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Exiting Klein’s Gate

Jan 9th – 16th, 2022

The plan was to leave the Serengeti from the less used Klein’s Gate in the northeast. This would bring us to the Lake Natron area, aka Loliondo Game Controlled Area (GCA).

From what we’d read, this would be a rough dirt track, slow going through real Maasai land. Eventually we would arrive at the shores of Lake Natron, a huge soda lake with lots of flamingos and rugged scenery.

My research on this route produced a lot of conflicting information. On one hand, the road might be slow going and impassable if wet. Another source said part of this notoriously bad stretch had recently been paved. I sort of hoped for the more authentic rough road, but we’d just have to go see for ourselves.

Another mystery was the permits to enter the Lake Natron area. One source said that permits must be obtained ahead of time, others that you could pay at the gate. I tried in vain to obtain permits in Arusha, but I couldn’t figure out how or where to do so. We defaulted to hoping for the best at the gate. In Africa there always seems to be a way forward. This uncertainty added to the adventure a bit, but was also a little frustrating. It is odd that the details of an attraction that they want people to visit are so difficult to confirm.

After a short and pleasant game drive from our Lobo campsite, we arrived at Klein’s Gate. Our park permits were scanned out by the ranger on duty, who said nothing about a fee or any sort of permit to proceed into the Loliondo area. I asked about this, and he looked around and pointed me to a man in a pink t-shirt. “He is the one who deals with this.” 

Pink t-shirt came over and began what was to be the first of many long winded, confusing and unproductive discussions on fees for Lake Natron. Apparently we could pay part here and the rest at the village of Engare Sero at the lake. Or we could just pay the whole thing at the lake. That it is optional we found a little strange. We opted for the latter, to pay everything at Engare Sero, not far from where we planned to camp.

Also at the gate we met Felix and Johanna, a young German couple on an extended trip similar to ours. They were traveling in a hardy looking Land Rover Defender 300 Tdi, looking the very picture of rugged African vehicular travel. We chatted a bit on our plans. 

They too were worried about fuel. As you may recall, we tried to fuel up at Seronera in the central Serengeti, but they were tapped out. Since then, we learned there is likely fuel in Wasso, a village we would drive through on the way to the lake. This somewhat relieved our range anxiety, but both team Felix/Johanna and we remained circumspect until we actually saw they had fuel. 

If they did have fuel, then it turned out that both of us had been eyeing wild camping in the WMA prior to heading to Lake. There is a little used track heading south from the small village of Sanjo towards the Ngorongoro Crater Area (NCA). Reportedly someways down this road, before entering the NCA, there was good wild camping to be had. We agreed that if there was fuel and if the road wasn’t too bad, perhaps we’d meet up later and wild camp together somewhere. 

What about the road? Looking past the gate, it appeared the road was freshly graded gravel. I asked Mr. Pink Shirt, and he said that the road is tar, starting right here. It seems this notoriously intrepid track was now tarred. I was a little disappointed, but I’m sure the locals are happy. With that news we pulled out the air compressor and aired up the tires to street pressure while Jenny simultaneously mocked and consoled me about the new tar road. Lake Natron was a big travel goal, and tar or not, we were still keen on exploring the area.

Into the Loliondo Game Controlled Area

Starting out the road was actually very soft dirt, it was clear from the heaps of gravel that they were still working on this part. With our hard tires we sank in and almost got stuck, but we managed to power through, around a truck that was stuck. Perhaps the tar would start just around the corner?

Immediately the landscape changes with signs of humans and livestock. Not dramatically, but all the grass is grazed down to the nub, and there are fewer trees. We started to see Massai with their herds of goats and cattle. The Maasai were dressed in that curious combination of western and traditional dress. Almost always with their checkered red or blue kaross wraps, a dagger and herding stick. But also with cell phones and sometimes with a western jacket or backpack.

The road became a good gravel road. It wasn’t the intrepid track I imagined, but also not the tar we’d been told. We were getting rattled pretty good with our hard tires, and we finally pulled over and aired down to soften the ride a bit. 

The road winds its way between hills and broad valleys and through some villages. We saw battered old Land Rovers doing hard service as the local bus line, but otherwise almost no traffic. There were also great huge stands of candelabra euphorbia all over and some white flowers that looked like some relation to morning glory. It was clear it had been raining, with short green grass and flowers in evidence.

