“Everyone hates that mustache, Mate."
“No, they don't! Everyone likes The Mustache. It's distinctive!" This conversation had played out approximately one thousand times over the course of the last year. Pete ends up shaking his head as Andrew reaches up to twirl one side and then the other, to ensure each side is resting in its proper shape.
The Mustache brings a lot of attention, no doubt.
Being in the presence of The Mustache commonly means high fives, thumbs up, hoots and calls from boats across the way: “great mustache, man!” Even the people who don't know the English word for “Mustache” feel compelled to comment, swiping their forefingers and thumbs outward under their noses in the shape of an imaginary mustache. They know even me by the shape of The Mustache, "You are the woman married to The Mustache, yes?” Some people love it. Pete hates it. I've often thought The Mustache has survived as long as it ha specifically because Pete mentions the need to shave it so often. As we ply the streets of foreign ports along side our friends, Andrew waggles his eyebrows in Pete’s direction every time The Mustache is paid the least positive attention.
Maybe Pete could feel The Mustache's momentum building to its peak. Maybe he sensed that existential equilibrium experienced only on the day that your life-purpose aligns with the events and ordered chaos of time and place. Maybe it was because while out on Safari, The Mustache was being shaken out of trim on a daily basis bursting from it's sculpture of wax and straggling forth with even more rebellion than usual. But, the week of our Safari, The Mustache just wouldn’t leave Pete be, and it resulted in an almost continuous flow of tit-a-tat between the two of them, interrupted only by a recitation of The Buffalo Sentence anytime Pete spotted a buffalo.
Andrew’s mustache looking fine, and Pete spotting a Buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo….etc.
Then, came the day of the Great Balloon Safari.
To cap off our Safari, Jen had reserved four slots on a hot air balloon ride over the Serengeti. Ranked as one of the top best balloon rides in the world, scheduled midway between the Oddgodfrey and the Steel Sapphire Crew's respective wedding anniversaries, we decided a balloon ride with champagne after-party and a five star breakfast in the bush would be a justifiable extravagance.
And so, we set our alarm (Francis) for 4:00 a.m. that morning. “Good morning," he says from outside the tent, "hot water for you.” We peel ourselves out of sleep, dress in our Safari gear, and stick our heads out of the zipper of the tent to scan the bushes for the glistening eyes of any more giggling predators. Then, we splash piping hot water over our faces and eyes from the aluminum pitchers Francis left by the door. The windchime frogs has settled down, but the crickets were still signing. Zeb had started a fire, and hot water was waiting next to the French press for coffee.
A clear sky of Serengeti Stars opened before us as we rumbled over the dirt road between our camp and the balloon launch site. A leopard stalked past our headlights, disappearing into the darkness of the bush, less than a half mile from camp!
At the launch site, giant balloons laid on their side, fluttering in breath of fans blowing air into their centers. The balloon’s colors were subdued by the just perceptible twilight, and lanterns lit the pathways we were instructed to take. They served us coffee, cookies in the crisp morning air. We overlooked the Mara River, behind which the stars were just starting to fade under the hint of morning light.
"Hello, I am Captain Matt Wady, I'll be the pilot for your flight today.” With blonde hair, blue eyes, a confident jawline, and a British accent from Kent, England - Captain Matt fulfilled every expectation I had of a Balloonist. We introduce ourselves, Matt judging us up until he lands on Andrew. A smile lights his face, “That's a great mustache!”
"Thank you, Andrew says, " immediately turning to Pete to waggle the brows.
Matt shakes Andrew's hand, "that is a really great mustache!"
Pete eyeballs roll so hard, I think they may get lost looking backward inside his skull. He opens his mouth to wage a debate on the subject, but closes it again as Captain Matt has carried on into more safety briefing material.
Matt directs us over to the balloon. It isn't always done this way, but the way they do it here in the Serengeti, the basket is tipped on its side and attached to a big truck. Once the passengers are inside the basket, each lying in their own little pod, the Captain stands in the center and directs the flame flares into the partially inflated balloon.
Matt gave us the safety briefing, demonstrated with an assistant how we should each tuck ourselves into the basket and commenced making jokes about this being our first balloon flight ever, “What a coincidence, mine too!”
But, he can't fool me, he was born to be a Balloonist.
Interrupted in his train of thought, Matt was admiring Andrew's Mustache again. “I've got to get a picture of that. Can I get a picture of that while we are in the air?"
"Sure," Andrew says, always happy to share the glory of The Mustache with the world. “Maybe Pete can take the photo.”
Andrew and I nestle together inside the basket. We are "seated" on a little bench inside, but laid on our backs. One of the ground crew attaches our harnesses to the balloon, and we are instructed to hold on to ropes on the inside of the basket. Flames roar from the mouths of four large torches, and I can feel the heat on my face. Slowly, slowly the balloon fills, and far more gently than I imagined, the basket tipped up to vertical.
