Travels with Grumpus

Africa? Spend two weeks in the “Dark Continent” tramping around the countryside after marrying the man of my dreams (that’s in case he actually reads this)? My husband-to-be had sprung this one me a few months before the wedding, after we had run into a college friend of his, Binky Dizon, who had been bitten by the Africa bug a few years before. Binky now co-managed Asia to Africa Safaris which organizes safari tours to Southern Africa. Considering that (a) the husband-to-be promised to organize everything (meaning delegating everything to Binky’s company) and (b) I was too busy with the wedding preparations (which he had “delegated” to me), I really didn’t have much of a choice. Africa it was; six days in Cape Town, South Africa, followed by eight days in Botswana. So I have to admit, as we hunkered down for the 13-hour flight from Hong Kong to Johannesburg, with my new husband cursing the morons who had the gall to deprive him of legroom in economy class, I had my doubts.

Table Mountain (from the base)

My doubts, though, were swept aside after we arrived at Cape Town. Charming, enticing and vibrant, it was the perfect segue from hectic Hong Kong into calmer and wilder parts of the world. From the old-world graciousness of our seaside accommodations to the unfeigned and enthusiastic hospitality we encountered everywhere we went, we felt pampered from the moment we arrived. It was as if a chunk of continental Europe had been slapped on to the southern tip of Africa. We spent six days driving around the city and the surrounding areas, taking in the panoramic views from the top of Table Mountain and the ocean vistas from the Cape of Good Hope, enjoying the local cuisine and the excellent wine (or beer in the case of the husband – “Wine is for wimps!” is his motto). A great way to wind down after the hustle and bustle of the wedding and to gather strength before setting off for eight days in the bush in Botswana.

Nice views from Table Mountain and Lion’s Head

While Cape Town was idyllic, Botswana was eventful.

***

Spike, his 17 year-old co-pilot and Maya

It was day 5 of an 8-day safari, day 11 into our great African adventure. Our guide Moses was explaining that the woodland devastation around us was caused by great elephant herds moving south from Namibia to the wetter areas of the Okavango delta. “They like mupane trees because the bark is sweet,” he explained. “They rip apart and tear down the trees, which then grow back as shrubs.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands and for miles around, all we could see were thorny, leafless shrubs about four feet high, and the trunks of felled trees with the bark roughly stripped off.

The British family behind us leaned forward attentively. Then my husband of 13 days nudged me, a manic look in his eyes, and, not so softly and in a language everyone could understand, said “I feel like killing these people.” Great, I thought, I married a lunatic.

“Relax,” I said as soothingly as I could. “Not on this drive. There’s time when we get back to camp.”

“Camp” was the Linyanti Tented Camp, a cluster of maybe 12 tents (5 for the guests, the rest for the staff) in a 125,000 hectare game reserve in the northern part of Botswana and managed by a group called Wilderness Safaris, A to A’s African partners. The quotation marks are necessary because the accommodations are as close to camping and roughing it as camping and roughing it are, say, to a stay at the Makati Shangri-la. The “tents” are really 5-star hotel rooms under canvas, with luxurious beddings, turn-down service and running hot and cold water. For the more adventurous, there are even outdoor showers that allow you to reveal yourself to the wildlife in all your glory – return the favor in a manner of speaking. A couple of caveats do remind you that you are in the wild, after all. “Don’t leave your tent after dark unless you have a guide to escort you to the common area,” began the briefing at our first camp, followed by “Don’t leave your underwear hanging to dry outside your tent at night. The hyenas might get them.” The fact that we almost got charged by an over-protective female elephant also gave us some pause. And in the ultimate proof that we were out in boondocks, as my new husband colorfully put it, “They don’t have any goddamned TVs.”

