TravelStream™ news feed for member the_traveler on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/the_traveler en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 16 Sep 2004 14:33:05 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090890900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090890900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090890900/tpod.html Thu, 16 Sep 2004 14:33:05 -0400 Botswana Wildlife Safari

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Savute Marsh, Chobe National Park, Botswana

Now is as good a time as any to introduce a word or two about our camp crew. They travel in an old Mercedes diesel truck, carrying all our supplies - tents, fuel, water, food, etc. At most, only three can ride in the cab of the truck, and possibly only two. The rest ride in the back, over the dusty, bumpy, bone-jarring roads. After that they proceed to set up four large tents, complete with a freshly dug pit toilet and bucket shower in the back of each; next is a dining tent, their own tents, and a "kitchen". Then they're off to gather fire wood and generally provide a seamless transition to our next camp. Let me tell you that it's a very comforting sight after a hard day on the road to see camp all lit up, a lantern in front of each tent, a dozen or so hung around the dining tent, and a fire roaring ready to ward off the coming winter chill. We are well supported.

Folks my age should well remember Jackson Browne singing the praises of his road crew "settin' up them amps" and Jesse Colin Young's "hauling ten tons of speakers and an old Steinway Grand" (in the interest of full disclosure, when I worked with Jesse he had moved on to three guitars, an effects rack, and a Lincoln Town(e) Car). A good road crew makes it or breaks it - without them you're a guy in jeans standing in the middle of a field holding a guitar with only your mom and your girlfriend listening. Yes, all you guys going out with Sting and the Rolling Stones are good - real good. There's nothing like having 400 union employees, fueled with donuts and coffee, descending on a place with ten semi-trucks and two tour busses to get your show up...
Any one of you union guys want to come out here and dig some toilets? I didn't thing so. Five guys and one woman make it happen out here, and I wouldn't feel better supported if I were riding to Madison Square Garden in a limo (and why I'd be doing that is another question). The point is that this is one crack safari crew.

Camp was nearly struck by the time we left the Khwai River yesterday. We climbed aboard the trucks around seven to game drive until late morning before moving onto our next camp here at the Savute Marsh in Chobe National Park. The crew for Alwyn's truck consisted of Jayne, Nancy, Dan, and I.

Our final game drive along the Khwai River offered a dizzying mixture of lion, giraffe, zebra, buffalo, hyena, hippo, jackal... It was as if everyone was coming out to say goodbye. The floodplain spread out like a stage, all the players acting out their drama, creating an overarching story that opened a small window into the workings of the natural world for observing humans still a little awe-struck from the night before. I kept going back to the notion I was taught in basic college physics of the how the observer alters the observed (during the brief period that my basic college physics course dealt with the unwieldy subject of quantum mechanics - all of it fascinating and only marginally understandable.) It doesn't take a theoretical physicist to tell you that a consistent flow of humans, no matter how well meaning, rambling through the bush in large vehicles will have an effect on what is observed. We Americans generally sit fat and happy at the pinnacle of the food chain. It's a good idea to at least know what it is we're sitting on top of; to know what is threatened from existence by a perhaps brief age of human domination. So Jayne and I find ourselves ten thousand miles from home, observing, learning, and much better off for the experience. I hope that my presence here is a positive thing overall. No doubt for me it is, but for others as well, and for the animals and environment that we've come to experience. Spending time with Alwyn and Stanley gives me hope that my belief is well founded. They love the land and being in it. They do this for a living. Providing an economic incentive to protect the wilderness is the best way to save it, at least in the short run. There will always be people coming through here; this is right about where people started to "be" anywhere, as our distant cousins, lost in the fog of prehistory, gingerly dropped down from the trees and started walking around on two feet. Bringing people through armed with cameras instead of guns seems the best one can hope for. Being a tree-hugger from northern California requires that I feel slightly guilty for the privilege of flying halfway around the world to experience a distant and exotic locale. I do this very well. I come here anyway, thank God.

The morning sun climbed its way up into the sky, the air warmed, and it was time to move on toward the Savute Marsh. The final prompt was a call on the radio from Barnes, the camp crew manager, informing Alwyn that they were leaving Moremi and heading toward our next campsite, thus giving the crew a slight head start. This and the time in the afternoon that we'd spend game driving upon our arrival in Savute was their total allotted time get ahead of us and set up camp - about three hours in my estimation, maybe less.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. What about that road from Moremi to Chobe?

A tattered wooden sign nailed to an acacia tree saying "Main Road" with an arrow pointing straight up. A rutted track cut through the bush, sometimes with sand so deep that it brought to mind driving a four-wheel drive high in the Colorado Rockies in the dead of winter; only this was sand and we are in Africa (though it is the dead of winter).

It was about a five hour drive, including lunch, before arriving on the Savute and then proceeding with a two and-a-half hour game drive. The merciless road beat you down, made you dig within yourself to keep from slobbering all over your shirt, your head jerking forward in a fit of microsleep - Always, Alwyn drove on...

It would have been much worse had we not stopped under the only tree for miles around big enough to shade our two vehicles, the ten of us, and our lunch table next to a shrinking pan of water in the middle of the open savannah. One well scouted tree by our intrepid guides, I suspect.

After a fine lunch enjoyed under the big acacia tree, followed by a short walk around the pan to stretch our legs, we were off again, through the sand, toward our new camp.

Once we officially arrived on the Savute, Alwyn stopped and we piled out to reconnect with solid ground and reintroduce our legs to the idea of walking. That, a cold drink, and for some a walk behind a bush, and we were off, this time in "game drive" mode.

The hard road had taken its toll. Young Dan became quiet and, sitting next to me in the seat behind Alwyn, was looking a little sullen. When asked by his mother if we were losing him for the rest of the day, he freely admitted that we were indeed. Shortly thereafter the binoculars that he was holding in his hand dropped on the floor of the truck between us, a faraway look in his eyes. For myself, I do admit looking forward to the luxury of a relatively private pit toilet. If you ever find yourself taking running hot and cold water for granted, I'd suggest that you stop and give a little nod of gratitude for the simple things in life.

But the African road taketh away (tough, jarring desert tracks), and the African bush givith back (incomparable landscape). That this place was once under water is absolutely not in evidence now. The landscape is what I've always imagined an African Savannah would look like. Flat, low scrub brush, tall grass gently waving in the late afternoon breeze, with scattered trees - beautiful, austere, and eminently photographable - punctuating the wide open land. There isn't a whole lot of water here now, but as recently as 1980, this area was indeed a marsh and mostly underwater. As things go in this part of the world, the water moved somewhere else. Since then, three manmade pans are fed with pumped well water to support wildlife - and the tourism it attracts. The observer affecting the observed.

