12th
On the bright side, your husband may snore, but at least he doesn’t chew the cud (not regularly anyway). In the early hours of this morning, I woke to a sort of grinding, snorting and stomping and struggled to remember where I was. Through the tent flaps, the moon was reflected off the glassy surface of the Zambezi; a yellow glow from dust and the smoke of dry-season fires. Crawling out of my sleeping bag to gingerly open the zip, I peered outside and found myself at about gut-level with an old male buffalo, about 10 feet away.
I had been dying to spend a penny for about 2 hours, but the whoops of hyena and the sounds of buffalo and hippo grunting just a stone’s throw from my pillow, had counselled a near bed-wetting strategy of staying put and thinking of deserts. Finally, I slithered out of my tent and paused. The buffalo languidly turned to look at me, and in a semi ducked position, I kept my eyes on him as I side-stepped 3 steps right, and then a couple of steps back until I was just on the other side of the tent, though still peering round the corner and geared for flight. We both observed a respectful truce, and I executed an equally undignified return to the opening of the tent and flung myself through the gap, heart racing.
Apparently this is a fairly typical night in Mana Pools on the Lower Zambezi. Helping with a game count of the park, I have spent the last couple days walking through one of Zimbabwe’s best wildlife destinations, and can confirm that it lives up to expectations in every way. Watch this space for more.
02nd
I have a friend to whom the idea of sleeping in a tent is as close to purgatory as one could get without actually shuffling off any mortal coils. Conspicuously sporting an intense dislike of adventure, dust and insects, her preferred accommodation will come complete with wall-to-wall carpeting, air-conditioning and 24-hour satellite TV, preferably including Oprah. If no alternative exists, then camping is undertaken, grudgingly, with a convoy of vehicles loaded with chemical toilets, feather duvets, the latest in portable kitchen-sinks and only barely stopping short of a liveried butler.
Said person once made the point that there was really no need for her to visit the Masai Mara when she could view the migration perfectly well on satellite TV, edited for the action without having to hang around waiting for the wildebeest to eventually summon up the courage to take a dip with the crocodiles. Perhaps she has a point.
Recently I’ve been reading interesting stuff about the role that technology will play in the future of travel and it got me thinking. The gadgets and gizmos that are now part of everyday life have done much to bring us into closer proximity to the world’s wondrous environments, wild animals and diverse people. For someone who still hasn’t figured out how the now-obsolete fax machine works, I find it remarkable that, from the couch, I can watch a leopard hunting baboons in the Okavango Delta, or learn about the colourful tribes of Papua New Guinea. I can spectate as the intrepid presenters of Top Gear try hard to kill a Land Cruiser (and themselves) in the Arctic or watch the often excruciating experiences of the likes of Bruce Parry as he surrenders to the manhood initiations of people in South America (incidentally, how many initiations does one need before one feels secure in one’s manhood?).
So I got to thinking, while sitting warm, comfortable and within easy reach of the salted peanuts and a cold beer, why bother leaving the couch at all?
When getting ready to meet our maker, no one ever says “I wish I’d watched more TV”. TVs, Laptops, Smartphones, iPads etc., are amazing for finding out what’s out there, sharing it with your mates and planning your adventures…there’s an app for that, but this is not the same thing as actually “living it”. And therein lies the rub: casting yourself into the 3-D reality of the migration, actually being there and experiencing it, is incomparable in every way to the unmemorable event of observing it on a flat-screen. Out There is where you hear, taste, feel, smell AND see it happening, leaving sensations and emotions deeply and indelibly branded on your psyche.
While life becomes faster, more complicated, more stressful, increasingly artificial, I yearn more and more for simple pleasures such as the delicious sensation of rinsing the days’ adventures off myskin in the balmy evening air under a bucket suspended from the branch of a tree…and there ain’t no app. for that.
17th
It’s an interesting thing that holidays can be both a wonderfully self-indulgent treat and a vital lifeline for the conservation of our planet. Sound a bit far-fetched and idealistic? Perhaps not…
Last year there was an interesting online debate about the ethics of travelling to Zimbabwe. Amongst the various arguments was one made by a Zimbabwean who pointed out that the future of wildlife in his country relies on the revenue generated by tourism and, by staying away, travellers may actually be helping to expedite the loss of these precious resources.