On we went, meandering through the countryside of Maasai bomas, herds of livestock, candelabras and the occasional wave from a local. After a while we dropped down the hillside into the small town of Wasso, a bigger hub than I’d guessed from the map. We drove past a large compound with the typical high fence of corrugated sheet metal and Chinese writing on it. Inside was heavy equipment. This matched similar compounds we’d seen all over Africa, China’s belt and road initiative in action. And in the distance, the long promised tar road. 

To our relief, Wasso did have fuel. Topped up we now felt free to perhaps explore the fringes of this area a bit and perhaps bush camp. Heading south from Wasso we learned that the new road was not ready for service yet, so we bumped and bounced along the service road adjacent to the brand new tar. 

About half way to our next landmark, the village of Sanjo, the tar road was in service. We heaved the cruiser over the berm and wizzed down this brand new road. Even though it was perfectly smooth and wide, it had been built with some engineering that was optimistic. This was the sort of road that causes a lot of truck accidents, full of sharp hairpin turns and very steep grades. 

We dropped lower in elevation, and the climate became dryer. There were fewer euphorbias and rocks, more acacias, dust and sand. They seemed optimistic about the trade that this new road would bring because with hardly any traffic, we were surprised to enter a large roundabout at the village of Sanjo. This was our decision point to head to Lake Natron, or dive off to the south to wild camp. 

Jenny and I do not wild camp often. In spite of what it might seem, just as at home, all the land you see is owned by someone. To wild camp you really need to obtain permission from the owner. In Africa this is typically not hard. We hear many reports of locals hospitably inviting travelers to camp on their land.

Many overlanders are almost professional wild campers, tucking their rigs into all sorts of places, hardly ever paying for camping or having any trouble. However, I am fairly sure that usually these people are effectively “stealth” camping, that is camping without permission in places they might be asked to pay, or taking hospitality instead of requesting it. Usually these same overlanders are respectful, camping for a short time, leaving no trace and heading out in the morning. But we have no interest in stealth camping. We want where we sleep to be safe, respectful and without concern.

All that said, there is something exhilarating about pulling up next to an inviting looking tree somewhere in the middle of the wilderness and making it your camp for the night. Given that this land was designated a game controlled area, and that we’d seen a few reports of people camping down here, we thought this might be an appropriate and safe place to wild camp. 

Off the tar we went, onto a dusty track. After a short stop for lunch by the road, we bumped back into Felix and Johanna. They had also found fuel, and we agreed that we should travel together to wild camp somewhere close to the GCA/NCA boundary, some kilometers to the south. 

Jenny drove, leading our small convoy, and the road began to have long runs of ultra fine bull dust, as fine as pastry flour. When we’d plunge into one of these runs of dust, huge clouds would billow up behind us and we’d loose all sight of our new companions. We had noted that they did not have air conditioning and they must be suffering in the dust clouds. We swapped positions, they now in the lead and we feeling pretty smug about our a/c. They forged ahead as the track wound south, disappearing behind opaque curtains of dust at times. I had fears that we’d forge into one of these clouds and drive over some goats, or worse, people, so we hung back.

Passing through a village we got a few curious stares and half hearted waves, but no-one seemed unfriendly. Stopping to confer with our new companions, they confirmed that the dust was horrible. Land Rovers are famous for, among other more admirable qualities, having poor dust sealing. Even sweating in the cab with the windows rolled up, they were being inundated and were keen to find camp soon. 

We always struggle when picking a wild camp site, part of why we don’t do it often. Our criteria are: 

• Out of sight of the road
• Legal (or at the very least not obviously trespassing)
• Camp late enough in the day that if someone does see you, it’s less likely they’ll have time to  pass word back to the village, where unsavory types might get ideas about paying a nighttime visit
• Actually a nice place to camp

With our companions in the lead this time, we felt relived of the burden of camp selection. Eventually they pulled a little way off the track under the shade of some acacia trees. We remarked to ourselves that this spot broke our rules, not being off the road and it being early in the afternoon. Also, in hindsight, its legal status was unclear. Nevertheless we were taken with the exploratory feelings of the day and feeling compassion for our new friends suffering in the dust and heat of their vehicle, so we accepted. 

There was a genial air to the afternoon as we got to know each other and set up camp. A giraffe wandered by, and in the distance, we saw gazelles against the dramatic silhouette of Ol Doinyo Lengai, The Mountain of God, whose active volcanic peak reaches nearly 3000 meters. Camping in this wild place, with striking scenery and new friends, we felt we were really having a proper African adventure. 

We swapped travel stories and took tours of each others vehicles, confessing niggles that needed fixing and appreciating various features of each other’s respective set ups. 