By the time we slid into camp over the sand covered road, the fire was roaring and the hot water for my bucket shower was waiting. Damn if we didn't keep running around in the wilderness and all the sudden there was camp.

Stepping out of the truck that had massaged my butt all day long, a wave of gratitude washed over me - Camp! Tent #2! Home!
With a sudden surge of energy, Dan challenged me to a chess game. With a sudden desire to wash up, I deferred the challenge until later.

By the time we emerged from our tents, the Southern Cross shown through the wisps of smoke rising up from the campfire. I settled into the warmth with my obligatory and much appreciated glass of Chardonnay. It's a tough life out here - but maybe one I could get used to.

The lack of a permanent source of water was a change from Moremi and the delta. As a consequence, there is the concern that hyenas will come into camp and bite into the bottom of our canvas washbasins in search of water. We've been instructed to dump the water out and leave the basins overturned - and are happy to oblige. To my knowledge, no hyena approached our tent, though I have to admit that I slept remarkably well last night, not once requiring a visit to the lamp-lit stillness behind the tent at 2am.

We were out on the game drive before sunrise, the eastern sky tinged with the crimson light of the approaching sun. Everyone agreed that this was the coldest morning yet, dipping down to the lower thirties, but it was worth it to witness the sunrise over the savannah. If you have to get up early on a cold morning it's very gratifying to be welcomed by a big, orange rising sun, radiating warmth and light. There is a primal, remnant fear that the sun will go away and never come back. And a corresponding primordial sense of relief when the rays once again reach down and bathe the world in daylight. Everything else is ordered around the rising and the setting of the sun.

The morning was unusually breezy and cool (as if being in Africa for a little over a week would give me any sense of "usual"). The highlight for the morning was a pride of six lionesses keeping tabs on a distant herd of giraffe - all rather nonchalantly, as lionesses do. Soon it was late morning and time for everyone to take a nap, so we left the pride sprawled languidly in the shade of a bush, and headed back to camp. The warming sun and the motion of the Land Cruiser made me drowsy, and the conversation turned to elephant facts. Among them are that they spend eighteen hours a day eating up to three hundred pounds of, well... African bush. They sometimes sleep only twenty minutes a day. Can you imagine? Less than seven hours and I'm grouchy. I show up for work on Sunday morning at Grace Cathedral on four and-a-half hours, and somehow I manage. But twenty minutes? Come on, get real, do you expect me to believe that?

That's probably why the poor guy taking a nap behind a tree next to the track we were following out of camp for the afternoon game drive was so cranky with us when we inadvertently awakened him from those few precious moments of sleep. The sound of an elephant being rudely awakened is a loud, resonant and sustained wail. Much like that of many a trumpet heard in high school jazz band. Only a lot better. We heard him before we saw him, and we didn't mean to awaken him, of course. We stopped and slowly backed up to wait for him to make his next move. Best to let an elephant have his twenty minutes undisturbed.

But the real show for me this afternoon was the trees, the wide open land, and the big, blue sky. Barb and I discovered our mutual love of taking pictures of trees (fellow tree-hugger!) and so Alwyn provided us with ample opportunity to try and capture the angular shapes and stark isolation of trees on the savannah.

The evening game drive ended with Alwyn stopping in the middle of the Savute and allowing us to disperse from the truck to watch the sun set and disappear into the horizon. Wildebeest and impala grazing in the distance were silhouettes on the darkening sky, a light breeze stirred the air, and night settled in.

It was dark as we made our way back to camp. Suddenly I saw a flash in the headlights as Alwyn made a quick corrective move. I thought to myself, "Was that an elephant's butt I just saw?" Alwyn mumbled something about almost hitting something, and a second later the unmistakable scolding of a startled elephant trumpeted through the air. It is my hope that it wasn't the same elephant we upset on the way out. The observer affecting the observed indeed!

The wind has picked up tonight, making it difficult to keep the lanterns lit at dinner, and bringing a chill that beckons the warmth of my cot, complete with a hot water bottle at the foot, and a chocolate on the pillow. It was never like this when I was Boy Scout.
Jayne and I have decided to see if we can book an extra night at Victoria Falls instead of laying over in Johannesburg. Why we'd want to spent a night at a layover hotel just outside the airport is a bit of a mystery, and it seems as if that could have been presented as an option.

Not that I'm complaining.

Tomorrow we will move on to the Chobe River, our last bush camp before Vic Falls. The end of our journey is approaching.

But for now I sit out on the African savannah listening to the wind whip the tent and watch flickering light of the lantern outside. Soon I'll be straining to remember this moment, so I'd better just lie still and soak it up. The moon is now near full, and the ghostly light makes the landscape luminescent; drenched in mystery and hope, much like the feeling while watching the quelea. Mystery in the quiet workings of nature, and hope that the sun will rise once again tomorrow.

In case I haven't yet made it clear - I love it out here.

I will report in next from the Chobe River.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090721700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090721700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090721700/tpod.html Thu, 02 Sep 2004 18:45:07 -0400 Botswana Wildlife Safari

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Khwai River - Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana

Pardon me for the interruption. I had to step outside for a moment to "gather my thoughts". It feels as if there is a little more activity in the bush tonight. I'm hearing a sound that I can only guess is the troop of baboons near Stanley; or what could it be? There is a bird very close to us, I think in the tree overhanging our tent. I can't hope to recreate the song in words, but it has a kind of "wind-up and pitch" aspect to it ("there's the wind-up and therrrrrrrrre's the pitch!"), to use what from me is a quite rare sports analogy. Then another sound I've never heard before; and now the recognizable grunt of a hippo... every so often the distant calls of hyena. There is a strange energy in the atmosphere. Perhaps it can be explained scientifically - waxing moon and increased illumination, barometric pressure, dew point, humidity - but the air feels different.

After all, it is the Night of the Quelea.

The evening game drive started off like usual; it was Jayne, Dan, Scott, and I with Stanley. But it didn't stay that usual for long. I was riding like the wind; poking my ponderous frame through the roof of the Land Cruiser as Stanley drove down the tree-lined bush track, my face to the warm afternoon sun. I had my bandana on. I was the master of all I surveyed. Tom of Botswana... Tom? Tom? Hello?
What can I say? The wind in your face and the African wilderness all around - the ultimate thrill ride.