posh digs

An 8-day trip with Wilderness Safaris typically takes you to three camps, all in different terrain. Each camp has 6 to 12 tents that accommodate 2 people each, and a large common area – roofed or tented dining, bar and seating areas, and a bare ground campfire area – where all the guests, guides and lodge managers gather for meals and happy hour, and assemble for the game drives. A guest’s schedule is pretty regimented: wake-up call (literally – someone stands outside your tent, yelling at you to wake up) at 6 a.m. and an escorted walk to the common area at 6:30. Then breakfast around the campfire as the sun rises, then you’re dispatched on the first of the day’s two game drives. This first one ends around 11, then it’s back to the camp for brunch and a long break. The camp re-assembles at 3:30 before setting off on the afternoon/ evening drive. Typically, the second drive ends back at camp at 8 for drinks, dinner, and more drinks for the so-inclined.

where mickey lost his wedding ring

The activities – and small number of guests – are designed to encourage familiarity and interaction with fellow travelers. It was at a breakfast fireside chat that I discovered what might have given rise to my husband’s murderous tendencies. “I’ve been feeling a bit woozy,” I confessed to Nicola, a 50-something half of a British couple touring Wilderness Safari camps to photograph the next year’s promotional brochure. “I haven’t been sleeping well because I’ve been having really strange dreams.” I thought only to excuse my late arrival at breakfast, but a spasm of recognition crossed her face. “Have you been taking Lariam?” she asked.

“Why, yes,” I replied, surprised.

“Oh, dear. That is the strongest anti-malaria medication but it’s got psychological side effects. Paranoia, delusion. I heard of this kid who lost his mind on it. His parents had to fly to Africa to pick him up – he’d forgotten completely who he was.”

“Yes,” chimed in our charming South African lodge manager. “I’ve heard of this book called ‘Lariam Dreams’ that just talks about cases like that.”

“Uh, ok. Thanks,” I said, strangely relieved. So we weren’t just spontaneously going nuts. And my husband was not naturally homicidal.

***

The day’s first game drive begins when the last bits of pre-dawn darkness disappear – around 7 a.m. in the winter months and as early as 5 a.m. during the summer months. You’re likely to be one of 7 or 8 people setting off in a modified Land Rover: a roofless vehicle with 3 rows of seats behind the driver’s. Each row is elevated bleacher-like above the previous one, ensuring that all passengers have an unimpeded view of the surroundings.

The guides are an essential part of the safari experience. Part natural historian, part eagle-eyed tracker and part entertainer, theirs are the eyes and ears through which you will experience everything in the wild. Our first guide, Thompson, was an excellent companion. Small and dreadlocked, he spoke English peppered with British colloquialisms and with a slight lilt that evoked Rastafarian Jamaica more than nomadic Botswana. He had an eye and an ear for interesting juxtapositions and a genuine talent for spinning a good yarn.

Thompson, Maya, and a dead giraffe

“We heard lions roaring in the distance last night. Sounded like a pride and maybe a solo male. I tracked one down this morning, before breakfast. If we hurry he might still be there.” He drove fast, our wheels turning up dust and bits of mud as we moved across the swampy terrain of the Okavango Delta. We drove through what looked like a sea of green grass dotted with solo or two- and three-tree clusters on islands of earth and brush. The sky was a pure azure, bright and cloudless, and as our other senses became engaged, we noticed the smells and sounds of the bush. “That’s sage,” Thompson said as a spicy scent wafted past us, “coming from those sage plants right there.” And in what first seemed like total silence, we gradually became aware of a chorus of noises. “That’s a blacksmith plover,” he pointed to a small bird that just flew past. “So called because the sound it makes,” we heard the ‘ding, ding’ just then “is like a blacksmith hammering a piece of metal.” We drove past a small pond, still in search of our prey. There were dozens of lithe, graceful antelopes leaping, it seemed, on water. “Those are red lechwe. Their hooves are webbed,” he spread out his hand, “so they can jump off from very little bits of ground. They normally lose their predators across stretches of water like this one. The suckers are afraid to walk through.”