A couple locals wandered over, dressed in traditional clothing and having the stretched out earlobes common among Maasai. We later saw this often, but one had his earlobes stretched out enough that he had looped them over the top of his ear. They spoke no English and we no Maasai and little Swahili, but we motioned and pantomimed in a friendly manner, and all seemed well. 

Later on another local came, who seemed a little less friendly and a bit agitated. This raised a warning flag for us. Eventually we understood that he wanted us to pay to camp here and that we’d require protection, though protection from what was unclear. 

The language barrier was pretty high, and we were struggling to understand. Finally he told us the village chairman was going to come, and he had messaged him on his phone. Incongruously, in this remote setting of giraffes, thorns and Maasai, we had cell signal. The whole feeling of the afternoon had taken a bit of a turn, and I started to really regret not chatting with someone in the village to the north before camping here.

As we waited for the chairman, a man came up and rattled off some Swahili. We’d just been chatting with Felix and Johanna about how we don’t give things to people begging, like kids asking for sweets or random people asking for money. But I could tell that this guy was asking for water. When you’re in the desert and someone asks for water, that doesn’t seem like begging to me. 

Jenny gave him a bottle of water, and he was clearly grateful. He drank heartily and offered the empty bottle back to us. Jenny tried to tell him he could keep it. We’ve often been asked for empty water bottles since they have many second hand uses. He didn’t understand and held out the bottle to us. Jenny again tried to say he could keep it. Finally, he just threw the bottle on the ground in our camp and walked away. 

This came as a shock to all of us. Our western sensibilities were affronted all at once, littering and right in the camp of those who had just given him water. I’m sure he didn’t see it that way. Littering is very common here and not seen as a negative the way it is at home. He simply didn’t need the bottle and didn’t want to carry it around. Still, even as we tried to accept this culture, we struggled to not be offended.

We continued our wait for the chairman, the issue of camping still pending. It was a good lesson, that we should listen to ourselves, I was not looking forward to figuring this out. But since the village chairman was coming, then presumably we’d get it all sorted out soon enough, though I did not feel good about him having to come to us instead of the other way around. 

After quite a while, a motorcycle showed up with three people. They got off, and one spoke pretty good English, introducing the village chairman and one of his advisors. We exchanged greetings but they did not seem all that friendly. Pretty quickly they insisted that we pay them to camp here, 30,000 TSH (roughly $15 USD) per person plus 20,000 TSH for a guard. This seemed quite a price for bush camping, but on the other hand, it is their land, and I suppose they can charge what they like, and it’s certainly our fault for not asking their permission first or getting further off the road. 

The whole conversation took a long time and did not go particularly well. In the end, we finally agreed that we would come to the village office the next morning to pay the camping fee. It turned out that the guy who called the village chairman in the beginning was also assigned to be our askari (guard). 

Since we’d finally come to an amicable solution we settled in for the evening. During our negotiations I had mentioned to the chairman that normally when paying $15 per person we get quite a few more amenities, and afterwards he lectured our askari, presumably to up the service a bit. He took it upon himself to find us some firewood. After the fire was going, he pulled up next to the fire and began to chat loudly on his phone, phone call after phone call, listening to music or watching youtube in between calls. Watching this man, dressed in his fully traditional outfit, earlobes looped over his hears, dagger in hand and watching youtube on his phone was very strange. 

He was being so loud we kept hoping he’d run out of phone credit, but he didn’t. Eventually Felix finally convinced him to take his calls away from camp. We all settled down and got over the distaste from how our negotiation went. Then it was back to swapping travel stories, sitting around the fire, all very pleasant. 

As we went to bed, I gave our askari a bottle of water, to which he said nothing. Again these small cultural differences were off putting, where I would have expected at least a perfunctory “asante” (thank you). Regardless our askari kept the fire going while we all went off to sleep. We heard the whoop of hyenas in the night. Was this perhaps what we needed protection from?

I got up in the early morning and found him awake. A perfectly smooth, clean rectangle of sand had been cleared by the fire, where I presume he slept. How he managed to clear this patch of sand of thorns, rocks and sticks is a mystery to me, but I’m sure this is a long practiced trick of the bush that every Maasai knows. He was up and about, and to my surprise, had not drank the water we’d given him last night. 

As I boiled water for coffee, I offered him tea. He nodded. I made the tea as the Kenyans I used to work with liked it, heavily sweetened with lots of milk. He took the tea and said nothing. He said a small prayer before drinking it while I made my coffee. After he finished, he handed the mug back to me and gave a quiet “Asante,” which gave me more pleasure than it should have. Stockholm syndrome perhaps?