It's hard to tell that it's happened when you're on the kind of roads we travel. I didn't have a clue until Stanley stopped and got out of the truck mentioning something about a "puncture". He would have changed the tire all by himself (that's the kind of guy Stanley is), but once Dan and Scott got wind of what was going on they miraculously appeared outside the truck begging to help Stanley change the tire. Not to be upstaged, I offered my assistance as well. No sooner did we get the left rear changed than Stanley said the front rear was punctured too (there are some pretty nasty thorns out here).

Okay, now it was starting to feel pretty adventuresome. Out in the bush, two flat tires, nothing but a few bottles of water and some Cliff Bars...

I joked with Jayne before coming here of just wandering into the bush never to be heard from again. Walking off the shore of civilization into the open sea of the wilderness. "Perhaps now is my chance!" I thought to myself. Dusting the grime off my shirt from helping Stanley with the tire, I then remembered the problem I'd had all along with this scenario of giving it all up and finding enlightenment in the wilderness. I'd eventually run out of soap and wouldn't be able to wash my hands. I remain tethered to civilization.

Stanley radioed Alwyn, who said he'd be right there. By the time Alwyn arrived, Stanley had the tube patched, and with a little help pumping up the tire, we were soon on our way.

Flush from the macho demonstration of our survival skills (Stanley helped too), the boys and I went topside as we rode toward the river in search of Big Game. Dan and Scott laid down their own rap as we went: "Tom, Tom he's the man... got his bandana on..." Then "Jayne, Jayne she's the woman..." Somehow, there is no higher praise than to be considered cool by a fourteen-year-old, if only for a moment.

At some point on our way back to camp, the boys had devised a fiendish game called "jelly", in which the player stands on the seat of a moving land cruiser. Upon the word "jelly" the participants go limp (as in 'jelly'), letting the bush track toss them about until the participants are simultaneously convulsed with a mixture of tears and laughter. Unfortunately, if you're not a participant, 'jelly' can become a bit tiresome rather fast. Fortunately, jelly couldn't go on forever - even for a pliable teenager. Bruises were imminent, which would alert parents of something going on. Jayne, Stanley, and I didn't want to be accused of beating their children when the children were doing a fine job on their own.

With the help of Jayne's urging, a peace and quiet settled in the Land Cruiser as Stanley headed back to camp. The sky was changing from deep blue to velvety purple, to the west lit with bright orange. The ball of the sun sank slowly and relentlessly into the horizon, jagged with line of distant mopane and acacia trees.

The trail that led back to camp ran parallel along the Khwai River to the west. Tall grass hid any distinct shoreline, the stillwater pools of the river provided the perfect respite for birds and hippo. We came up behind Alwyn's truck parked on the road along the river and stopped. Alwyn, Nancy, Bill, Barb, Nicky and Christian (Alwyn's younger brother and a member of the camp crew) were all intently looking to the west.

It seemed to have no beginning or end - it was suddenly just there, and we were in the middle of it - there was a sound, a gentle rush of air in the growing depth of twilight. And then a ribbon, a black wave of movement, flying low, counterclockwise in a great circle on the horizon all around us. Quelea by the millions, roosting in the transition from day to night, when so much of the African wilderness comes to life.

At first there was some furtive conversation, but soon the only sound that could be heard was the snap of shutters and the rush of air caused by the synchronous movement of a million pair of wings. Alwyn allowed us to get out of the trucks and me to walk a short distance away in my attempts to capture the sound with my sound machine. I stood about fifty feet from the truck in the tall grass holding up my little contrivance to the horizon. I realized that the effort was most likely futile. There would be no way that I could ever hope to recreate what we were witnessing, and what I was feeling. I stood there in the twilight and the whole world seemed contained here in the pools of the floodplain, the ring of trees along the horizon, and the unceasing wave of quelea. Making my way back to my compatriots, I saw that I was not the only one discovering their own private epiphany. We all stood awestruck facing the west. The camera shutters were mostly quiet now as everyone succumbed to the magnitude of nature's benevolence in allowing us to witness the scene before us. The movements of each bird seemed directed by a life-force larger than any individual; the whole greater than the sum of its parts. It felt like a great big lesson was being told to us in the soft blue cast of twilight. Nature was smiling and asking only that we pay attention - just be still.

We stood there for fifteen or twenty minutes until the light became too faint for us to stay any longer. As we all climbed back into the trucks I noticed that Jayne had tears in her eyes. We were all quiet riding back into camp. But we were all joyous; there really is no other way to describe it - joyous.

Yes, there is definitely a feeling in the air tonight. It reminds me of the sound I hear inside my head sometimes; when I'm in deep contemplation, pondering whatever meaning I may find in this world, an internal dialog.

Nature is talking, calling out to its constituent parts; contemplating itself. I am blessed tonight because I feel as if I'm a part of it. You can't go back to the Garden of Eden. But you can sit in a tent and listen to it softly calling.

When I started this entry I held out little hope for adequately expressing what we saw, heard, and felt this evening. I have truly lived up to those expectations. But if there is any sense left in the reader, even the tiniest measure, of the transcendence that was experienced out here along the Khwai River this evening; the feeling of unfathomable power found in everything that surrounds us, then I lay down my pen tonight satisfied.

We will leave here in the morning, and I will next report from the Savuti Marsh in Chobe National Park.

It is a good night here; and to all a good night!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090719000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090719000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090719000/tpod.html Tue, 31 Aug 2004 19:32:25 -0400 Botswana Wildlife Safari

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Khwai River - Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana

"The Night of the Quelea..." Has kind of a ring to it, don't you think? Like some bad B movie I saw as a kid in the late sixties. (Why do the late sixties seem like another epoch?) Well if this evening's game drive were to be given any sort of moniker, "Night of the Quelea" would be it; and it's a far, far cry from any second-rate film seen at some matinee on a summer afternoon when I was ten. Sometimes nature just opens up her arms and reveals something that is beyond imagining, letting you know that all your petty ambitions are of little consequence and most times just silly. Hey, don't just take it from me, the Africa newbie; both Alwyn and Stanley said they've never seen anything like it either, and they do this for a living. Upon returning to camp this evening I made the comment to Nicky what a great writing exercise it would be to describe what we had just seen. Well, I've now set the stage and have no choice but to follow through with those words and embark on an exercise that will only prove my inadequacy in such regard. I persevere nonetheless (dragging you all along with me); but not before bringing us up to date on the last two days - a slight reprieve. The reward will be the Night of the Quelea.