the okavango foliage

The sun was getting high in the sky, but there was still no sign of our quarry. We had been following an almost imperceptible set of tracks all morning. “This one belongs to the solo male,” said Thompson. “He’s an adolescent, probably just been kicked out of his pride. He needs to challenge an alpha male and either win and take over his pride, or be killed. I think he was in a fight last night.” Thompson leaned over the side of the vehicle and pointed out a cluster of tracks leading away from the first set. “But I don’t think he’s been in too many. He’ll probably be skittish and scared. Whoops, there he is …” Thompson swung the vehicle around and there, right in front of us was “Pretty Boy. Look how beautiful he is – completely unscarred.” We gaped, it was our first lion sighting. Pretty Boy was just as jumpy as Thompson predicted, darting away as soon as we got near, through brush and thorn clusters, and he disappeared almost immediately. We followed the glimpses of tail and mane Thompson caught for about 20 minutes, then conceded defeat and decided to head back to camp.

“No, wait a second. I think I have something better!” Directly in front of us was the pride Pretty Boy had been running from: a huge male and four languid females. One cat turned her head at our approach, probably decided she was bored, then dropped her head and went to sleep. The male yawned, stretched, then flipped over and gave us a magnificent view of lion underbelly and testicles.

The king of the jungle shows his stuff

“Lions sleep most of the day,” explained our unperturbed guide. “They’re awake only about 4 hours, that’s when they hunt and feed. And we’re completely safe as long as we stay inside the vehicle. Animals think our car is one large, noisy, dangerous creature, so they won’t attack us.” A fact no doubt gathered from interviewing countless animals, I thought.

***

zebra

Part of the fun of a sighting is tracking down the animal beforehand. This creates anticipation and a sense of drama. Then of course there is the excitement of seeing herds and herds of animals all at once. The few elephant, giraffe and zebra sightings we had at Pom-pom, Thompson’s camp, were surpassed in the hour-long drive from the airstrip to Linyanti, our second camp. In short order, a herd of about 5 dozen elephants thundered in front of us; about 15 minutes later about 100 zebra followed, accompanied, strangely, by a bunch of wildebeest. Shrieking baboons scampered by as, to our great delight, did a couple of warthogs. It seemed that we were driving past a large watering hole at noon, precisely when the animals would be there. We saw impala and kudzu, two species of antelope, at the same watering hole, and a herd of buffalo.

poomba and his brother, sam

The richness of the animal sightings depends on the terrain and time of year. Pom-pom’s main advantage, we learned later was its setting: lush and verdant terrain, its swamp reflected and intensified the magnificent African sunset. Linyanti’s terrain, elephant-ravaged woodland, was dry and arid. But the wildlife was abundant.

Our last camp, Vumbura, combined the best features of both camps. “You’ll get both the water in this camp – in fact in wetter seasons we take our guests to the lodge in canoes – and the woodland” said Roger, our Jeff Goldblum-faced and -sized lodge manager, as he drove us from the airstrip to the camp.

By this time we were seasoned veterans of the game drive and asked our guide, Shaka, to help us find some cats. We spent a day following a solitary cheetah hunt invisible prey, and an afternoon watching a lioness track a herd of zebra across a plain. We also went out on the water to get a different feel of the bush.

Arthur the cheetah, on the prowl

“Will you look at that!” said Alan, our traveling companion in that camp. “My wife and I have been coming to the bush for years and we’re still completely in love with the sunsets.” We looked up as our flat-bottomed motor boat bobbed gently in a lake of papyrus reeds. We were in a clearing having our customary sunset beers and all around us the sky was putting on a spectacular show. It blazed a deep red-orange, casting everything below it into shadow. Five minutes later it was over and the sky had settled into a deep shade of blue.

sunset at Pompom

It only takes a moment to realize why the land plays such a central role in African literature and psychology, and a few days to understand why visitors keep coming back to the bush – to catch a glimpse of leopard or Pell’s fishing owl, or lion doing something they’ve never seen before.

By all accounts it takes a lifetime to take it all in. As Margi, one of our lodge managers, said, you may be settled in London or New York or some other urban paradise, but once Africa – ancient, endless, primal – is in your blood, it never leaves. Truly, God’s country.