Giraffes and gazelles were still wandering about in the distance, it was wonderful. After everyone was up and had breakfasted, we decided not to hang around. Since yesterday’s conversation with the village authorities hadn’t gone all that smoothly, Jenny and I volunteered to stop and sort it out, thinking fewer people might simplify things. 

We headed out, asking in the village, wapi ofisi, where is the office? On only our second try we found it, much easier than expected. Knowing that news travels fast in villages, I went in expecting they already knew our story. They didn’t, but after I explained that we had camped some kilometers south of the village, discussed the matter with the village chairman and that we were here to pay, they immediately understood. 

The night before, there had been some discussion on whether this was a shakedown or a legitimate charge. Curiously I asked if I could see the rate sheet for camping. The official had been leafing through a binder when I said this, and he flopped it open to the page just as I finished speaking. All be darned, there it was, the letter of explanation for camping fees. I have no issue at all paying official fees, and as he wrote out our receipt, we chatted. 

The rate sheet said 20,000 TSH, not 30,000, so I handed over 80,000 TSH, as we’d already paid the askari. He looked at me in surprise and said, “no, no, the fee is 30,000 per person, not 20,000.” I pointed out that his sheet said 20,000. He explained patiently to me that I could see the rate sheet was dated 2010, that it was now 2022 and the fee was now 30,000 TSH, to account for inflation. Not really expecting this to work, I responded that I was happy to pay the official rate, but since the rate sheet said 20,000, I would only pay 20,000. If they wanted to charge 30,000, then they should update their sheet. This prompted a short discussion amongst themselves, and to my surprise they ripped up the first receipt and rewrote one for 80,000, agreeing that I was right. The whole time these guys were very friendly. We chatted about the weather and the Serengeti and tourism in Tanzania.

All that finally finished, we headed out for Lake Natron. The ups and downs of our wild camp experience had sent me into a bit of a mental roller coaster, and we continued to ponder it through the morning.

At the office I asked if the tarmac continued from the Sanjo roundabout. He said it did, so we stopped and aired up the tires. While we were doing that, we attracted a few locals curious about what we were up to. One old man in a suit jacket came up to me and rattled off some Swahili, then held out a US dime. I realized he wanted me to exchange it for shillings as, obviously, ten US cents were of no use to him. So I did, for convenience giving him a very favorable exchange rate of 3000:1USD. He happily walked away with his 300 TSH. I wondered how long he’d been carrying that dime around in his pocket for just such an occasion. I don’t think many travelers stop in Sanjo.

Getting underway, we went through the roundabout, and the road immediately went to gravel. Wait, what was happening? Did this new tarmac road only go from Wasso to Sanjo? We pushed on, thinking it might be a break in the new road, but no, it wasn’t. The new road was only a segment in the middle. We had been duped again and had aired up for no reason. This made for a rough ride. Smiling at the irony, we finally conceded, pulled over and dropped the tire pressure again. 

We saw the humor in it, but still this sort of thing makes you question all interactions you have with locals. I had just been talking to two guys who spoke good english. I asked them if the road from the roundabout to Engare Sero was tar. They said yes, it was. How much more clear could it be? 

As we reflected on this, we went onward. The landscape had changed since Wasso. No more flowers and few candelabras, it was acacia scrubland mostly. Part way along there was a fork in the road. The main road went south, paralleling the lake but west of a ridge with the lake obscured from view. The other fork drove over the ridge, dropping steeply down to the lakeshore, and then went along the lakeshore all the way to our destination. This seemed more attractive to us, but T4A had a break in the road, saying it didn’t go through. Our other map said it did, with the warning “steep and rocky”. We thought we’d give it a try.

Lake Natron

This dusty track was narrow, but we could see tire tracks, a promising clue that the road did in fact go through. As we got closer to the lake, we could see more topography, rocky ridges and steep canyons. We slowly crept down little valleys and up rocky slopes, closer to the break in the map that might be our turnaround point. But it seemed this road did go through. We came around one steep bend and were greeted by our first views of the lake. 

It was glassy calm, and there were stunning reflections of the mountains on the shore, perfectly mirrored in the surface of the lake. It was a little hazy. The whole effect was surreal. The road became very steep as we dropped down towards the lake. A few hair pin turns had been paved for short distances, clearly the site of past washouts. In low range, we let the engine do the braking, and we dropped quickly down to lake level. 