We left the Xugana Lodge yesterday morning, using two Cessna six-seaters to take us a short ride back down the delta near the north gate of the Moremi Game Reserve (our entry earlier this week was at the south gate). Not surprinsingly, I was quite full of my pilot-self as the two planes made their approach and landed on the soft grass strip. I was allowed to sit in the co-pilot seat, though I think it was out of a misguided feeling of security for some that were a bit apprehensive about flying in a light plane. No doubt a result of my bragging the previous night of my flight school days. Okay, I could have gotten the thing down in a pinch, but it wouldn't have been pretty - it being a good six or seven years since I last landed an airplane. Even then, landings were still the most challenging skill in my "flight skill set". My most accomplished flight skill you may ask? My radio chatter; I had that down. So much so, in fact, that my instructor once as much as told me after I reported into the San Carlos tower one day that "he's going to think you're a better pilot than you are". It made me feel as if I should "dumb down" my radio persona so the controller would realize what an idiot I actually was. The radio chatter is cool. Maybe I could get a gig with an airline doing the cockpit radio. "NorCal approach, this is United 909 at flight level two-one-zero for 11,000 with Tango..." Oh, did you want me to actually land the plane as well?

Given the discussion thus far, you can well imagine the childlike excitement I felt sitting in the copilot seat with my hands on my lap and my feet well away from the rudder peddles. But it was soon over and I realized that I actually preferred the delta while sitting precariously in a mokoro than I did from 4,500 feet. (Do I hear a "well, Duh!" out there?) Nonetheless, our pilot brought us in for an acceptable landing; I didn't have to intervene. As we taxied to a stop at the end of the runway, we could see Stanley and the two Land Cruisers waiting for us, now almost seeming like the center of the earth - home. We were back in the bush.

After disembarking and packing back into the Land Cruisers, a sudden decision was made to separate by gender. Us guys (two middle-aged men - one of them just barely middle-aged - and two teenagers) with Stanley, and the girls (four females talking about God-knows-what) with Alwyn. I bid Jayne farewell as Bill, Dan, Scott, and I loaded in with Stanley for the game drive into camp - just us men out on safari. A half mile or so past the airstrip we came across a troop of baboon intersecting our path across the road. A baboon couple offered the fourteen-year-old boys a certain lesson in, shall we say, the birds and the bees; though these two baboons used a bit less discretion than birds or bees. I wondered if this was the sort of demonstration his mom had in mind when Dan mockingly announced that this is what she calls a "special cuddle". Thank goodness we're descended from ape and not baboon; though I've known some humans with little more discretion than these two doing it in the road in front of us - often in the form of some inane reality TV show that I happened across and had to watch for few minutes like a mangled wreck along the highway, bodies strewn everywhere. (If you're keeping count, this is my second slur against reality TV in this travelogue.)

Leaving the baboons in peace, we passed through a small village with scattered cinderblock buildings on either side of the road. We moved through without taking pictures, as is the proper and expected thing to do. After all, when you try to take a picture at Beach Blanket Babylon, that whacky theater production in San Francisco that has helped a certain two people live out their Africa travel dreams, we'll rip out your film and hand the empty husk of your camera back to you, with a bit of indignation to boot. I suppose it shouldn't be any different as we move through these people's homes.

We were soon through the North Gate of the reserve, crossing the Khwai River over a bridge best taken at a speed slightly less than engine idle. From there, our short game drive of only about an hour or so took us past the ubiquitous Impala, an elephant or two moving stealthily through the trees, and a lonely hippo resting motionless in a small "pan", the water bright green with algae. "He's dead!" exclaimed Scott, but Stanley didn't think so, though he did say that he didn't look very happy. Sitting alone in a small pool of algae doesn't inspire happiness - not even for a hippopotamus.

Soon, like a mirage shimmering in the distance, a familiar site began to take shape. Camp! The women had arrived a few moments ahead of us and were already situating themselves, I found our tent (hereafter referred to as "tent #2") with my luggage already inside and waiting (we had only taken what we needed for the two nights at the lodge, with a twenty pound weight limit for the flight back.) It's back to basics; a pit toilet, bucket shower, and dust. But I seemed to notice a little more snap in our step as we all settled into our second camp; more so than at 4th Bridge. Our camp routine was falling into place. Perhaps we've become a lean, mean mobile safari machine!

The area where we are camped is usually dry this time of year, the river "disappearing into the sand' by our extent along the floodplain. However, due to good solid rains during the wet summer season and the unpredictable nature of the Okavango Delta, water is still present here in the Khwai River, mostly in the form of small pools and marshy wetland. The floodplain is lightly wooded with Mopane and Acacia, wild sage and tall grass covers the sandy earth. Our camp is nestled amongst a small grove of trees.

After we settled in, we tucked in - to lunch that is; and then for me, a siesta. Ah, sweet Africa and her siestas! Jayne remained outside expertly manipulating here label-maker-cum-word-processor in an effort to keep her travelogue up to date. Not an easy task out here.

Nicky and Scott had been playing chess on a tiny little chess board with even tinier magnetic chess pieces, so Jayne and I decided to let them use my chess board that has always come along on trips. She then offered to help teach Dan, who didn't yet know how to play. Starting back at 4th Bridge, Dan had become quite taken with Jayne's inquisitive questioning of our surroundings, her overall intelligence, and her friendly disposition. Dan's a pretty bright kid himself. Jayne thinks that Dan is just adorable. They've really seemed to become great pals. I mentioned to Nancy while getting on a boat back at the lodge that she may have lost a son and I a girlfriend.

In any case, after my siesta I was challenged to a quick game of chess with Dan before the evening game drive. Dan won, though he did have the ongoing coaching of both Nicky and Jayne. I was groggy from my siesta and outnumbered. Not that I'm a sore loser...

There was no time for that anyway, as Alwyn's call to "saddle up" had us scurrying to our chosen Land Cruisers for evening game drive.

It was an amiable drive in the warm afternoon sun, through woodland and savanah, the sunset giving a glimpse of what we experienced in full force today - the Night of the Quelea. But it's not time for that yet, there's still more catching up to do.

I previously expressed my curiosity toward what sort of conversation four females may engage in while riding through the African bush. Of course, we men discussed the interplay of nature and marveled at the web of life as we rode with Stanley. I have it on good authority that our counterparts with Alwyn were discussing the elephantine proportions of a male elephant's... well, you can guess. I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions from this...

