Airplanes, Flat Butts, and Building the Smell-o-scape

The human bottom was not designed to sit for 20 hours on a plane. My coccyx has crumbled, my glutes have been smushed up into my hips, and my ass is now the shape of a flat-screen TV. I have taken to sitting on my neck pillow for relief, because who can sleep when your buns are throbbing?

Several times during this last leg of our trip from Amsterdam to Arusha, I’ve joined the small horde of humans standing up near the restrooms to kickstart some semblance of blood flow. This has actually been the highlight of my trip – I’ve met Kili hikers, people from Portland, Albany, and Stockholm, and had a great chat with a young Tanzanian mom whose daughter lovingly climbed into the arms of a (Tanzanian) stranger and promptly feel asleep. If there had been enough room, we would have had a yoga class. Alternatively, if there had been beer, we would have stood there for hours in a makeshift bar. I’m going to suggest this to KLM Airlines and possibly make a million dollars.

Update 12/30 10:00 PM: We’ve finally landed in JRO (Kilimanjaro Airport) to a round of cheers by the passengers. Leaving the plane, I’ve never seen so many people stopping to take photos of themselves and their groups with the plane in the background! I felt a little like Neil Armstrong coming down off the presidential-like stairs from the plane: “one small step for man, one giant leap across the floating space ball we call Earth to the continent where humans first evolved.” We are in Africa.

Update 12/30 11:45 PM: After waiting an hour for the rest of our airport group to buy their Visas, we head out on a fairly stripped-down van with a big rack on the top. Riding with us is Scott, from Virginia, and Matt and Karen from Orange County. Matt is wearing a Stone Brewery t-shirt and I like him immediately. As we’re driving the hour to our hotel, we are starved for sights and squinting to see anything off the road – it’s dark and there are no street lamps.

Here and there, we see bars and restaurants decorated with colorful Christmas lights (even though this is primarily a Muslim country). It reminds Luis and me of Puerto Rico in a way – single-story concrete homes with decorative steel bars on the windows (“rejas”). It’s clear that there is little electricity, maybe none in certain areas. The road is smooth until we get into Arusha town, where the construction hasn’t quite been completed yet. Emanuel, our driver, calls it the “African Massage Road.” He has to say it twice because we don’t quite hear him the first time. When he says it again, we all burst into laughter.

The windows are open and smells appear and disappear -- exhaust, barbecue, a jasmine-floral scent, gasoline, cinnamon, fertilizer, and wet earth. It’s important to me to fully take in the smell-o-scape of a new place – something we often take for granted but makes such an impact on my experience. For instance, when I smell a certain type of truck exhaust, I feel a warm fondness for my travels in Mexico as a young adult. I’m looking forward to getting out in the city and filling out this sensory experience.