"Okay, you can stand up now," Matt says.
Still resting on the ground, the balloon begins to catch the wind and lift us into the air. The jeep rolls along with us for a few moments until the ground crew releases the tethers holding us down, and then, mostly in silence, we lift into the sky. The sun was just cracking open the horizon, and the Mara River behind us was calm beneath a pink and yellow glow.
“Wow!" became the general consensus, as we looked at the Serangeti from a 360 degree, bird’s-eye view.
Flying lower than I thought, we skirt the treetops and watch for animals below us. We see a herd of elephants from above, zebra wandering among the grass, worthogs running with their tails lifted behind them like tour guides carrying a flag in front of their people. The balloon flies in silence except when Matt periodically adds heat to increase our altitude. My heart is beating fast with excitement, even though it is a smooth and peaceful ride. I can barely hold my camera still, there is always something else to look at over there while I am framing up a shot over here.
A second balloon flies just ahead of us, and while this adds color to our scenery it also allows my imaginations to see our experience from a different angle. We slide over the Mara River, the light and color reflecting the balloon in its surface. We look down to watch birds, crocodile, and hippopotamus in the river.
Then, we launch higher, climbing in altitude to get even further above it all. Flames leap into dome of the balloon skyward, all our faces glow with orange and red as we look up to see. Below us, a herd of Wildebeest are startled by the sound of our balloon flares, and they take off running forward at first, then peeling off to the side in rivulets like river water moving around a rock.
Captain Matt twirls the balloon slowly, so we are each facing different directions from the “front seat" of the balloon at different times. We watch the shadow of ourselves, literally, glide along the Serengeti floor.
“Okay, let's get pictures," Matt says, handing around a Gopro on a long selfie-stick. We each take our picture with the balloon in the background, then Matt leans in to get a photo with The Mustache. "It would be a great Balloonist’s mustache!" Matt says, “Why haven't I grown that mustache?"
Pete turns away from this gross display of Mustachian Praise and Approval, lest he is compelled to disconnect his harness and jump forth headfirst to escape.
Then, it's time to land. Matt instructs us all to sit down in the basket again. “Hold on, this could get a little bumpy." From down inside the basket, I can't see anything but the wicker strands woven together to form what literally is - maybe robust - but only a basket. I rub the strands with my thumbnail, sort of in awe over the simplicity of the whole idea. Matt pulls some ropes to vent the heat out of the top of the balloon, and my stomach is the first to sense our descent. Time stands still as we hover just above the ground, I can see the grasses come into view through little holes in the basket weave. And then....
...the basket touches, bumps, hops, lifts up again for a moment, drags, drags, draaaaagggs, then come to a stop.
"Okay, it's safe to climb out, now."
We climb out and are greeted by a grounds crew who had already set up a display of champagne and glasses. Matt pops the champagne cork into the sky, pours glasses all around, and we are given the option of topping up with Tanzania's fresh squeezed orange juice to make mimosas.
Next, we are driven to a site in the bush set up for breakfast.
We are served fresh tropical fruit, bread and puff pastry we fill with Swahili Honey and cashew butter grown and mashed from Tanzania's delicious fresh grown cashews. The menu gives us every option for breakfast one could want, and our coffee cups are filled and refilled with dark roasted, delicious coffee. Our place settings are displayed atop a heart formed from sticks glued together, and everything is arranged "just so".
We invited Captain Matt to join us, Pete itching to exercise his “Director of HR Instinct for Professional Curiosities.” He just had to find out how Captain Matt had arrived in his lifetime in exactly this spot and so launched into an informal interview with questions directing us quite to the point: How does one find himself a Balloonist in the Serengeti?
Initially a traditional airplane pilot, Captain Matt realized early on that balloonists were fewer by the thousands and flew in only the most exotic of locations. He spends months in the Serengeti or flying over the temples in Myanmar, paid to go on the adventures everyone else spends thousands to take. Pete explains this point exactly aloud, confirming to Matt: “You are clearly a genius.”
“And, he likes The Mustache." Andrew points out.
Pete was about to serve out a spicy response when our hosts broke out into song and dance, carrying freshly made anniversary cakes to set out before us. We dance, and cheer, sing, and clap.
Then, the moment for a snappy Mustache Comeback had passed and Pete rushed away to try out the bathrooms rumored, like the hot air balloon, to be one of the top ten lavatory experiences in the world.
And it was.
That night, we popped another bottle of champagne to enjoy around the campfire, and passed along the “memory stick” as we each relived and rehashed our favorite experiences, first of the last week journeying through Tanzania, then through our mutual sailing trips, and then through the years of our happy marriages, each. We congratulated each other on a Safari well accomplished - having not been eaten by a single predator. [Insert Pete’s Classic “On-Brand” Creepy Old Man Joke Here]
