort with 4 overnight bandas, to which he welcomes (somewhat reluctantly I amagine) visitors. Reluctant or not, he has constructed over the years a very comfortable dining and lounging banda with absolutely stunning views, and a superb infinity pool.
I had seen on the website "swimming included in admission when there is water in the pool", which in Tanzania usually means there hasn't been any for 10 years. I regretted the decision not to bring my costume. His own ultra modern home isn't visible from the "business end" of the resort but can be seen both from above and below. The mind boggles at how the construction was managed in such an inaccessible spot.
Kiki told us that he has been going to leave ever since he came here " but how do you walk out of paradise?" He has a 9 year old at the International School in Dar which means a 2 hour round journey twice a day in Dar traffic, and of course as she gets older the isolation isn't going to help. I suspect however he will still find reasons for staying.
There are several reccommended hikes lasting up to 5 hours. We decided to do the shortest, to the reservoir, but with no strong feelings about whether we got there or not. We had a guide from the village, Hamidi, though he was actually more of a guard. He spoke only one English word - snake - and in the circumstances, if you have to have only one, that is a pretty good one to have.
Hamidi took one look at us two wazee and set his pace at something between a gentle stroll and a complete stop. In the heat, that suited me just fine, and, armed with sticks, we followed him as he cleared the track in front of him of loose leaves and branches - shelters for the aforementioned snakes. I learnt that he did know the English word, when he indicated one slithering away from the path. Not that I saw it, which set the pattern for the day. We never did get our eye in. The animal life in the forest is much reduced from what was there 50 years ago, when there were leopard and lions. Today there are antelopes and vervet monkies, and lots of nocturnal bushbabies and bushpigs, though I can't say I would want to bump into the latter. But we didn't bump into anything, that we saw - even the GOM with his binoculars. Hamidi was pointing out birds and monkies, but we couldn't see where he was pointing. We could hear a cacophany of calls throughout the forest however. Pugu remains one of the world's most important sites for the variety of birds it has, and I was hoping to see rather more than in Dar where the incomer, the horrible Indian house crow, has virtually eliminated everything except "little brown jobbies". No such luck. I did see a couple of huge hawks slowly circling on the thermals.
Without Hamidi we would have been lost within a couple of feet of entering the forest.
Besides watching out for snakes, he also prevented us from striding straight into a line of driver ants, around whom we made a very careful circuit and afterwards were checked to ensure we hadn't picked up a painful passenger.
However he got a chance to show off his 4WD skills, and I learnt, yet again, how important impromptu prayer is - much to the annoyance of the GOM who took my involuntary calls on a higher being as being a reflection on his ability to keep the car in a semi upright position.It is only marginally less terrifying to be looking down on the driver from the passenger seat, than to be looking up at him. It's at these points he asks when I am going to have a go. Never is a long time.
Again by following our nose and heading in the general direction of the large modern ediface we could see high in the hills, we arrived at the padlocked entry gate and received a somewhat surprised response to our phone call to be let in. The owner is a Dutchman called Kiki, whose primary interest is in the conservation of the remaining vestiges of coastal rainforest at Pugu and Kazimzumburi, something he has been trying, and failing, for the past 14 years, to get the government to take seriously.
To fund his passion he has a resort with 4 overnight bandas, to which he welcomes (somewhat reluctantly I amagine) visitors. Reluctant or not, he has constructed over the years a very comfortable dining and lounging banda with absolutely stunning views, and a superb infinity pool.
I had seen on the website "swimming included in admission when there is water in the pool", which in Tanzania usually means there hasn't been any for 10 years. I regretted the decision not to bring my costume. His own ultra modern home isn't visible from the "business end" of the resort but can be seen both from above and below. The mind boggles at how the construction was managed in such an inaccessible spot.
Kiki told us that he has been going to leave ever since he came here " but how do you walk out of paradise?" He has a 9 year old at the International School in Dar which means a 2 hour round journey twice a day in Dar traffic, and of course as she gets older the isolation isn't going to help. I suspect however he will still find reasons for staying.
There are several reccommended hikes lasting up to 5 hours. We decided to do the shortest, to the reservoir, but with no strong feelings about whether we got there or not. We had a guide from the village, Hamidi, though he was actually more of a guard. He spoke only one English word - snake - and in the circumstances, if you have to have only one, that is a pretty good one to have.
