by Mary Fitzpatrick
The sun slowly sank below the horizon, leaving a magnificent orange-, pink- and purple-streaked sky in its wake. Soon, the star-studded darkness had completely blanketed Lake Tanganyika. I was in Western Tanzania, staying in a small cottage overlooking the lake and happily coming to terms with the fact that I would be here for at least several days longer than planned. Onward train services – my intended method of travel – had been temporarily cancelled, there were no commercial flights and the lake steamer was not due to appear again for at least a week. The opportunity was perfect for settling in and getting to better know the area’s people and life.
The journey had started out rather haphazardly, without much thought given to how my visit might affect my destination. Yet, by chance, it had turned into an opportunity to travel more mindfully, to think about the choices I was making, to spend responsibly and to take time to bond with the place where I happened to be.
Some years later, thanks to an equally fortuitous turn of events, I found myself in a similar situation. This time I was in Tanzania’s eastern Usambara Mountains in Amani Nature Reserve. The cool air was invigorating, the entire forest dripped with moisture, and nightfall was heralded by an amazing symphony of chirping insects. Due to unusually heavy rains and a lorry mired in mud that was blocking the steep, winding upper reaches of the main access road, I found myself unexpectedly having several extra days to get to know this natural wonderland.
Most of my slow travel experiences have been in Africa, where my roots are longest – mingling in some distant, intangible way, I like to think, with those of earliest humanity. But slow travel elsewhere in the world has been just as memorable. An evening years ago comes to mind: I was cycling solo in Tibet, darkness was approaching and I hadn’t yet found a suitable spot to pitch my tent. As I began to debate my options, a few small structures appeared on the horizon in the middle of the otherwise empty landscape. Drawing closer, I saw it was a small homestead. A man appeared, his hands roughened by work and his face weathered by the elements. After somewhat mistrustfully greeting me, he showed me a large pile of hay pushed up against a splintered wooden wall where I could put my sleeping bag. But then, following a few whispered words from his wife, he motioned me inside their simple two-room home. The couple’s child, asleep on a small cot in the living area, was carried into the parents’ room and the man motioned for me to take that bed. By now it was completely dark outside. I fell asleep in the cozy warmth, wondering how I could ever adequately thank this family for their gift of hospitality.
Looking back on several decades of travel, it seems that more often than not I have been brought to the right spot unintentionally. Too many times, my slow travel was the result of chance – a train getting cancelled, a connection missed, delays en route, or simply a lack of planning. But whether the forced slow-downs happened by design or by chance, it is these times that are my most cherished travel memories. Taking time to get to know a place – its people, their concerns and their issues – has helped me to create memories and lasting bonds. How would things be different for me, for the environment, for the people around me, I wonder, if every journey were planned this way?
My hope for future travels is that my journeys can be more deliberate. That I can better plan how to use my limited resources in ways that will have a positive impact on the areas and people that I visit. That I remember to view each stage of the journey, no matter how seemingly insignificant, as a door into other people’s lives and cultures. That my footprints remain invisible in terms of negative effects on our planet’s resources but lasting in terms of friendships and bonds created.
With this in mind, I offer some suggestions on how to make your travels slower, more sustainable and more rewarding in two of the destinations mentioned above: the Usambara Mountains and Lake Tanganyika.
Usambara Mountains
Photographed by David Ashby
Often flown over on a flight between Mt Kilimanjaro and the coast, or fleetingly viewed from a bus window, these undulating hills and valleys offer a marvellous chance for slow travel, hiking and staying in small, locally run guesthouses, spending time with the Sambaa people, learning about their culture and contributing to local conservation efforts. On Mt Kilimanjaro itself, it doesn’t need to be all about the summit. Consider hiking on the mountain’s lower slopes and getting to know the Chagga people who live there. Summit Expeditions & Nomadic Experience is one group offering walks in the foothills of Kilimanjaro focusing on genuine cultural encounters. On the coast, participate in one of the many village tours offered by local community organizations. Get to know the issues affecting coastal dwellers and support marine conservation initiatives.
Lake Tanganyika
Photographed by fabulousfabs
Many visitors come to Tanzania’s western extremity to encounter chimpanzees at close range and to experience the remoteness and beauty of this untrammeled corner of the continent. The upmarket Greystoke Mahale lodge (www.nomad-tanzania.com), on the lakeshore in Mahale Mountains National Park, is an inspiring example of sustainability and environmental responsibility in a remote and fragile area. Traveling by boat, and sleeping in the Mahale park bandas is another way to experience local lakeshore life.
Originally from the USA, Mary Fitzpatrick has been living, working and travelling in Africa for most of the past two decades. She is especially fond of East and Southern Africa, and it is here – especially in Tanzania, Mozambique and South Africa – where she has spent most of her time. Mary has authored many Africa travel guides for Lonely Planet, including Tanzania, East Africa, Watching Wildlife East Africa, Mozambique and also has written for various newspapers and magazines