Back to camp just as darkness fell, I took my usual evening bush shower gazing up at the stars; only shivering when the water was turned off, which is most of the time when you take a bucket shower (my typical shower back home is probably equivalent to a few dozen buckets full of water). Refreshed nonetheless, I made my way to the campfire and met Adam, the owner of Capricorn Safari, the outfit that Wilderness Travel Adventure wisely uses for these safaris. Coming up from Maun for mid-safari resupply, he had included with the essentials six bottles of fine South African Chardonnay. This was not at my request, mind you, but only because I had asked if they had any Chardonnay back at 4th Bridge. (Only vaguely aware of the fact that Alwyn was probably thinking to himself, "We're out here in the bush and you want Chardonnay?") I was perfectly fine to enjoy another evening cocktail - I just thought I'd ask. Ask and you shall receive - service is king at Capricorn Safaris!

I quickly deduced that since I was the only one interested in drinking the wine, and that we would be out in the bush for another six nights before going to Victoria Falls, I could consume a bottle a night if I wanted to. This was much too generous on their part for many reasons, principal among them (right behind not wanting to be the camp drunk) was that what goes in, must come out - going potty at 2AM in the bush isn't such great fun, I was just sure that there was something in the branches overhanging our "bathroom area" staring at me. But I did gladly accept a glass as we sat around the fire and enjoyed the starry Southern Sky; the large tree near our fireside circle looming ever larger in the deepening night, the long branches backlit with the waxing three-quarter moon.

Adam and his son, Tristan, proved a charming and engaging addition to our dinner table. Much to the parents chagrin, Adam regaled us with the delights of bungee jumping off the bridge at Victoria Falls, an ongoing topic of intense discussion amongst the younger set of our tribe. I think until Adam's encouragement, it has been mostly whistling in the dark; "I'll go if you go, but I've got to see it first." Adam helped to encourage and inspire, Bill and Barb smiling bravely, and a look of mild horror spreading on Nancy's face. Scott, Dan, and Nicky surer than ever that the gorge was calling to them - "Come fly the vertical expanse of my rocky canyon walls! Dive head first toward the mighty Zambezi. Cast you fate to the wind and thin nylon cord..."
Me? What are you crazy? I'm not jumping off a bridge with nothing but a nylon cord between me and 350 feet of freefall, the waiting rocks poking up out of the river below, taunting me, daring me. Besides, I have an out - I've got bad knees. My idea of fun lies most definitely elsewhere. (Have I mentioned that I like airplanes and used to fly? There's no nylon cord holding up an airplane)

Exhausted from all this talk of jumping off bridges, Jayne and I retired to tent #2.

While lying in the dark I listened for the troop of baboon that Stanley told me earlier was hanging out behind his tent. Not sure what to listen for, I did hear the unmistakable sound of a hippo grunting and a mysterious call in the distance - was it jackal? hyena? lion? I drifted off to sleep pondering the great nocturnal wilderness all around me, right outside our tent...

Our game drive this morning took us by the same algae infested pool we passed on our way in from the airstrip - only to find the same hippo looking as if he'd barely moved an inch since yesterday. "He's dead!" cried Scott. "No" replied Stanley, "just not very happy."

The real prize for the morning game drive was a pair of wild dogs resting idly in some tall grass by the side of the trail, possibly eyeing-up some Impala in the distance. The sad truth is that the reason there are so many Impala around is that they are food for so many predator, this pair among them. Wild dog bears only a faint resemblance to the domestic variety that responds to "come here, boy!" back home. More related to a wolf than the dog in your back yard, our pair had brownish red coats, probably weighing in at about seventy pounds. Their most striking feature was their large, rounded ears sticking out on top of their heads. Alwyn found the dogs and alerted Stanley by radio. By the time we arrived there was actually a bit of crowd, owing to the fact that wild dog are endangered and not commonly seen in the area. So we joined Alwyn and a couple of Piccadilly Circus trucks (probably 20 people in all - a veritable traffic jam out in the bush) to quietly watch the wild dogs quietly watching the Impala quietly grazing in the distance. There are so many things to hear when it is quiet, it amazes me the depth and nuance of the sound field when it isn't blanketed with a constant barrage of over-compressed, over-amplified, mind-numbing sound. I should know, over-compressed, over-amplified, mind-numbing sound is what I do for a living. Everything in its place, I guess. I use the remnants of my once pristine hearing to learn from this pristine soundscape. God, I think I want to go hug a tree right now! There's one right outside our tent.

And thus have been our days here along the Khwai River. Up at the crack of dawn, a bowl of oatmeal, glass of orange juice, and cup of coffee for breakfast, then load into the Land Cruiser de jour to watch the world awaken in the long shadows of the early morning sun. Back for lunch and siesta, and then back out for evening game drive. I've worked on my bird list since yesterday, adding white glover, bateleur eagle, pearl-spotted owl, and African jacana. Many of these birds spied along the pools and marshes of the floodplain, a hippo or two nearby watching with those bulging eyes on top of their heads protruding from the still surface of the water.

The intricate web moves, undulates, intimates - and goes on.

And now it is time for the Night of the Quelea.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1091585700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1091585700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1091585700/tpod.html Wed, 25 Aug 2004 23:27:02 -0400 Botswana Wildlife Safari

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San Francisco, California, United States

African Postlude - Out of Africa

I will begin this postlude with the end of my prelude; "The only thing I feel certain of is that whatever words I can muster, or images on film I produce; they will serve but poor justice to the vibrant reality that awaits and tolerates my observation."

In those words I got it exactly right. I knew before I left that whatever I imagined it then to be, it would pale in comparison to the experience of the true African bush and her scenic beauty.

I have now participated in a mobile, tented wildlife safari and have experienced the woodlands, flood plains, wetlands, and the vast and unpredictable delta; I've watched the sunset over the savannah, seen the birds skitter along the reeds in the marshlands and spied crocodiles basking in the sun next to the great rivers of northern Botswana; then drenched myself in the spray of Victoria Falls and the mighty Zambezi River.

I've been to the African bush. Being mistaken for David Livingstone isn't a concern, but I lay awake in the cold July winter night listening to the hippos grunt, the elephants wail and trumpet, the lions call, and the hyena and jackal howl; forever to the background of the night bird's lonely and persistent song.

The camps were always expertly run, our needs were catered to, and our safety assured as is reasonable to expect given the situation.

I was awakened every morning as hot water was delivered to my little canvas wash basin; and again in the evenings for my bucket shower under the stars (and surrounded by canvas on all four sides lest you wonder if the sight of a naked white guy who eats too much cheese chases away the animals).