Zim is not the only place where tourism plays a hefty part in conservation. Pick up any travel mag and there will be stories about the likes of lodge owners in Zambia who recently saved a lioness injured critically by a poacher’s snare. Beyond the emergency response; many small camps are involved in training rangers, supporting long-term research and educating adjacent communities about the value of wildlife. Plenty more companies opt to take local communities as business partners, providing them with a stake in the future of their environment.
Of course, it is absolutely in the best interest of these companies to invest in conservation – after all, their businesses depend upon it. But more often than not, this is a secondary concern and the extraordinary lengths that people go to come from a deep sense that this is just the right thing to do. Sadly there are others with a much shorter-term view and less integrity where tourism does leave large and grubby footprints on our natural heritage. Tourism undoubtedly has the power to support livelihoods, bestow economic viability on wilderness that might otherwise be used for mining or agriculture, and conserve and regenerate habitats.
Therefore, the important question should not be “should I travel?” but rather “how can I support the people who are themselves busting a gut trying to save the world all on their tod?” (or words to that effect). Just as you would want accountability from Oxfam as to how they use your donation, choose carefully who you entrust your hard-earned safari dollars to. That way, while you are enjoying your holiday, you know that you’ve invested in the conservation of those fabulous places that you are privileged to visit: killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.
17th
I first visited Namibia in the late nineties as a “three-month wonder” (all naive disorganisation and irresponsibility), dropped off at a lovely safari camp by my parents with the instruction to make myself useful for at least 6 months. I have no doubt that I was more of a hindrance and, judging by the care-worn expression of my boss, I wasn’t the first gap-year princess that had added to their management woes. Anywho…I have vivid memories of that time and some if the best were hewn from the red rock mountains of what is now the southern Kunene region, then Damaraland.
Now, I’m actually starting to bore even myself with exhortations about how wonderful this place is, but it is like nowhere else I’ve been on earth. The colours at sunrise, the shapes of the mountains, the fact that anything that lives here survives on 100mm of rain a year and sea mist, the rock that is strewn on the land as though it was put there, the deep silence of the place. Among its many blessings are that it is not suitable for any human activity (except perhaps rock farming), which means that it has remained hitherto largely unscathed by our clumsy attentions. It lends itself to over-the-top, adjective-rich repetitions about just how magnificently splendid it all is. Ok, I’ll shut-up now.
Our safari takes us from Etosha through the Grootberg Pass and down towards the oasis of Palmwag. We spend a couple of nights at Etendeka Mountain Camp; tents dwarfed by the mountains, outdoor bucket showers where you can cool off, the warm breeze drying your skin as you admire the view.
An early morning walk through the canyons reveals extraordinary plants such as the euphorbia – poisonous to everything except rhino, kudu and ground squirrels. Golden-trunked butter trees crouch in the rocks and we discover that one which is barely 6’ tall is almost half a decade old. There are birds like the Damara rock-runner and Herero chat which are found nowhere else the world. I am amazed to find blue chloride, white quartz and amethyst crystals hiding inside the dull rocks, testament to ancient geological processes.
Later, returning to camp on an evening drive, we stumble upon an overgrown litter of lion cubs. Following the linear oases which cleave this arid place, the lion are like many other species in that they are adapted to the desert. They inherit memories of rich hunting grounds, water that does not dry up and sometimes their wonderings take them to the beaches where they prey on seals. As the sun lowers and sets the mountains on fire, we disturb a black mongoose in his feast of harvester termites. Also endemic to this area, he was only recognised as distinct from other mongooses (mongeese? mongi?) about twenty years ago.
Around the camp-fire, after chicken roasted in foil over the coals, I turn my chair to face the darkness, feel the silence creep into my mind, and search for shooting stars amongst a galaxy so bright that it seems to hang just above my head.
Check out our Facebook page for more photos of this area from my trip.
04th
…and into a macabre mixed metaphor.
Carl Swanson got this extraordinary shot last month in the Northern Serengeti. He spent 3 nights of his safari with a private Nomad vehicle and guide, up at Kogatende on the Mara River and it was here that he witnessed this extraordinary scene. Here’s what happened in his own words:
“We were standing up in our safari vehicle in complete awe as we watched a seemingly endless parade of wildebeests crossing the river. This scene would have been more then enough to call it a very successful day. Then all of a sudden we saw a lion, who came out of nowhere, slowly walking past us and toward where the wildebeests were surfacing on our side of the river. She crouched down, considered her multiple options, and then viciously pounced on this young wildebeest, wrestling it to the ground. It was shocking and exhilarating to watch, a brutal example of survival of the fittest, just 25 feet away from us! It truly was a major highlight of our two weeks in Tanzania!”