The road skirts a village, and we drove in a dry riverbed for a short stretch before intersecting with the lake shore road. We had bridged the divide on the map and felt in the clear now. Heading south we could see the imposing cone of Ol Doinyo Lengai. 

The road meandered along some distance from the lake. We saw local Maasai, who mostly gave us impassive looks or the occasional half smile and wave. The road joins up with the lake shore, and we got our first view of flamingos, hundreds of them at first and more in the distance. Their stilt legs and pink bodies were reflected in the glassy water, and the haze in the air gave a silvery quality to the scene.

The flamingos were a welcome sight. One guide I’d read said that the flamingos come in October; a conflicting report said January was prime viewing. Here we were, January, and we had flamingos. I have read that fluctuating lake level has lead to less predictable flamingo attendance, so I can’t say for sure that January is normally the time to see them. 

This road was incredibly scenic and enjoyable. We wove around rocks, passed by springs bubbling out of the mountainside and trickling into the lake, and we stopped to photograph the birds and perfectly reflected mountains in the distance. There were hardly any people and no other vehicles.

We eventually came into a dusty and rocky settlement towards the south end of the lake. After a few more scenic kilometers Ol Doinyo Lengai continued to dominate the horizon. Jenny was patient, as the views kept getting better and better, and I kept asking her to stop so I could take more photos. If you put pretty much anything in the foreground with that mountain in the back, you can’t take a bad photograph. 

There are several campsites to choose from at Lake Natron, all scattered near the village of Engare Sero on the southwest shore of the lake. We chose Africa Safari Lake Natron, which has chalets and safari tents, but also allows camping. We chose this based on the view and because they had a swimming pool, welcome relief from the heat. The Maasai Giraffe Eco Lodge and World’s View Campsite also looked good. 

Camping here is a bit of an afterthought, but the manager was extremely friendly and helpful. They only had a few other guests, and they made us feel at home. There was a large thatch roof restaurant with views of the lake in the distance and a pool below it with shelters for shade. We were the only campers, and they offered to make us a fire in a communal fire pit, but we declined. The ablutions are shared public ablutions for the pool, but as promised by the staff, nobody else uses them. We spent a luxurious afternoon relaxing, reading and cooling off in the pool. In the distance we saw a dozen or so giraffe grazing near the lake, nice to see wildlife about. Birdlife was excellent here, and white throated bee eaters, fire finches and namaqua doves came to drink from the pool while we were in it.

Everyone that stays at Lake Natron also has to pay a fee per day to stay there. This is not to be confused with the other fee that we had been told about at Klein’s gate, which we were to pay here at Engare Sero. Those are a one time “gate fee” for passage through the area, paid per person and per vehicle. The other fee is a per person, per night fee. You’d think that this would be added to your bill and paid through your accommodation, a “bed fee”, as is common in many places. But this is Lake Natron. That would be too easy. For no reason that we could discern, the fee for camping is $35.40 USD; whereas in a lodge it’s $29.50, both VAT inclusive. Why campers get charged more is a mystery. The lodge charges $15 pppn to camp, meaning it was $50.40 pppn to stay here in total.

We had received a cryptic email from Africa Safari Lake Natron in response to our booking enquiry, detailing fees in the most confusing way and offering to arrange payment for an additional fee, on top of all the other fees. No thank you. We asked our friendly manager how we paid the nightly fee, and he offered to message the local TAWA representative, who would come to the lodge, and we could pay him directly.

In some time he showed up. He was nice, and though we offered cash, he said he’d prefer that we pay by credit card. He would go back to his office, prepare the invoice and come back the next day to take our payment. That seemed fine to us, if a lot of work for him. Another man in a t-shirt told Jenny that we must pay the local government fee as well, but this was a whole new fee we hadn’t heard of, and we just said no. Since he went away, we assumed this was just an opportunistic “fee”. 

The whole thing was off putting, spending so much time paying different people, or in this case failing to pay different people. It isn’t the quantity of money, we had accepted that. It is the drawn out process, the lack of clarity as none of these fees are posted and the multitude of times we had to pay. 

The next day we headed out to drive around the southern end of the lake. There was some lack of clarity on whether there was an activity fee associated with this or not, so we decided to go to the office and try to pay everything, so we could just be done with it. At the office the TAWA officer was there, but said that there was a problem with the system and we couldn’t pay him yet. The local government representative from yesterday was there too. It turns out he wasn’t trying to levy an opportunistic fee but had wanted us to pay the gate fee by another name. We offered to pay this now, to get it out of the way, and he said it was better that we pay when we left the area tomorrow. Lastly we asked about the activity fee to visit the lake shore. They both shrugged, saying they were unsure, that it might be $20 USD, but that they weren’t the people for that. They told us “Just go,” and someone would come if they wanted the fee.

