16th
There’s something to be said for really seeing Africa. By this I don’t mean hopping from one idyllic lodge to the other in a private aircraft (although admittedly, there is certainly something to be said for this). No, actually experiencing the life, the buzz and colourful melee which is daily life to the majority of Africans.
Wander through any market and you’ll be treated to a sort of raw sensory overload that I can bet you’ll never match. Large-bottomed ladies in colourful prints argue over the price of tomatoes and sharp lads sit around playing draughts with bottle tops while imbibing the contents of the bottles. Chickens cluck and scoot around between flip-flopping feet, dusty and calloused from hard days treading the rough streets and weekends spent hoeing fields.
An old woman, sucking teeth that are either missing or black, rests her back against a red-brick wall; legs outstretched and creased hands kneading folded notes in her hands. She sells crispy-smooth woven palm mats and baskets, wooden spoons for stirring goopy white maize meal. The sea-smell of drying capenta – small lake fish – fills the air in this corner, while further on, a young woman swiftly chops away at a clenched bunch of greens, bitter and fresh. All around are people calling to each other, advertising their wares, exchanging greetings and family news, gossip.
In southern Africa, roundabouts are known as “circles” and traffic lights as “robots” (making for potentially disastrous results when requesting directions). Robots are a prime opportunity to tempt captive motorists into purchasing all manner of things…miniature markets. Loofahs, brash holographic pictures of waterfalls that move when you walk past them, dustpans made from cut metal sheets printed by Coca Cola. There are wooden bowls and cheap alarm clocks, copies of men’s magazines covertly displayed between the pages of the local newspaper. There are sometimes puppies and rabbits. It’s where you get your daily newspaper and your telephone scratchcards.
The interesting thing is that the vendors don’t try and persuade you that you need the thing. Their sales pitch revolves entirely around how cheap it is. You say “no thanks” and they say: “but, madam, you know the price? So cheap!”. You say: “even if it was free, I still don’t want it”. They say: “only $5…such a good price. End of the day. Closing down sale.” As if this was reason enough for you to go home with an ironing board. Africa….wonderful, frustrating, unique, surprising Africa.
12th
Taking advantage of the Monsoon winds, the Sultans of Oman and Zanzibar plied the Indian Ocean in these unusual wooden crafts known as Dhows several centuries ago. From the Arabian Peninsular they brought dried salted fish, dates and myrrh and on the return trip they were loaded up with cereals, ivory, and human slaves, until slavery was abolished in 1873.
To this day, dhows are an integral part of the East coast of Africa and the Persian Gulf – transporting mangrove poles, tea, sugar and cereals. Smaller dhows are sturdy enough to go fishing way out into the ocean for several days at a time.
Now it was my turn to set sail. Heading out from Lamu Island towards the mangroves and then to the open sea beyond, it was so easy to pretend for a moment that we were pirates setting forth in search of ancient gold and exotic spices, or fishermen heading way out into the Indian Ocean for weeks never to see land, but the reality was quite different.
I was aboard Tusitiri – a beautiful dhow owned not by The Sultan of Oman but an eccentric Scandinavian gentleman. The wide wooden deck furnished with heaps of brightly coloured cushions, a vast wooden dining table at the base of the mast and, at the front, the massive wheel. This was to be home for the next three blissful days.
Going to the loo got some getting used to; the small wooden cubicle hanging off the edge of the dhow was a tight squeeze but perfectly private from the team and with fabulous views of the sea and passing dhows. Getting used to using the smallest bit of loo paper was a tad awkward but very important. The shower on the other side was refreshing and a real luxury. In the cool, dark depths of the hull below was space for luggage and changing.
Our days were spent on deck with forays onto deserted beaches for picnics. Most of the rocky coves are covered with oysters so armed with a knife, we gouged off the oyster shells, prized them open, swilled them in sea water, a squeeze of lemon, drop of Tabasco and plopped into your mouth. You can’t get fresher than that.
We certainly did not starve. In fact, every meal was a banquet of either lobsters, mangrove crabs, barbecued fish or prawns, all freshly prepared by the on-board chef using local spices and plenty of coconut milk. Hot bread, tropical fruits, salads, cakes and pastas, the table was positively groaning not to mention the old waistline.
I snorkelled, water-skied and went deep-sea fishing, where I caught my first sailfish which was tagged and released. It was nonstop – and I thought I was going to finish my book!
Twilight was the best bit. Cool air, delicious smells coming from the galley kitchen, a chilled glass of white wine, relaxing on cushions, and listening to the men sing their gentle Swahili songs while watching the great sun disappear across the sea.
Explore more beaches and coves: check out camps and lodges on the Indian Ocean coast.
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.
25th
Shaking my shoes out should really be a matter of habit, having been raised in Africa, but we didn’t have much in the way of scatchy-bitey things where I grew up. Consequently I almost ended up with frog purée in my running shoe as the animal, demonstrating remarkably poor judgement, chose it as a cosy pied-a-terre, so to speak. Since there didn’t seem to be a plague of them, I chose to interpret it to be a sign of the imminent arrival of the summer rains rather than the apocalypse.
Almost a year has passed since I moved to Harare and the variety and colour of the seasons here has been astonishing. At the moment, we are treated to avenues of dense purple jacarandas to match the bruised skies that precede dramatic electric storms. Clashing spectacularly with the purple, the bright yellow cassias leave a carpet of sunshine on the roads as the flowers start to fall.