29th
Riding with Safaris Unlimited in the Masai Mara
Firebrand and I eyed each other with mutual distrust and the scene took on the sepia tones of a Wild West stand-off…any minute now one of us was going to draw a six-shooter…or at least that was what it felt like. “We’ve given you one of our feisty fellows” our hostess, a weathered, kind and adventurous lady, pointed out rather unnecessarily. “He’s fine as long as he doesn’t encounter water and he’s a bit skittish around logs” she added cheerfully. “Oh and watch out when you turn for home…sometimes he’s a bit eager for the stable”.
With these ominous notes ringing in my ears, I glumly mounted my steed and adjusted the stirrups. My history with four-legged transport had been chequered and having been bitten on the shoulder, kicked in the thigh and thrown more times than was medically advisable, my view of horses was a fairly dim one: dangerous at both ends and uncomfortable in the middle. We plodded out of the paddock.
This was my first experience of “riding wild”. The dry grasslands and whistling thorn of Kenya’s Great Rift Valley rolled away in front of us and the homestead stood in the prehistoric shadow of Mt Longonot – a vast volcanic crater that rises from the valley floor. The warm sun, the peace of the bush, the calls of the birds and the gentle swaying motion of the horse was hard to resist and I decided that I had missed my calling in life…I should have been a cowgirl. We hacked smoothly through the vegetation, able to enjoy its sounds and scents unspoiled by a jolting vehicle. Apart from the odd sudden sideways manoeuvre to avoid a perfectly innocent stick, my mount was well-behaved.
With each animal encountered, it became apparent that, on four-legs, we were a much more acceptable part of the scene. In a clearing, a herd of impala watched with curiosity, jaws working and ears alert, but they didn’t run away. We found ourselves walking alongside giraffe as if part of the group, able to see the details of their painted hides and watch the ox-peckers at work. As we turned for home, we cantered full-pelt alongside a herd of zebra, stripes hectically flying past us, hooves hammering and dust flying. It was one of the most exhilarating experiences I’ve ever had (and consequently I embarrassed myself by shouting “yeeha”).
At this point, we discovered that my younger brother’s nag (“the mellow one”), which had been reluctant and surly from the outset, had actually ground to a halt up a barely perceptible incline and all the kicking in the world was insufficient to galvanise it into forward motion. Of course we discovered that our backsides were ill-prepared for several hours in the saddle and spent the rest of the afternoon waddling around the garden, but it was definitely a memorable experience worth repeating.
There are a number of places that offer short rides into the bush to view wildlife, or, if you are a seasoned rider, you could consider a longer riding safari somewhere like Kenya’s Masai Mara or the Okavango Delta in Botswana.
Fancy yourself galloping across the plains? Click here for more information on riding safaris.
08th
“Luxury” is one of those words that is bandied around shamelessly to the point where you become almost numb to what it actually means. Rather like an exclusive club that you’ve skulked into without the necessary qualifications, it seems somehow nefarious and indulgent. Most definitions angle towards material exces: big cars, expensive hotels, small delicacies on big white plates with equally large price-tags. Which is all very well and dandy if this is what blows your hair back. Back to that old cliché: wealth doesn’t bring happiness. Actually, it probably does, but more to the point is what you do with your available spondoolies. The interesting thing is that the richest experiences don’t necessarily cost the earth.
A few years ago, while camping in Namibia, I had one of the most surreal nights of my life. The tent was tiny – just a taut mosquito net between me and the stars. During the deepest part of the night when even the crickets seem to stop humming, an odd feeling woke me. I remember being aware of the quality of the darkness – it was not quite right. Lying still, I took stock of my surroundings and then the side of the tent shifted slightly, almost as though the wind had suddenly gusted.
Looking up, I became aware of shades of night above me and suddenly came properly awake with the realisation that what I was looking at was the underside of an elephant. With two fore-feet against the side of the tent (only a couple of inches from my prone form), the animal was stretching gently over the tent to reach some ripe fruit on a bush. Weirdly, I didn’t start thinking of the inconvenience of being crushed to death at that moment, but lay there marvelling at the size and quietness of this animal. I could smell its grassy scent and hear its knees rubbing against the canvas from time to time.
The point of the story is that this is something that will remain with me forever, long after I will have forgotten the finer points about the interior decor. In Africa, the real richness comes from just being in the place and the closer you can get to the essence of it, the more memorable it is likely to be.
