Marangu - Luxury at the Base of an Icon

My initial assessment of the Mt. Kilimanjaro area was one of disgust that left me considering hopping the next bus out.  From the minute I stepped off the bus in the gateway town of Moshi, I was flooded with ungenuine greetings followed by persistent hassling for Kilimanjaro climbs and Serengeti safaris.  I came here for neither; I came to merely view one of the planet’s most iconic mountains.  I reckon I will stick to my free and peaceful mountains of Montana where someone isn’t trying to sell me a key chain every step of the way.  Plus, I have seen my fill of wildlife; no point in paying hundreds of dollars to sit in a stuffy Land Rover full of bulky-camera wielding tourists.  Nonetheless, my protests fell on deaf ears and the hounding never let up.  Something has gone terribly wrong when a Masai herdsman extends his hand in greeting only to turn your wrist and peek at your watch, grin on his face.  Sorry Moshi, you may have a big mountain but even Dar es Salaam is more appealing.

Busy Moshi streets - often a nuisance to cross, especially when someone is on your heals trying to sell a trip to the top of Kili.

Carrots, oranges, Mombasa mangoes, Tanga mangoes, tomatoes, garlic, ginger, green pepper, coconut, papaya...what more could you ask for!

 The main mosque of Moshi. With Tanzania's population around 50% Muslim, mosques can be found in every town and they are always reliable for that 4 a.m. morning prayer wake-up call.

To escape the riffraff I headed for the small town of Marangu on the lower slopes of Kilimanjaro.  Unfortunately, it was not an escape.  I was like a lone gazelle amongst a pride of lions; I was the only fresh piece of muzungu meat around.  It’s apparently low season in the area which meant I was the only target for more of the persistent hounding for things I did not want.  However, with the low season comes some unexpected delights.

After disembarking the bus in Marangu I promptly shouldered my pack and began looking for a campsite.  Out of shear desperation, I popped into a lodge that I knew was well beyond my budget, just to get the guys who were hassling me off of my back. I was very warmly welcomed by the owner who showed me a few rooms.  I explained to him that I would have to go elsewhere because the luxury that he was offering was not for me.  Desperate for a guest, he offered me any room for well below the normal price and with some additional bargaining I was able to get dinner included.  With any room available, I chose the big one he called “artsy” with strange curves and funky painting.  It was like living in a Vincent van Gogh painting – I didn’t know if I should put my hands to my face and scream or just quietly sit on the floor and meditate.  I did neither.  Instead, I fired up the stove and cooked pancakes.  (I have since researched that the famous “scream” painting I was envisioning at the time was not a van Gogh...oh well.) 

Lush, green, and hilly Marangu.

Luckily I was in Marangu for its twice-weekly market.  It was no doubt a colorful affair.

Well, you could ask for beans.

Wanting only to take some peaceful walks on the lower slopes of Kilimanjaro, I sought advice from the helpful owner of the lodge.  Going against his businessman instincts (the lodge’s other area of business is selling guided walks) he lined me out on places to walk thus helping me to avoid paying for a guide and paying entrance fees.  Apparently he knows a dirtbag when he sees one.

Despite the initial hassles of the area, I came to have an enjoyable couple of days on Mt. Kilimanjaro’s lower slopes.  Once away from the nagging touts of the main village, I found the local Chagga people of the area probably some of the friendliest I have met.  I followed small roads and footpaths that took me though small villages, farms, open meadows and lush rainforest. One morning, I woke to brilliant blue skies, which I hadn’t seen for some time.  I jumped out of bed and hastily threw a small day pack together and rushed up the lower slopes to finally get a clear view of the mountain before the inevitable clouds moved back in.  I was rewarded with clear views of the mountain and with not a soul around.  If it weren’t for my growling stomach (my hasty packing resulted in no food in my pack) I may have considered poaching the mountain (a lofty consideration).

I may have not gotten the legendary views of Kili with elephants marching in the foreground, but I at least like to think that I got unique views that few other tourists get.

The small roads and footpaths winding through the lower slopes of Kili were delightful; the smells were fantastic, people friendly, and the bananas delicious.

In the end, the hassles and frustrations were worth the few moments on the doorstep of such a famous mountain.  At the same time, I am glad to have checked it off the list and have no intention of returning.  Excessive tourism has ruined a mountain.  I dislike the way that it has driven people mad for their slice of the tourist bucks and I dislike the way it makes me have to treat them in return.  Call me a curmudgeon, but it’s not for me.  What is also not for me is this luxury stuff.  Really, why do I need 2 forks, 2 spoons, and 3 knifes to eat a pretty-looking but small portion of food?  With all the utensils I expect a lot of food.  And what in the world is the long pillow on the bed for?  My one dirty spoon and Therm-a-Rest are all the luxury I need for now on.