Charlie in all his magnificence

Unfortunately, all of my pictures of Charlie are a little blurry, but this one is my favorite.

I was already unsettled, and the setting was completely alien -- thick underbrush, roots and wet leaves underfoot, quiet except for whispers and camera clicks, and the rustles and grunts and croons and crashes that are apparently the soundtrack to the daily life of the mountain gorilla -- but the gorillas themselves were somehow strangely familiar.

They are so much like us (we share 97% of our DNA). Looking into those beautiful, deep-set eyes and having them gaze calmly back was a profound experience.

I see you.

I see you too.

It made me feel rooted again. I was far from home, sick in a strange country, but among friends.

And yes, I realize that this is all the most extravagant projection. Charlie was probably not aware of our presence except as something he had to evaluate as a possible threat to finishing his snack and taking a nap, but he did allow us to get close to him and his family. That acknowledgement and acceptance was the most thrilling part of the experience.

Here he comes, walkin' down the street

Charlie, the silverback of the Umubano group, pauses in his stroll through the jungle to check out the wacky humans with their clickety cameras.

After deciding that we posed no threat, he came closer, ate some delicious wild celery, and went to sleep.

Oh baby baby

Here's a cropped image so you can see a little more of that sweet face.

Oh baby

Yes, that's a baby gorilla, only a couple of weeks old, with mom.

They were back in the trees and so not easily photographed, but it was astonishing to me that we were able to get as close as we were. The trust that the gorillas showed us was humbling. It made me want to be worthy of it, to do everything I can to see that they are protected.

Gorillas in the trees

And there they are

We heard the gorillas before we saw them. There were rustlings in the underbrush ahead of us, and then suddenly a huge crash to our left.

Then one of the guides told us to look up, and there they were, three or four young gorillas up in the trees, climbing, scampering, feeding.

I cried.

The rain forest

After the farmland, it's steep paths slick with wet leaves and a man with a machete leads the way, cutting tunnels for the group to get through. Trackers have gone ahead very early in the morning to locate the assigned family and monitor their location, and they're in constant contact with the guides.

After an hour or so, we were told, We're here. We had to leave our bags, and any food or water, and walk the rest of the way with just our cameras.

How gorilla trekking works

When Dian Fossey established Karisoke Research Center in 1967, there were approximately 240 mountain gorillas left and it was assumed they'd be extinct by the end of the century. Today there are just over 1000, 600 in the Virungas and the rest in the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest in Uganda. Although they're still critically endangered, it's a rare conservation success story, and one in which tourism has played a positive role.

Visiting the gorillas is tightly regulated. There are 10 families in the Virungas that are habituated to humans, but there are usually 56 permits issued each day, 8 per group, so not every family is visited every day. The visits last one hour.

We had two prep sessions before we went, one the night before with the head of Rwanda tourism, and one with our guide Augustin before the trek. We learned to make the vocalizations that mean we're not a threat and how to show submission if a silverback took offense at our presence. I got better at the vocalizations -- my first attempt received the gentle rebuke, “It's not a cough,” but by the next morning I got a “Very good“ -- but it's a rumble so deep in the throat that it's hard to do for more than a minute or so, and for me at least usually ends in coughing even if it sounds all right before that.

Rwanda raised the price of permits last year, from $750 to $1500. A certain percentage of the money goes to local communities, but it's given in the form of improvements like schools, roads, and electricity instead of cash payments. Some of it benefits the entire country; Rwanda now has universal health care and free public education. And some of it is earmarked for expanding Volcanoes National Park, and creating more of a buffer zone between humans and the gorillas. There are farmers inside the current park; the first part of the trek is through their fields.

Saturday reflections

One last view from the hospital, the night I was admitted -- the West Side at night, seen through the hazy reflections of a dark hospital room. The moon was already blurred by clouds, which the phone camera really can't capture, but I like the moody, magical vibe.

I like it even more now, from the perspective of my own bed in my own apartment.

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig

Here's another phone picture from my hospital room, as the dregs of Hurricane Florence drenched New York on Tuesday.

I am released, though I remain undiagnosed. I will be spending a lot more time in the company of doctors over the next few weeks, and am hoping that they will either figure out what it is or it will go away -- permanently -- on its own.

Where am I?

I’ve noticed that there are some similarities between being in the hospital and international business class.

Funny socks? Meals on trays? Electric bed that does a lot of tricks but isn’t actually that comfortable? Hours of tedium relieved by tv programs you would usually never watch? Check, check, check and check.

At least on a plane I have a better idea of my destination. I’m feeling better than I was when I was admitted on Sunday but they still don’t know what’s wrong with me.

The adventure continues...

Sunday bird blogging

A sunbird on the grounds of our lodge in the mountains.

I'm not sure which variety -- maybe a variable sunbird, which given the blue-purple-orange color combination seems appropriate.