Last Updated on March 14, 2023 by PowersToTravel
Our travel agent at Africa Travel Resource (ATR), knowing the migratory habits of the animals, designed the route of the trip based on the season. In the summer, the Great Migration of wildebeests moves in the grasslands of the Massai Mara, on the border of Tanzania and Kenya. As fall comes, the grasslands die from heat and lack of rain, and the herd moves south, crossing the Mara River, into Tanzania, where the short rains have just made the grasses grow. Ferocious crocodiles drag down the young and old, as hundreds of wildebeests crash down the riverbank and swim across. This is the epitome of wild animal viewing experiences, however, it can only be seen for a short time during the fall, and our trip was planned for Christmas.
I had found some interesting maps on the Internet which show the general migration circle of the wildebeest, after they cross the river, down through the eastern grasslands to the south, around Christmas, and then they slowly head more northwest, and eventually reach Kenya once again in early summer. Knowing the pattern was interesting, however it didn’t help me match the lodge or tents to the exact location of the herd, at Christmas. So, that’s where the travel agents come in. They often know the positions of the herd for the last several years, and can identify the best potential locations. Planning for the trip at least nine months in advance was critical to putting ourselves in the best place at the chosen time.
However, I have found it interesting how an agent will hear one desirement, and translate this into to a very expensive option, and we meanwhile are unaware this is occurring. I had communicated my dietary needs to our agent. One might think that a diabetic requires a low-sugar diet, but for me it is more basic than that. It means that because I am a Type 1 diabetic, I must eat, and cannot skip a meal. If the food is poor or too spicy, or otherwise not good, I will be still forced to eat it, if I am in an isolated situation. So I communicated that I am a picky, non-spicy eater. She translated that to mean that I am a discriminating diner and directed us toward the best accommodations. They were also the most appealing on the Internet, matched the migration map, and we chose not to bicker.
She not only booked us into Oliver’s Camp, in Tarangire National Park, but she designed the entire itinerary around the availability of that camp. At the time, we just took her word for it that if we could book into Oliver’s Camp, and chose not to, we were missing an experience of a lifetime. It did turn out to be an experience of a lifetime.
She booked us into Luxury Tent Camps, instead of Lodges. Many people do stay at lodges and are quite happy. However, let me welcome you to a glimpse of the tent camps.
Every evening, as the sun is setting, all the guests are welcomed around the campfire, sitting in camp chairs, and offered a drink. The murmur of voices is low, as people talk about the day’s adventures. It was not exactly a group social occasion, as it is difficult to hear other people across the circle, but you get to exchange a word or story with the couples or families next to you. The camp host, with his clipboard, circulates through the group. He is wearing functional khaki, and with the voice of a soft maître d’ of an exclusive hotel, he crouches down next to us.
“Good evening”
“Good evening to you, Paul”, we would say, or John, or whatever his name would be.
“When would you like your wake-up?
“7:30 would be nice.”
“And would you like a shower in the morning?”
“Oh, yes please” my husband would respond.
“Both? And the next? Right after?”
“Yes, that would be great”.
“And tea? Or coffee?”
“Tea.”
Our host would make notations on his clipboard and move to the next group of guests.
The following morning, we might already be awake, or we might not be. A step on the wood floor outside the tent would awaken us fully.
“Hello?” a soft voice would call.
My husband would pop out of bed to open the three zippers on the tent, to welcome in the porter, with his tray of tea and cookies.
The porter would place it on the table and wish us a good morning.
We would sit on the comfy chairs and sip our tea, and nibble our cookies, while looking at the rising sun over the African savannah.
A noise would rouse us into action. The porter would call out, “Are you ready for your shower”.
“Yes we are!” I would jump into action, grabbing the soap and shampoo.
The porter would fill the canvas bucket outside the tent wall with warm water, and hoist it into the air.
“Ready!” he would call.
“Thank you!” we would respond, and I would hop into the shower.
The shower was a canvas stall inside the tent, in the bathroom area. It generally would have wooden slats for the floor, above a drain. Above me was a large metal handle. When I pulled down, the water would gently flow from a shower head above me. When I pushed it back, the water would stop.
This now was the only time of stress of the entire trip. I was challenged to shampoo my hair and wash, and rinse, all using my one bucket of water. Meanwhile my husband shaved. The porter would have delivered a thermos of hot water, especially for his shave. I would turn off the water and vacate the shower. A voice outside the canvas would call out, “Ready for next?”
“Yes”, my husband would answer, and he would face the challenge.
Tanzania – Ubuntu Ndutu bath vanity
Tanzania – Ubuntu Ndutu shower
Diabetic Travel Tips
The food was surprising. I expected to be stressed by native foods and spices, however to the disappointment of my husband, the food was typical European. There was little choice, however it was plentiful enough that if I skipped a course because it didn’t meet my picky palate, I could feel full with the other courses. It was amazing what variety the chefs in the wild could concoct.
Related Links
Ubuntu Ndutu Camp (pics of bathroom above)
(I am not compensated in any way for my reference)
