Unexpected Ngorongoro

Crowd-loathing Richard Mellor braves one of Tanzania’s most popular safari destinations, the Ngorongoro Crater, and finds that the newest luxury lodges offer a welcome slice of seclusion.

Safari drives in the crater.

Image: Niels van Gijn.

A wattled starling perches on the back of a wildebeest.

Image: Niels van Gijn.

Nah, I’d thought. Though an Ngorongoro Crater novice, I knew that this area – after the Serengeti – was Tanzania’s most prolific for wildlife and, therefore, its second busiest in terms of crowds. And, as someone who prefers experiences away from the herd (read: hates other tourists), that was enough to discourage me from visiting.

Then, in 2016, came promising tidings in the form of two fresh accommodation options. The camps and lodges ringing the crater’s steep-sloped lip – none are permitted within the basin itself – are aligned in a U-shaped curve. Since last summer, however, that ‘U’ has been elongated at each end courtesy of two new lodges. Such extreme positioning isn’t a coincidence, either: The Highlands and Entamanu both emphasise crowd-avoidance and offerings that distinguish them from competitors in their marketing. I’d signed up in a hurry, and now here I am, hoping for seclusion.

My first stop is Entamanu, the newest of all. The journey proves a test of my propensity for adventure: after three hours in the 4x4 travelling to Ngorongoro (pronounced ‘un-goron-goro’) are 45 bump-splattered minutes driving across high plains and forests of spindly acacia trees up what is essentially Entamanu’s drive.

There are definite perks, however. In between the jerks and jags, guide Kakae and I encounter a mobile squadron of baboons, several preposterous ostriches and ten giraffes, spread out in a perfect, pylon-like line on a distant hillside, their hides glinting in the low sun. I gasp and grin; this is nature at its most magical. And something of an Entamanu exclusive: due to those sheer flanks, giraffes aren’t found in the crater itself. Yet we see a dozen or so every day.

Giraffes can’t access the crater bowl due to its steep slopes.

Image: Niels van Gijn.

Entamanu’s eight roomy tents surround the main, multi-room mess hall. This has a dining room, where guests politely play a sort of safari sighting top trumps, and devour wholesome dinners and quality wine, as well as various cosy lounge areas heated by muttering fires; the nights up here are cold. Unsurprisingly, I prefer lazing in my digs, be it reading a book or simply listening to the wind’s constant, meditative ruffling of the canvas whilst snuggled under my four-poster bed’s thick duvet.

It’s empty and eerily noiseless; even the water laps silently

A young Maasai in the Ngorongoro Conservation Area.

Image: Niels van Gijn.

There’s a similar sense of serenity on offer during the next day’s threehour walking safari around Entamanu’s barely-populated surroundings. As well as myself and a German family, our furtive group includes an armed ranger who looks like he hasn’t grinned in decades. The ever-smiling Kakae points out stillmoist buffalo poo before we watch a lioness through binoculars. It’s thrillingly immersive, as is what follows: drinks and the sudden African sunset. The enlarged, plummeting disc goes from yellow to orange to red to gone in rapid succession.

Having cut my hiking teeth, I’m now fully ready for The Highlands’ signature activities. Open since June 2016, this camp’s north-easterly position allows for day trips to Olmoti and Empakaai, two much narrower and less frequented craters in the Ngorongoro Conservation Area. With limited time, I opt for Empakaai. To get there, we must drive through the dry, desolate Bauble Depression. En route, I return joyful waves from tough-looking Maasai child farmers before they return to thwacking their cattle.

Empakaai’s crater is rather paradisiacal and dreamlike: a vividly green-coloured bowl of water, flanked by dense rainforest. The hike down is easy, bar a brief assault by leg-biting safari ants, and then we’re out on the wide, sun-baked shoreline. A flamingo flock braves the super-salty water, and a few more Maasai pass by. But otherwise, it’s empty and eerily noiseless; even the water laps silently. Our ascent back up is hot and hard, even with the jungle shade. Sun cream runs into my eyes. A troop of blue monkeys swinging through the fig trees revive my spirits, and those aggressive ants let my ankles pass in peace.

The Ngorongoro Crater.

Image: Niels van Gijn.

Back home, I explore The Highland’s unusual bedrooms. Instead of canvas, owner Asilia has opted for pods made from glass and wood, the transparent frontage offering uninterrupted valley views from your bed. A buffalo noses into sight as I laze in mine, apparently oblivious to the pyjama-wearing peeper nearby. There’s also a mezzanine level where kids can sleep, monochrome photos of tribespeople, enveloping decks and luxurious bathrooms. I had worried that the pods would seem incongruous on an African hillside, but they blend well into the woodland setting. That buffalo, still kindly weeding my veranda, certainly seems unfussed.

I’m tempted to visit the local Maasai, a trip which, according to fellow guests’ descriptions, sounds far more authentic than most such experiences. Often, the ‘village’ isn’t a genuine one, elders speak suspiciously good English and everything feels far too stage-managed.

Instead, I descend into the Ngorongoro Crater – technically a caldera, but pah, details – with new guide Ayoub. Despite supporting Manchester United, Ayoub is an excellent human being: kind, funny and sincere, as well as brilliant at spotting wildlife from hundreds of metres away. Driving the vast basin’s network of roads, we spy two rhinos out on a romantic stroll, wallowing hippos, hyenas on the hunt for food, and vast gatherings of zebras and wildebeest, each using the other for mutual predator protection.

Zebra and flamingos.

Image: Niels van Gijn.

A bedroom tent at The Highlands.

Image: Niels van Gijn.

The park is busy, as feared: A-list game, like elephants or lions, are routinely surrounded by five to ten cars carrying camera-toting tourists. At times it feels a little too circus-like. However, The Highlands’ proximate position means it can use the less populous Lemala gate, and its guests can loiter in the park for longer. As dusk nears, Ayoub and I happen upon the following scene: six lions, two cubs and one very, very dead adult hippo. Lions taking down a hippo is unusual, and for once Ayoub is as gobsmacked as me. Always the one who eats first, the pride’s thick-maned alpha male lies beside the carcass; his ravenous relatives look on impatiently, fidgety tails seemingly belying their frustration.

Watching in awed silence, Ayoub and I have this surreal scene entirely to ourselves. An impala unwittingly starts to approach, sees the lions, legs it. One of the younger males yawns. Ayoub shakes his head repeatedly. And I think, rather meanly: I’m glad no one else is here.