Over Christmas and the early months of the year, the flamboyants and poinsettias paint the northern suburbs with a festive red and a couple of months ago there was a tree that flowered pink, white and purple in such abundance that some roads looked readily decked for a fairy-tale spring wedding. Harare’s botanists planned for the streets always to be clad in flowers and they did a remarkable job. It goes without saying that the accompanying bird life is equally noteworthy, with iridescent starlings and sunbirds, multi-coloured louries and vocal robins.
As we wait for the tropical summer storms to brew and ripen, we sit supine on steamy verandas in temperatures that climb to the mid-thirties. In June and July, I hauled out boots that last trod London streets and lived in thick woollen jumpers. There was even frost on a couple of mornings.
The passing seasons have rung other changes too in Zimbabwe’s capital. Young people are flooding back and there are new cafes and restaurants opening every month, in which it is often difficult to find a table. There are ten times more cars on the road and a buzz of cautious optimism about the country’s future. Shops are full, and though the cost of living is not far off London, people seem happy that they no longer have to queue for the basics. There is talk of elections next year and everyone hopes that these will not throw obstacles in the road of economic recovery that we seem to be steadily travelling.
15th
There are some people to whom the idea of being liberally basted in coconut oil and being left to slow roast on a lounger with a good book comes in lower than a slow-painful-death on the to-do list of life. Nightmarish images of sensitive areas chafed by sand embedded in sticky bullet-proof sunscreen, hot-footing it across scorching ground to gain some respite in a tepid pool haunt their pre-holiday dreams. On the flip-side escaping to a desert island where no mobile phones have yet penetrated, to snorkel in crystal tropical oceans and encounter giant land-crabs is what other people look forward to all year.
The fact of the matter is that beach holidays in Africa are so varied that it is possible to find something that appeals to everyone if you plan carefully enough. It goes without saying that most places have a plethora of opportunities to indulge in the above-mentioned do-nothing activity.
Above and beyond this, though, are places like Lamu Island in Kenya, Zanzibar in Tanzania and Ibo Island in Mozambique where the culture is fascinating and you can spend hours wandering the narrow streets, encountering unique local craft and architecture, meeting the locals in colourful markets or watching the fisherman argue over the day’s catch.
For the sporty folk, some of the best diving and deep-sea fishing is to be had off the coasts of Tanzania and Mozambique. The coral reefs are abundant and accessible, with regular migrations of whale shark, humpbacks, dolphins and big game fish. Some places are particularly geared for young folk and offer water-skiing, dune boarding and sailing. For really little ones – well, they just see the world’s biggest sandpit.
If you are an intrepid sort, then sleeping under the stars on an uninhabited island off the coast of northern Mozambique and island-hopping by dhow or kayak might appeal? There are far flung islands that are little more than white piles of sand surrounded by improbably blue seas, like Vamizi or the remote Kiwayu.
To find out more about the kaleidoscope of beach getaways that you could be heading off to as winter approaches…click here.
* Image courtesy of Vamizi
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.
24th
We curious humans can’t resist a pull towards out of the way places where the possibility of not seeing another person or car for days is just as enticing as the beauty of the landscape or the local wildlife. The journey, while possibly a tad more challenging, is often part of the adventure and makes it all the more special. From repeated experience, I can testify that a major schlep to reach a place almost always reaps massive returns (and you feel all intrepid and a bit like Ranulph Fiennes for a day or two).
In the late ‘90s I took at trip on a ferry from Nkhata Bay on Lake Malawi to Likoma Island. Having travelled hard for a month through Mozambique, we decided that we’d earned a little luxury and splashed out on a first class ticket (all of about $20), envisaging a cosy bunk and a cabin cooled by the lake breeze. Unfortunately it didn’t quite work out like that and first class turned out to be a hard bench on the open deck. Third class was down in the bilges with a lot of people, assorted livestock, bunches of bananas, pungent dried fish and sacks of rice. Luxury was clearly relative.
The on-board entertainment consisted of watching the dugout canoes of traders pulling alongside as we chugged along. These boats were hewn from a single tree and some were vast – I counted a family of ten plus baggage seated comfortably in one. Sales were made to the passengers after noisy haggling and the dugouts paddled off as the sun went down. We disembarked in the dark at 4am. It was rather like the D-Day landings…lifeboats were lowered with a single kerosene lamp suspended from the prow. Passengers in the bottom of the ship fought with each other for space, behaving as if each boat was the last. Finally aboard our own lifeboat, we huddled in the cool of the early morning and listened to the gentle splash of the oars as we headed for the dark island.
We sat on the beach and watched the sun turn the smooth lake to mercury as the sounds of the day reached us from the villages on Likoma. We spent several idyllic days camped in rustic thatched shacks on an almost impossibly picturesque beach, accessorized with promontories of big round boulders. We snorkelled in the warm clear water where colourful tropical fish swim, rivalling any marine reef (and lacking only the coral and saltiness of the ocean).
This little patch has now evolved into the beautiful island lodge of Kaya Mawa and Likoma is the jumping-off point for the equally special hideaway of Nkwichi (pictured above), on the Mozambique side of the lake. These are not the easiest places to get to but then again, that’s half the appeal. That said, you can still enjoy the solitude and splendid isolation without slumming it on the deck of the ferry. Simple berths are available for the adventurous and there are also charter flights to the island.
Find out more about the Lake.
Check out Nkwichi – our featured hideaway.
Find inspiration for other Wild experiences.
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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