Ngorongoro Crater: The Closest Thing to Eden
Lions, elephants, and the calm of a self-contained world
Our jeep is parked on the side of the sloping road while our guide registers us with the authorities; a lush, emerald caldera unfolds below us.
Denis, our guide, couldn’t get the jeep started this morning. I haven’t driven a vehicle in twenty years; he mentioned something to do with it being parked on the hill. I wonder if we’ll make it into the crater, or more importantly out of it.
Rolling downhill a few meters in neutral, the jeep rumbles to a start and we heave the roof up. After only a few meters of descent we’re transported. Yellow Speke’s Weavers dart through the bushes like children swarming the school yard before class. A Martial Eagle soars just in front of the vehicle, banking and weaving just enough to elude photographic capture. Dozens of Cape Buffalo rest idly; a massive wall of muddy grey skin. Their tails are busy swatting flies in coordinated loops.
We’ve entered the Ngorongoro Crater Conservation Area, the world’s largest intact and unfilled volcanic caldera. Clichés be damned, it’s the closest to the Garden of Eden I’ve encountered. Over 25,000 mammals call this round of greenery home.
On the shores of Lake Magadi, a lone hyena goes for a morning stroll, passing grunting wildebeest, made with God’s leftovers. African legend states the wildebeest was created with the spare parts of the buffalo horn, locust head, cow body, lion’s tail and goat’s legs that God had left over after a busy day of creation.
Bright pink flamingos line the lake’s salty shores. The waters are too alkaline for fish, but just right for the blue-green algae buffet the flamingos congregate for. Erect, on one leg like a dancer in passé position, their pose isn’t for curiosity, but is perhaps how they regulate body temperature. Denis serves us factoids as frequently as our cameras shutter.
It’s April, the season of the “Long Rains” and the landscape is a verdant color bath. Relaxation is in the air, it’s hard to believe we sit in a world of predation and that a hierarchical food chain exists. The air is charged differently than on the Serengeti.
Passing from the lake to the swamp lands, Black rhinos saunter on the horizon. Only twenty to thirty call the crater home and they value their privacy. They are viewed through binoculars and telephoto lenses.
Peering through binoculars, I’ve learned over days of safari to turn around often. Seeking something? It will likely end up right behind you. A herd of female elephants is munching their way towards us, mowing down the overgrown grasses. Tucked amongst the herd are juveniles—Denis estimates ages from one month to one year. Cracking and chomping, their slow march becomes a cacophony of foliage.
Further along the road we pass through overgrown forest. A kingfisher vibrantly splashes against the greens and browns. With the motor off, we admire it’s blue and red markings and torpedo-like beak.
Clunk.
“Roll up the windows,” Denis states hurriedly.
A baboon is perched on the spare tire. Unperturbed by our large metal box, a troop surrounds our vehicle on all sides. We’ve landed in the middle of their commute—a commute which oscillates between calm walking, shrieks and skirmishes, and bouts of humping. A few females proudly display their engorged pink rears.
“They’ve just returned from Brazil,” Denis chauvinistically states with a wink. The delivery of the joke is well rehearsed. We’re his latest audience.
Leaving the forest we enter the vast wide grasslands. Bull elephants dot the horizon. Giraffes can’t make it into the crater and the bull elephants stand as the sentinels of the caldera.
Interrupting the green are two dots of golden yellow. Lionesses. After five days of safari in Tanzania I’ve already seen more lions than on any other safari, but as we drive closer we notice a third. They’re slowly using the road, and we’re going in the wrong direction. Brushing past our tires the tufted tail of one almost brushes me through the open window.
One looks back, slowing her pace.
“There must be cubs,” Denis states as we turn our focus to further in the distance.
Seconds later, bounding out of the high grass come five playmates. Stopping for a rest, two recline in the hubcap of a neighboring jeep. The lion’s journey on the road is relaxed and casual. I learn that the lions care for and nurse their young communally. These five cubs will be raised by three mothers.
It’s time to ascend out of the caldera and leave the lush paradise for the dusty, cracked Tanzanian highway. Perhaps our jeep won’t start again and we can stay in the Garden of Eden.
If You Go
Timing the Green Season: April and May are the months of the “Long Rains.” While you may face muddy roads, you’ll be rewarded with a lush, emerald landscape and significantly fewer crowds than the dry season.
Layer Up for the Rim: The rim of the caldera sits at a high altitude (around 2,300m/7,500ft). It can be misty and surprisingly chilly in the mornings, so bring a warmer layer.
Rhinos: The elusive Black Rhinos are hard to spot. Sightings are generally better in the cooler morning hours. Be prepared with binoculars.
The Cradle of Mankind: A 45-minute drive west brings you to Olduvai Gorge, one of the world’s most significant paleo-anthropological sites. The onsite museum is excellent, and you can walk down into the ravine where the Leakeys discovered 2-million-year-old hominid fossils.
If we haven’t met yet, I’m Richard Philion. I traveled the world during my dance career and continue to explore with the same passion. If you love adventures to both new and familiar places, I’d love to connect and share our mutual love for travel. Through the Travelling Troubadour, I hope to inspire and inform with stories, tips, and itineraries.
Feel free to message me directly—I’d love to meet you.
oh man...that water buffalo!
These photos! Amazing.