Want to know more about luxury in the bush? Click here.
Have a look at luxury safari ideas.
01st
Tippi Degré was born in Namibia in 1990 to wildlife film-maker parents. Already it would seem improbable that she was destined to have a run- of-the-mill childhood. Her first ten years was indeed pretty special as her parent’s work took them travelling throughout southern Africa. Namibia’s game ranches, conservancies and the tribal lands of the Himba and San Bushmen became as familiar to her as the local neighbourhoods of a town-child.
Rather like a modern-day Rudyard Kipling (and his Jungle Book creation, Mowgli), Tippi not only made herself at home in the bush but also befriended its inhabitants, displaying unusual fearlessness to the creatures she encountered. Pictures of Tippi scaling the trunk of an elephant, reclining against the furry flank of a leopard and riding an ostrich depict a very unusual child. How cool that your best mate is a meerkat and that, barely knee-high to a grasshopper, you can tick off a leopard by tapping it on the nose and saying “stop that!”. Her mother, Sylvie Robert, developed the belief that her scruffy little rough diamond of a daughter could communicate with the animals and regarded them as her contemporaries.
Not all children are Tippis but they all certainly have the capacity to be captivated by Africa and its wildlife. How tangible is the excitement of children when they first see the tent they will spend the night in, or the Samburu warrior who shows them how to shoot a bow and arrow, and the antics of geckos catching moths around a light at night! While Nintendo and the TV do provide handy distractions for kids, how can they possibly compete with excavating the tiny funnels of ant lions in the sand, or the excitement of hearing a hyena whooping at night? And, selfishly, how cool to benefit from a second childish euphoria while you watch all this as a grown-up?
Furthermore, and probably stating the obvious here, but if the next generation don’t get to enjoy the barefoot freedom of wild places and develop an understanding of its importance for our future, how on earth can we expect them to take an interest in conserving it?
Find out more about going on safari with your children.
Check out some ideas for child-friendly trips to Africa.
Check out Tippi’s web-site.
11th
This morning I rode an African elephant. Until now this experience featured on the anti-bucket list…something I intended never to do before I die. I have quite strong opinions about the ethics of keeping wild animals in captivity and gaining commercially through rides and teaching them tricks. However I decided that getting on my high-elephant about it in a state of relative ignorance wasn’t very fair. I did some research and decided that Safari Par Excellence seemed like a company with integrity and so opted to go and chat to the folk that work with the animals and experience this popular activity for myself.
After the fact, I am still not sure how I feel. Undoubtedly, it was surreal to be so close to these huge animals in such a peaceful context; the cool, tough, bristly hide beneath my fingertips, the smooth groove worn in one solid piece of ivory, the proffered trunk seeking treats, the immense size, the improbable eyelashes. You get an intimate sense of “moving with the herd” and from this vantage point, can enjoy the scampering of the youngsters as they indulge their curiosity and the interaction between individuals. For an animal close to three tonnes, it is astonishing how silently it (or indeed a whole herd) moves through the bush, sensitive pads moulding over the uneven ground with infinite care.
An interesting observation was that of the relationships between handlers and their animals. Clover, originally a zoo-keeper from the US and now in charge of this project, says she’s noticed the subtle body language of an elephant towards someone he doesn’t like, and the flirting that one female reserves for a particular handler. The handlers are rigorously trained and anyone who doesn’t make the grade or gel with the elephants falls by the wayside. Interestingly, many of them are Zimbabweans who have also left their homes and families for a new life.
Whether the elephants enjoy being ridden or not is unclear but it is hard not to admit that they do seem fairly happy. In between their two rides a day, they go out into the bush to be elephants. One of the females left for eight months only to return pregnant to the habituated herd where she gave birth. Two of the elephant here have bred while on the project which is often taken to be a sign that they are content. Not too long ago, the herd returned from their foraging with a youngster in tow. He had been orphaned and is now growing up with his new family and treats the handlers like his bipedal buddies.
I guess I still think that wild animals should remain wild and being able to be so close perhaps dispels a little of the magic. I hope that the operation of elephant safaris remains in the hands of a very few responsible people of high integrity. There is no doubt in my mind that such projects should only serve to give a home to animals that would not otherwise make it in the wild and under no circumstances should wild elephants be captured for commercial purposes.
At the end of the day this is going to be a very personal decision and while some people might find it a life-changing experience, others may never quite get used to the idea.
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