Hamidi took one look at us two wazee and set his pace at something between a gentle stroll and a complete stop. In the heat, that suited me just fine, and, armed with sticks, we followed him as he cleared the track in front of him of loose leaves and branches - shelters for the aforementioned snakes. I learnt that he did know the English word, when he indicated one slithering away from the path. Not that I saw it, which set the pattern for the day. We never did get our eye in. The animal life in the forest is much reduced from what was there 50 years ago, when there were leopard and lions. Today there are antelopes and vervet monkies, and lots of nocturnal bushbabies and bushpigs, though I can't say I would want to bump into the latter. But we didn't bump into anything, that we saw - even the GOM with his binoculars. Hamidi was pointing out birds and monkies, but we couldn't see where he was pointing. We could hear a cacophany of calls throughout the forest however. Pugu remains one of the world's most important sites for the variety of birds it has, and I was hoping to see rather more than in Dar where the incomer, the horrible Indian house crow, has virtually eliminated everything except "little brown jobbies". No such luck. I did see a couple of huge hawks slowly circling on the thermals.
Without Hamidi we would have been lost within a couple of feet of entering the forest.
Besides watching out for snakes, he also prevented us from striding straight into a line of driver ants, around whom we made a very careful circuit and afterwards were checked to ensure we hadn't picked up a painful passenger.
Hamidi eating matunda ya asili - honey-fruit
We turned back when the GOM's rumbling tummy drowned out the birdsong, and made our way along the edge of the reserve. We only met 2 people on the whole journey, but there is farming and habitation further down the hill and a charcoal burning village in the reserve itself. Floating up from below we heard the soothing waves of the one o'clock muezzin call -something normally submerged in the background noise of the city unless you are very close to a mosque. We also saw another sign of human habitation - the blue plastic bag. Ten years ago all the sides of the roads in Dar were strewn with rubbish waiting to be burnt, and these tacky thin blue plastic bags that every shop used. It was terribly unsightly. That has almost entirely disappeared in the city, but not in the area where you would least want to see them. A law was passed last year banning the use of plastic bags, although suppliers are being allowed to run down their existing stocks, so no change has been seen so far. If it does become effective it should at any rate boost the basket making trade.
The tension between the expanding human population of Dar ( increased 25% to 4 million in the last ten years) and its satellite towns and villages, and the preservation of areas like Pugu, is a difficult one to sort out. The area is supposed to be protected, but there is no official action - as opposed to rhetoric - to stop encroachment for agriculture and burning of trees to make charcoal. But what do you do with so many people on the doorstep for whom charcoal is the only fuel they can use? And yes, I am aware of the hypocrisy when I know we bought 3 sacks of charcoal for our barbecue last week. So I am ineffectually wringing my hands. Typically sopping wet liberal as the GOM might observe.
By the time we got back - and I had been obeying with alacrity the frequent admonition "pumzika" (Rest!)- I had a hearty appetite for what turned out to be an excellent lunch and a severe case of dehydration. The heat of the day although lessened by the forest shade, and some cooling hill breezes, was still strong.
Following lunch, we acted like the wazee we are and fell asleep on the couches - I did say it was comfortable. When we finally left sated and happy, even the the craziness of the Dar rush hour couldn't spoil it - well not for me, I wasn't driving.
We turned back when the GOM's rumbling tummy drowned out the birdsong, and made our way along the edge of the reserve. We only met 2 people on the whole journey, but there is farming and habitation further down the hill and a charcoal burning village in the reserve itself. Floating up from below we heard the soothing waves of the one o'clock muezzin call -something normally submerged in the background noise of the city unless you are very close to a mosque. We also saw another sign of human habitation - the blue plastic bag. Ten years ago all the sides of the roads in Dar were strewn with rubbish waiting to be burnt, and these tacky thin blue plastic bags that every shop used. It was terribly unsightly. That has almost entirely disappeared in the city, but not in the area where you would least want to see them. A law was passed last year banning the use of plastic bags, although suppliers are being allowed to run down their existing stocks, so no change has been seen so far. If it does become effective it should at any rate boost the basket making trade.
The tension between the expanding human population of Dar ( increased 25% to 4 million in the last ten years) and its satellite towns and villages, and the preservation of areas like Pugu, is a difficult one to sort out. The area is supposed to be protected, but there is no official action - as opposed to rhetoric - to stop encroachment for agriculture and burning of trees to make charcoal. But what do you do with so many people on the doorstep for whom charcoal is the only fuel they can use? And yes, I am aware of the hypocrisy when I know we bought 3 sacks of charcoal for our barbecue last week. So I am ineffectually wringing my hands. Typically sopping wet liberal as the GOM might observe.
By the time we got back - and I had been obeying with alacrity the frequent admonition "pumzika" (Rest!)- I had a hearty appetite for what turned out to be an excellent lunch and a severe case of dehydration. The heat of the day although lessened by the forest shade, and some cooling hill breezes, was still strong.
Following lunch, we acted like the wazee we are and fell asleep on the couches - I did say it was comfortable. When we finally left sated and happy, even the the craziness of the Dar rush hour couldn't spoil it - well not for me, I wasn't driving.
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