With no fees paid we went to the lake. The roads around the southern end of the lake are dusty tracks that don’t seem driven much. We wandered this lunar landscape, the Mountain of God watching over us, and enjoyed the feeling of exploration. There was more wildlife than I had assumed would be near; we saw zebras and wildebeest grazing near herds of cattle, later a golden jackal and a huge flock of spoonbills.

The track is rocky and slow along the south eastern shore. At the foot of the mountains, there is a large green swath of grass that drops down to the lake, and we saw herders grazing their livestock all along it. This was spring fed grass, and water bubbled out all along this part of the shore.

A motorcycle pulled up to us and waved us down. He said he was the village chairman and that there was a fee to visit this side of the lake. Of course there was. We relented, and he said he would come back and find us to collect. We shrugged it off and kept exploring. The road was very rocky but for the most part matched T4A. We stopped at one of the springs, where there was a flat spot. It turned out it was a hot spring. Here the village chairman’s assistant caught up to us to collect his fee of 10,000 TSH pp.

The road extends further north on the map, but we lost the track, and it was slow going anyway. We headed back, taking a spur that goes to a viewpoint at the southern end of the lake. From a small rise we could see huge flocks of flamingos spread out in the shallows, slowly pacing the waters to feed. 

We enjoyed a nice sundowner beer here before heading back to our campsite. On the way back I saw a motorcycle following close behind us in our dust. Feeling sorry for him, I pulled over to let him pass, and he instead stopped at our window. He was aggrieved, here to insist we pay the activity fee to visit the lake at the southern end. This is not to be confused with the eastern shore fee. 

Exasperated by all of this, we pointed out that there was no need for him to treat us like we were avoiding official fees, we had stopped at the office and tried to pay. Nor was there any signage on required payment posted anywhere. Before handing over the money, the poor guy had to hear my piece. I explained that from our perspective this whole thing was very frustrating, that there were no signs, “entry fee required”, no posted fees at the office or online. He retorted that this was only a problem because we did not have a guide. 

And this is the crux of it. In Northern Tanzania it is expected and assumed you will have a guide all the time. None of the systems are set up for independent travelers like ourselves. We settled amiably, trying to convince him that he’d get more customers if he made it easier to visit the lake. I’m sure this made no difference, but who knows, I hoped it might spur some community discussion talking point some day.

Back to Arusha

We had a quiet night at camp, and now it was time to head back to Arusha, our time in the bush in Tanzania drawing to a close. We headed off fairly early, wanting to get a jump start on things. The lake remained beautiful, I could not get enough of staring at the reflection of the mountains in the water and that dominating cone of Ol Doinyo Lengai. There is nowhere else like this and I really appreciated this wild landscape. 

It was our final sally on the fees of Lake Natron, to pay our nightly fee due to the Tanzania Wildlife Authority (TAWA) and the gate fee to the community. After many failed attempts they conceded the system was down and we’d have to pay cash. The crack down on corruption in Tanzania has made almost all official payments go electronic, to be attached to a control number for tracking. Sometimes the mobile network or electricity has other ideas and they revert to the old system of paper ledgers and cash. Even with this the officer at the gate wanted to get us our official receipt to show we’ve paid. To do this he needed mobile signal, so he hopped on a motorbike and said he’d be back in 20 minutes. 

The absurdity of this whole arrangement I could not wrap my head around. You go to the gate to pay and the receiving officer has to drive twenty minutes round trip on a motorcycle to issue the receipt? Thirty minutes later he came back without success, the network was down. We were sent on our way. 

It is a stunningand dramatic drive south from the lake. A view of the mountain dominates at every bend. The track is rough, dusty and corrugated, with more patches of ultra fine dust. In our mirrors it was nothing but a tan cloud of haze swirling behind us, ahead bumps, ruts and corrugations. But it felt like proper travel through Africa and we bounced and jarred our way south. Out on distant plains we saw herds of zebras, and later young herd boys with goats. 

On our map was an attraction called “The Hole of God.” We were looking out for what this might be and much too late I saw a deep pothole in the road disguised by fine dust. I couldn’t slow down in time and we hit it very hard, throwing contents of the cab around and we heard a loud noise in the back. We stopped to inspect the damage, and in the back empty beer bottles had gone flying and shattered. The undercarriage and suspension seems to still be in one piece though, so after taking a moment to collect ourselves (mostly me, I felt stupid and responsible for missing this), we went on a bit more slowly. Jenny joked that perhaps that was the hole of god?