I pulled the old camp coffeepot off the fire every morning, just like they do in old westerns, in preparation for the morning game drive. I sat with my fellow journeyers around the campfire and sipped a glass of perfectly acceptable South African Chardonnay after the evening game drive; this being a perfect example of how well taken care of we all were. A special supply of Chardonnay was brought in at mid-safari resupply - not at my request, but only because it was discovered that I have a fondness for it.

Food was prepared in a wood-fired Dutch oven and I enjoyed gourmet meals every night. As if that weren't enough, the cook had to accommodate two vegetarians and one wheat-free dietary requirement; and it always came together swimmingly. All over an open fire - Hey Martha, put that in your convection oven and bake it.

But keeping us comfortable and catered in camp wasn't really the point. We were on a wildlife safari, after all, and life wasn't that wild in camp. It was out on the game drives:

Impala
Giraffe
Zebra
Elephant
Hippo
Ostrich
Buffalo
Lion
Baboon
Vervet Monkey
Wildebeest
Crocodile
Wild Dog
Hyena
Jackal
Reed Buck
Sable
Puku
Water Buck
Leopard

But it wasn't about making a list either. There was a moment in the safari that the real purpose of us being there showed itself with such incredible force and beauty that it stunned the group into absolute and reverential silence. Any one of the eleven people present in that moment will be able to tell you:

It was the Quelea at sunset.

We were finishing up the evening game drive on our second night in the Khwai River Valley. The sun was an orange-red ball sinking behind the Mopane woodland to the west. Like a fluid wave the Quelea rose into the twilight in a massive flock of millions of birds darkening the sky in synchronized flight, circling the horizon in all directions. The sound and energy of the birds, in a transcendence that made a single organism out of the millions of individuals, was palpable and electrified the cool evening breeze. No one had a word to say, no words would ever have been adequate, nor could be adequate in this description. That we were all completely and simultaneously rendered awestruck and speechless, some brought to tears, bears testimony to the fact that untamed nature - perfect, raw, beautiful - still lies buried inside, calling us all eventually home. It really isn't a cliché. If there is to be a defining moment for our little journey into the African wilderness - our wildlife safari - that would have been it.

Africa is a land of irony and conflicted interest. It is a land of stunning beauty and mystery, with incomparable natural resources.

It is also a land rife with poverty, human suffering, and unenlightened, brutal leadership.

But in Botswana, our little group saw none of that (evidence of it does certainly exist, however, in Zambia and Zimbabwe). It is easy for me to come into a part of the world for a few days and leave again without regard for a more honest picture of life there.

The best I can hope for is that my presence represents an alternative; and that habitat and species destruction can be "bad for business" and unprofitable. That there is a practical opportunity for at least a few inhabitants to live and thrive where before there was no opportunity.

And any heart opened with the majestic primacy of nature - like what was undeniably felt while experiencing the Quelea at sunset - is another bit of hope that it all won't perish by our own arrogant foolishness.

Was it worth cold mornings and dirty hands and dusty, kidney-jarring roads? Well, if it wasn't I'd have certainly come to the wrong place.

There are easier ways to spend your vacation. And there are most definitely harder ways. (Did I mention the gourmet meals and the Chardonnay?) But I can't think of a better way to spend a few days to get to know Africa. I know I've seen her at her best.

And she is beautiful.



- For Alwyn and Stanley; whose tireless patience, emanate knowledge, essential experience, and absolute professionalism brought Africa alive for me and all of us lucky enough to share the experience. Thank you.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090551240/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090551240/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090551240/tpod.html Wed, 18 Aug 2004 22:34:07 -0400 Botswana Wildlife Safari

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Xugana Lodge, Okavango Delta, Botswana

Imagine an isolated island on a wide and vast delta waterway, surrounded by a gentle lagoon fed by narrow channels lined with papyrus and tall reeds. Imagine gently waking to nature's alarm clock as, one by one, the birds greet the growing steel-gray of dawn with a fugue of disparate song melding into a beautiful symphony of the awakening earth. Imagine quiet afternoons, the sun dappled through the trees offering a play of shadow and light, rolling dreamily in the light breeze over the fern covered loam; the lagoon rippling in rhythm with the moving shadow. Imagine that same lagoon reflecting the burnt orange fire of the evening sun dropping to the horizon, the sky ablaze with color.

Imagine not having to imagine.

I am compelled toward contemplation as I begin a new entry in this travel journal. In human terms, Africa is a continent with more than its fair share of poverty, strife, bloodshed, and tribal warfare (well, one could make that case that all warfare is tribal, but that discussion is far beyond the scope of this writing - a fruitless digression to our otherwise placid scene.)

I am intrigued by the likes of Robert Young Pelton, author of several books, one of which is The Adventurist - My Life in Dangerous Places. His style of "warfare tourism/journalism" is interesting and even important - at least it offers an independent view of areas and situations that we in America are generally given only spoon-fed glimpses of. When Robert Pelton visits Africa, we read about the genocide, the human tragedy, the hopelessness, and the hunger - both physical and spiritual - of Africa.

This is not the only picture of Africa that is worthy of investigation. Okay, so I'm no "adventurist" in the style of Pelton. I am just a tourist out on a wildlife safari, but I am happy to offer a contrasting view nonetheless. If only I could figure out a way to take home with me and communicate the feeling of Africa I have right now. The power of the natural world, the perfect order, purpose, and immeasurable beauty. This needs to be reported as well. I may not be putting life and limb on the line to get the story (we did need a gun for our hike this morning, if only for insurance purposes and not, fortunately, to actually be used), but the least I can do is tell a different story of Africa from the one so often reported. It is the story found, for me, mostly in the quiet moments of the inner soul, reaching out to an undeniable force, the primordial source, the beginning. The long, long road from the path my ancestors followed to where I am today. Carrying around a camera trying to capture it in a glance of light...

You'll have to excuse me; I'm from northern California and prone to such talk. I sometimes get an overwhelming urge to go hug a tree. I know it sounds crazy - but that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Come out here to southern Africa if you don't believe me. There's human history, and then there's history. The story of a natural world perfecting itself over countless millennia, growing out of an unknowable source, an expression of something far greater than anything we could possibly imagine. Come, Grasshopper, and learn...

In any case, I won't try to carry the conversation too far beyond my capacity to sustain it. I just hope that Botswana can maintain the fine line they have thus far successfully balanced with high-end tourism and the preservation of their incomparable natural resources. It seems to me that this works for Africa; Human tragedy, genocide, poverty and hunger, not so much.

