The air was brisk that morning but Vicki cracked the window anyway. Her curls, ever ready to riot, seized upon the opportunity. They danced in the wind like the tendrils that dangle from a weaver-bird nest.
Farm of Dream
The Farm of Dream is a lodge nestled in purple hills above the Great Rift Valley. The nearby town, Karatu, is conveniently positioned between Lake Manyara and Ngorongoro Crater. Knobby-tyred rigs like TIK regularly rattle down its mudded street like a military convoy. Karatu’s nickname, unsurprisingly, is “Safari Junction.”
Something awful or wonderful
“Something, or something awful or something wonderful was certain to happen on every day in this part of Africa. Every morning when you woke it was as exciting as though you were going to compete in a downhill ski race or drive a bobsled on a fast run. Something, you knew, would happen, and probably before eleven o’clock.”
And there I was when I woke up (part 1)
Taken for a ride
Where the safari started
Our flight into Zanzibar settled on the runway after midnight. I looked out the window. It was dark and soft like the inside of a smudge pot and there was little to see except the flashes of the ground crew. A tug swung around. Its lamps illuminated palm fronds just beyond the pavement. Dense vegetation completed the backdrop.