It got progressively more dusty as we traveled south. An escarpment that is the eastern rampart of the Ngorongoro Crater Area was off to the west, and ahead dusty plains. And wind. Wind whipped up tall dust devils dotting the distance. In one village brown dusty clouds whipped through obscuring our view. It looked a very hard life out here.

Finally the road dropped us back to Mto Wa Mbu, the same village that has Migobani Camp. It was early and we headed to Arusha, speeding along on silky tarmac. Now that we’d been to the Serengeti and Lake Natron it was time to get to Kenya.

We had the required PCR tests scheduled for the next day, so we thought we’d spend another night at the Mesarani Snake Park. We wanted to chat more with Ma, the owner, and see the snakes we had missed last time.

Mesarani was the same, we were the only guests. Ma checked in on us and we agreed to meet her at the bar for a beer after we’d seen the snakes. The snake exhibit is outdoor, were you walk along the glass face of various enclosures. They have quite a number of snakes there, and informational placards on most of them. This was good for us, we don’t have any idea what a harmless snake or a poisons one looks like. I suppose we still don’t, but one handy tidbit was that black mambas are not black, more a brown camouflage. 

There was also one horrific story about a python eating a security guard in South Sudan whole, complete with photos. Perhaps this was shown to the staff to remind the night watchmen to stay awake. 

We sipped beers in the bar as Ma closed up shop for the night. She told us all kinds of stories, of her sons living in the States, family that were world champion motorbike racers and of the astronauts that had stayed at the Snake Park. Most impressively she told her own story, how she and her husband, freed from international restrictions lifted at the end of apartheid, had packed up a lorry and drove up here to make a life. They’d never been to Tanzania before.

We flipped through an old photo album, sepia with age, that showed the barren patch of land that they’d turned into gardens, the campsite, chalets and the Snake Park. Sadly her husband and partner in this work passed away a few years ago and it was just her these days. It was fascinating to hear her tale and just chat with her. We exchanged WhatsApp numbers and have kept in touch.

The next day we went back to the hospital for our PCR tests. Again we found the process to be fairly organized and straightforward. The rest of the day we spent running around Arusha, preparing for our next stretch in the bush in Kenya. Our plan was to cross at the small Tarakea border crossing, near Amboseli. From here we’d visit Amboseli and West and East Tsavo before heading to Nairobi.

We got the tires rotated, balanced and alignment done, stopped by all the shops for food and beer and felt pretty ready to go. Now we just needed to wait for the PCR results. We had heard good things about Twiga Lodge & Campsite, located in Usa River, east of Arusha. This would put is within striking distance of the border.

After a much appreciated lazy meal at George’s Tavern we headed to Twiga. The property at Twiga abuts Arusha National Park and as we drove the final stretch to their gate, we had a nice view of Mount Meru. We arrived and were shown to the campsite, a nice grassy lawn with some trees. There was a large lodge house with a beautiful garden and lawn just through a hedge.

We were again the only campers, but we found the whole place idyllic. The place is owned by expats from the UK, Paul and Erika. They are Land Rover enthusiasts and in addition to the lodge run Shaw’s Safari’s, who rent Land Rover Defenders for self drive safaris Tanzania. Paul is a mechanic as well and has a workshop on site, both for clients and his own fleet of yellow 300 Tdi Defenders.

We got along with Paul and Erika really well. In the late afternoon Paul invited us on a bird walk, where we tried to get “ten in ten.” That is ten species of birds in the first ten minutes. We failed, but only just. Still, with a bag of beers slung over his shoulder we strolled the perimeter as he and a friend rattled off bird species before I could even get my binoculars focused. Towards the end we stopped and Paul passed out drinks from a spot where we could see both the peak of Mount Meru to the west and Mount Kilimanjaro to the east. It was a lovely evening and we watched the snows of Kilimanjaro turn pink in the late light of the day.

On the second night we stayed Felix and Johanna showed up, our friends from Lake Natron. Erika and Paul hosted us to an amazing home cooked dinner, we sat around eating lasagna and fresh salad and swapping travel stories, it was all really relaxing. It was so pleasant in fact that we decided to stay here as long as we could. 