But I digress anyway...

We will leave Xugana Lodge in the morning, flying back the way we came, more or less, in a light plane for more exploration in the Moremi Game Reserve along the Khwai River Valley.

It's been a pleasurable two days in this lovely spot. Last evening, after we arrived and had time to settle into our thatch and wood "chalets" with large screened sliding doors that don't lock (why should they?), we were taken across the lagoon to enjoy the sunset over the delta. Sitting in the boat amongst the reeds and water lilies made for what could be some of the best sunset shots of the trip, though we've got plenty of opportunities left for some great sunsets!

This morning was my favorite activity, involving moving around using two legs as the principal means of locomotion - some call it a hike, as in "go take one!" We did! It was refreshing to have my feet on the ground while practicing being a bipedal mammal. It also helped to give me an admittedly vague sense of how it must have been like to be a bipedal mammal eons ago when one had little more than their own resourcefulness in living day to day in the wilderness; finding food to eat and refraining from becoming food to eat for the multitude of creatures that had little reason, at the time, to fear a large-brained animal walking on only two legs.

To that end, Alwyn and the local guide from the lodge took very seriously their role in making sure that we didn't blunder into the mouths of waiting predator.

Taking a thirty minute early morning boat ride through a series of reed and crocodile lined waterways, we ended up on a relatively large (though still pretty small) island named "Palm Island", apparently due to the two or three palm trees visible on the horizon. Upon disembarking from the boat, I promptly headed off down a path looking for trees to take pictures of. I was quickly rounded up by the local guide and asked to return to where most of the group was standing around Alwyn. I had no desire to be a troublemaker, so I complied.

Alwyn reminded us that we were still in the African bush, full of dangerous animals just waiting for a chance to get at a fleshy human outside one of those infernal Land Cruisers. While Alwyn talked, the local guide was busy studying our surroundings. Alwyn told us that there was little chance of any problem, but should a situation occur, we needed to place our total faith in him and his assistant. If we were told to stand perfectly still, we needed to do just that. If we were told to immediately climb the nearest tree, well, we shouldn't take a sip of water first while considering the most picturesque tree to climb - we should just get our butts up a tree.

With our attention sufficiently captured, he then took the rifle from its vinyl bag and explained that he only started using a gun on walking safaris when he felt he didn't really need one. If he had to use a gun at all, "it means that we screwed up". This comment really impressed me. It made it clear who the visitors were. To bring the point home, he instructed us visitors how we should act while walking through the bush - no talking, single file, and stay together. If someone strays from the "herd", they will become a prime target for any potential predator. Robert Pelton eat your heart out dude, we're going on a walking safari and we could be eaten in the process!

Well, okay, probably not, and if we were to be eaten, we'd probably have deserved it due to being incredibly stupid (and not paying attention to our caretakers), but the whole thing did give our little hike a slightly delicious air of danger... Alwyn loaded large, animal-dropping bullets into the rifle and we were off, silently and in single file; our little troop of bipedal mammals.

We really didn't see much that would have caused us to climb a tree or feel in any way endangered, though I did need to be told to step away from the shore of a small lagoon while studying the eyeballs of a hippo poking up out of the water studying me. I had wandered a little too far from the group... But I wasn't the only one. As our two hour hike progressed and the feeling of danger decreased, Alwyn had to regularly stop to let stragglers catch up.

Though we only saw some warthog and elephant in the distance, and those hippo eyes gliding above the water, (only? Sheesh! Listen to me!) the hike was a pleasant one. It felt good to get some exercise and get a little blood flow going. Yesterday's awakening to the feeling of sure Malaria Death was long gone.

The island was mostly flat savannah with tall grass turned golden in the dry winter sun. Low scrub brush was interspersed with acacia and mopane trees; their bare angular limbs outlined against the deep blue sky called out to the tree-hugger in me. And, of course, there was our island's namesake palm trees standing tall in the distance.

I think our requirements of staying in single file and not talking was starting to wear a little thin on some in our group, especially the boys, who did contain themselves pretty well despite being fourteen years old and no doubt overrun with energy - I seem to remember such a state so very long ago. While not everyone shared Jayne and my enthusiasm for planting our feet on the ground and walking, the hike didn't last too long and soon we were on the boat heading back to our little home island and waiting brunch.

After brunch I acquired ten more rolls of film from the little curio shop, giving me a fighting chance of having enough to last me for the rest of the trip (about 860 exposures now), and a nap. One reason I love Africa is because people take naps in the early afternoon. Not long, monster naps; just enough to clear away the cobwebs - fifteen or twenty minutes and I'm good to go.

This afternoon our goings took us down another series of waterways off the lagoon toward the small grass airstrip and the "mokoro launch". A mokoro is essentially a dugout canoe. Originally made of wood, they are now manufactured in fiberglass. While not giving the same feeling of authenticity, they save trees - so fiberglass all the way I say!

The mokoros accommodate two riders with the "poler" standing up at the rear to propel and steer with his pole (think Venice - kinda). The job of handling the pole is much harder than it looks, and it didn't necessarily look that easy. The most daunting thing, I think, was just maintaining balance. After I crawled into my spot and situated myself, just turning my head to the right gave a sense of impending wetness with the mokoro seemingly just looking for an excuse to capsize. That we didn't is a credit to "Socks" our mokoro driver, who kept the craft expertly balanced despite the newbie tourists in his charge for our hour-long mokoro ride. Not only did he keep us dry, he propelled and steered us expertly through the water. While essentially a pretty tourist-y thing to do, a mokoro ride affords a perspective not available even on a small boat. Our mokoro sliced through water chestnuts, lilies, and reeds higher than my head and softly brushing my face. Today has been a good day to see the landscape from a vantage point other than that of a Land Cruiser. Socks was attentive to us and chatted us up about things we already knew, thanks to Alwyn, and some things we didn't know. It was interesting to hear how his family was forced to flee Angola back in the seventies due to the political strife of that country. He considers Botswana his home now, but does miss some of his relatives that remain in Angola. He has been able to visit them in Namibia, but those occasions are rare. When we told Socks we were from San Francisco, I got the distinct impression that he hadn't heard of it before. In fact, the largest town he's been in is probably Maun, with a population of 35,000. He spoke of how people can act inhumane toward their fellow humans in towns of such size. I would not wish him a visit to a large American city - it would probably break his heart.

