A remembrance, a repost from a previous writing, a tribute to the spirit of curiosity and courage that Jane Goodall embodied when she first set foot in Gombe, Tanzania in July 1960. She was a young woman alone in the bush, notebook in hand, stepping into the unknown with fearlessness and respect. That blend of childlike wonder and unshakable persistence is the thread that runs through all travel. This is my own field note, written with respect, awe and gratitude - my flag is lowered to half staff for Jane.
Traveler’s Note - Tanzania is a Muslim-majority country (about 60% nationwide, nearly 95% on Zanzibar). It is tolerant and welcoming. Tourism is a lifeline here, and visitors, including Americans, solo travelers, and women, are received with warmth. A little modesty goes a long way (a sarong over your shoulders). You will meet shopkeepers who have a cousin in Houston, guides who know your hometown, and plenty of people ready to look out for you. Safe? Yes. Hospitality? Runs deep.
The first thing I remember about Tanzania is the air. And Jenny’s laugh. We stepped off the plane at Kilimanjaro International after a long stretch through Doha, shuffled through a queue that seemed never-ending, and stepped out into a light rain. The sky was already slipping into velvet, and that sharp earthy scent hit us, dust, wood smoke, and possibility. Abdul was waiting with the kind of grace and quiet kindness that was pure welcome. His team carried that same energy throughout Moshi, Ngorongoro, and on the mountain itself, steady and supportive, never letting the mood dip even when the fatigue kicked in.
Before the climb came an unexpected pause. Our packs were checked, our gear ready, but rough weather at higher altitudes meant a delay. We filled the time with a visit to a local school, where children greeted us with joy and wide smiles. We played football on a field cratered with potholes, high-fived, hugged, and swapped laughter that bridged the culture gap. It was the perfect prelude, a reminder of resilience and community before the mountain’s demands.
Our delay stretched further, so we pivoted again, this time into something truly extraordinary: the Ngorongoro Crater. The caldera unfolded as its own world. Wildebeest everywhere, zebras stampeding in shimmering herds, lions dozing in the grass, monkeys making mischief. Flamingos painted the soda lake pink and our Land Cruiser rolled past in a cloud of dust. Cinematic but unfiltered. Tanzania is layered, abundant, wild. And it set the stage for what was to come.
Kilimanjaro does not care about your confidence. We took the Coca Cola Route, the so-called faster, easier path, though nothing about it is easy. Our days fell into rhythm, boots laced, water bottles filled, packs hoisted, poles in hands. Walk. Breathe. Eat. Sleep. At night came the ritual of the washy-washy, warm bowls of water delivered in plastic basins, enough to scrub from top to bottom and feel human again. A single cup for brushing teeth. Clean-ish, routine is required on a mountain. It’s discipline. Acclimation stops tested our patience. Breath shortened, steps slowed, but positivity mattered as much as oxygen. Pole pole, slowly slowly.
Summit night was another universe altogether. The cold bit through every layer, headlamps cut into blackness, boots crunched volcanic rock glittering in the moonlight. Time warped until Gilman’s Point appeared, the curve of the earth visible in the early light. I cried, undone by altitude, exhaustion, and awe. Uhuru Peak brought celebration, flags flapping, photos snapped, pure joy. The mountain demands partnership, patience, persistence. And what it gives back is the proof of what we are capable of.
Back in Moshi, the first shower after nearly six days was its own celebration. We danced, we celebrated, hugged and said our goodbyes to our team. We demanded Chinese food, ended up with Korean, felt victorious. Saying goodbye to Jenny was bittersweet, equal parts joy, sadness, and gratitude.
Solo and off to Zanzibar, another reward. Stone Town twisted me into its labyrinth of carved wooden doors and alleys perfumed with spice. Kids hurled themselves into the sea while I watched the sunset from the Park Hyatt terrace (yes, another reward). On the other side of the island, Tikitam delivered quiet luxury: fresh food that tasted like the ocean, peace so complete it silenced the mind, and a bathtub that felt like therapy. Days drifted into kayaking, swimming, sleeping, eating. Rhythm restored.
Doha brought the final punctuation mark. A cup of tea at Harrods, a ritual to close a journey that held multitudes.
Travel like this does not fit into a tidy narrative. It is queues and rain, generosity and grit, crying at altitude and laughing in the surf. Kilimanjaro proves something true: possibility, partnership, and positivity always win. The summit, the sea, the strangers who become friends and the friends who become family. These are stories of ordinary people like me, carrying forward the same curiosity Jane Goodall demonstrated, charting the intersection of geography, history, and lived experience.
Life expands when you step outside your borders, your silos, your echo chambers, your algorithm. Allow me to introduce you to Abdul and his dream team, together we create unforgettable Tanzania experiences.
This is Robinson & Roam, curating journeys full of meaning, curiosity, and adventure.