Kenya requires PCR tests no later than 72 hours old, so we stayed the maximum time at Twiga. Longer in fact, as the hospital misdated our tests by a day to our favor. On our last day, and of course just before it rained, we noticed that we were missing a bolt on our leaf spring pack. This is because if you go to the Serengeti you have to break something, but I suppose we got off lightly. Rushing around, with Paul’s help, we managed to install a replacement just as the first rain drops started to fall.

Finally our time was up and we had to break free from the congenial atmosphere here at Twiga. We made the winding drive around the green mountain foothills of Kilimanjaro to the Tarakea border post. Next time…into Kenya. 

The Nitty Gritty

Lake Natron Fees

Frankly the constant barrage of disorganized fees was infuriating. I do highly recommend visiting Lake Natron, it is stunning in its stark beauty and like nowhere else. But in spite of the countless “karibus” (welcomes) that we are given by locals it does not feel karibu at all, more that we are just a resource to be harvested. Come knowing that this will be a hassle and just accept it. 

The best rundown of the fees I could find was on the World’s View Campsite website. The official TAWA website for all the Game Controlled Areas is unfinished, no fees (or anything else) are outlined there. Alternatively if you do decide to visit and prebook accommodation then ask your accommodation for a detailed breakdown of the fees. Even the relatively organized “Africa Safaris Lake Natron” struggled to do this clearly.

Gate Fees are $35 per plus $20 per vehicle. These are one time fees, payable at the Engare Sero toll booth by the road, marked on T4A. This used to be three separate fees, paid at three separate gates as you crossed the WMA. Mercifully at least these have been consolidated. If you read about three separate fees that is old information.  

The WMA fee is payable to TAWA at the same toll booth, but to a different person. 

Africa Safaris Lake Natron

Camping is $15 pppn, but remember there is $35.40 pppn WMA fee as well, that at time of writing is not payable to your accommodation. If you are visiting the Serengeti from the Arusha side it is still cheaper to drive out Klein’s Gate, stay here a night and pay all the fees than it is to drive back out the NCA. The only alternative to visiting the Serengeti and to avoid these fees is to use the western gates, Ikoma or Ndabaka, not practical for all itineraries. All the fees notwithstanding Lake Natron is stunning and worth a visit, please ignore/forgive all my griping about the payments.

The campsite itself is pretty good, but I don’t know how it compares to others in the area. It had middling wifi, but more importantly, a pool. This was welcome in the midday heat. We didn’t eat at the restaurant, which looked bit expensive and was a fixed menu. Beers were expensive and not very cold. They do accept a credit card.

Ablutions were 3.5/5. Pretty clean and functional, though effectively public with the rest of the property, not exclusive for the campsite. Nobody else used them while we were there, but that is probably because there was almost nobody here. Water in the showers was either hot or scalding, as “cold” water line is a black pipe laid on the rocky ground and heats up in the sun.

The view of the mountain is excellent. 

Route

From Klein’s Gate we drove to the lake via a lesser track that is little used. From the roundabout at Sanjo it took us 3h 21m to drive this, stopping for a little route finding and photos along the way.

Lake Natron

The $20 activity fee includes visit the southern end of the lake, hiking to a nearby waterfall and visit some of the earliest (the earliest?) footprints of mankind, all guided. I hear it is highly recommended, we just were too tired to do the whole thing. I wish we had done the footprints. 

For, I believe, $100 USD you can climb Ol Doinyo Lengai. The mountain peak is 2996 m, and I think the climb starts at something like 1300m. It is not technical, but there is some rock scrambling. The volcano is still active, having last erupted in 2008. 

Felix and Johanna did this and they reported back on their experience. Namely that it was beautiful, but incredibly difficult and the guiding was totally lacking. The hike leaves at 2300, so that you arrive at the peak to watch the sunrise at dawn. The said it was a grueling hike, but that they left too early and arrived at the top an hour early. At the top it was freezing cold. The guides do not advise you on clothing to take or anything else, they just show you the way. Paul and Erika said this is typical, though they have a friend who is a trusted guide there. If you want to climb Ol Doinyo Lengai reach out to Paul and Erika at Twiga for their friends contact info. 

General

We have struggled to shake off some negative feelings of tourism in northern Tanzania, it is such a difficult contrast with the stunning wildlife and scenery. Of course the locals should benefit from this tourism. But one can’t help but feeling that everyone here thinks that tourists have an unlimited supply of funds, and that it should be no problem for them to add any fee they want. When we are upset they don’t see why. We pay others money, why not them? This is a very conflicting feeling, it will be interesting to reflect on this in a bit more time.