Socks was aware of America, of course, and our overbearing presence on the planet, though he did not characterize his awareness as such. He did, most innocently I must say, ask about our president and why he went to war. A difficult question to answer and we found ourselves immediately distancing ourselves from the actions of our government in the world. People really want to know what GW is thinking when he acts the way he does, and we Americans from San Francisco (or Boston or Lafayette) could only offer our own frustration and confusion with the current regime. We thus far have been fortunate to meet people that don't judge Americans by the actions of the American government.

The afternoon sun was reaching down toward the western horizon as we made our way back to the lodge. Jayne and I decided to have a cocktail before cleaning up for dinner. Jayne bravely ordered a White Russian and our amiable bartender bravely tried to make one. I'm not quite sure what happened, but soon the bartender came back from the kitchen with cake mix, or some crazy thing like that, before Jayne called her off. The resulting drink must not have been too bad; Jayne drank it (no cake mix, of course, I'm pretty sure that would have ruined it). The bar being well stocked, but not with vermouth, I settled for a gin and tonic. Martinis are best left for my return home. I'm okay with that.

Twilight was enveloping the lagoon as we retired to our chalet to freshen up and enjoy the delights of indoor plumbing. How many places can you take a shower in front of a picture window and not feel like one should at least be paid for the indignation? The Xugana Lodge "rocks", as the youngsters like to say.

The lodge has a sixteen bed capacity, and during our visit here, the lodge has not been not been filled even to that meager accommodation. Last evening there were only two other guests outside our tribe, a lawyer and novelist from New York. Compared to the unsociable Germans they had to endure through dinner the evening before our arrival, we were just "the bomb" (once again, youth talk - why, when I was a kid, saying "the bomb" meant something quite different). We enjoyed cocktails by the fire and a fine dinner full of good food and spirited conversation; Then some coffee back by the fire and off to our turned-down, mosquito-netted beds.

This evening we are joined by two executives from the company that owns this lodge, one being the actual president of Desert & Delta Safaris. They are accompanied by their twenty-year-old Canadian bush pilot. Hearing young Tom the bush pilot talk of flying brought me back to my flying days back in 'Nam... Oh sorry, I mean my student flying days back in San Carlos. Bringing in my stealthy Piper Cherokee to a smooth landing... Oh, sorry, I mean flaring a little too high and stalling the plane while it was still ten feet off the ground. Hey, anybody can get a plane off the ground and keep it in the air - it's the landing that gets a little tricky. (Do I need to remind everyone that a landing is really nothing more than a controlled crash? I didn't think so...)

Anyway, I needed to brag that I used to fly, leading Nancy and me into a private discussion of flight school, terrorists, and September 11th. Engaging, if not entirely pleasant, so we changed the subject.

That whole world seemed a million miles away as the drums sounded announcing that dinner was ready. We all headed off to the dinner table to listen to our nervous host announce the menu for the evening. Another fine meal.

Botswana sits on a mantle of sand three to four hundred feet deep. Underneath all that sand the earth is alive with seismic activity; earthquakes measuring 6 or 7 on the Richter scale happening every few weeks. Now, I've experienced a 7 earthquake. One in which the epicenter was some seventy or more miles away from where my frightened, shaking carcass lay waiting for the end to come - talk about a rude awakening.

In Botswana, you don't feel it so much when the earth starts to shake. But one edge of the delta that has been dry for years suddenly floods, and another part that has always had water just as suddenly dries up. Such is the consequence of the rumblings beneath our feet. Jayne and I travel 12,000 miles only to remain on unstable ground. It really feels like home here, I guess. Perhaps there is no stable ground anywhere.

Anyway, this was the general conversation at the after-dinner fireside as the president of Desert & Delta Safaris and the other locals discussed the current conditions of the delta and how it all effected business.

From here Bill (our very own president of Wilderness Travel Adventure) entered the conversation and the intricacies of doing business in Botswana were thrashed out, as well as international business dealings in general. In a country where there is little privately held land, it did seem to be a challenge, but one our new friend of obvious substantial wealth, even by American standards, bore well.

This was all pretty interesting stuff, but whether from the smoke wafting my direction, or some other cause, my nose was exploding and I was soon compelled to retire for the evening.

Jayne and I made leave of the assembled guests and Alwyn escorted us back to our chalet.

Now I am here with you, gentle reader, in the chill of the late hour, the mysterious sounds of an African winter night lulling me into a dreamlike haze; where imagination meets reality.

But I'm not really imagining this, am I? This is the Africa that works.

More tales from the bush soon...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090439640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090439640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090439640/tpod.html Wed, 11 Aug 2004 18:57:35 -0400 Botswana Wildlife Safari

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Okavango Delta, Botswana

Our "camp" for the next two nights will be rather comfortable, our one stay at a lodge during our safari until its conclusion at Victoria Falls - which isn't a lodge anyway (more on all this later). We've come up-river to the Xugana Lodge, about a five hour boat ride along the Moanachira River from the Xakanaxa Boat Station not too far from our last camp at Fourth Bridge.

I woke up this morning feeling really pretty awful, sure that I would be the first on one of these wildlife safaris to die of malaria - only two days into the trip. In my early morning delirium, I thought that if I had to die, it would be pretty cool to go out while on safari in Africa. But getting up, having a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee and getting out on the game trail helped to get me over myself and into my surroundings - Africa demands her toll on the pampered western traveler, and I am glad to pay mine. Besides, I needed to get my carcass out of the tent anyway as the crew struck camp this morning to leap-frog us and have camp set up for our return on Friday to the western edge of the Moremi Game Reserve along the Kwai River Valley. I've felt steadily better all day.

One decision has definitely been made however, the $150 dollars worth of malaria pills I've got are going to go to waste - unless someone wants to buy them. Any takers out there? Brand new in-the-box Malaprone malaria meds for sale at a bargain price; contact the author for further details. Guaranteed to make you feel like crap. Actually, I can't guarantee that, I can only guarantee that they'll make me feel like crap.

But I do feel much better this evening, and I think my suspicions of the Malaprone are now borne out.

This morning Jayne and I rode in Alwyn's truck with Bill Abbott and his eighteen year old daughter Nicole, or Nicky. Bill is an avid photographer and may very well win the award for taking the most shots this trip - though we're all going to give him a run for his money (assuming I can acquire more film). Nicky is a tall, slender young woman, with a pretty face and a quiet demeanor. As we rode out of camp, Jayne talked with Nicky about her upcoming freshman year in college, and I picked Bill's brain about running Wilderness Travel.

Our morning game drive was a little abbreviated due to our need to get going on the long boat ride, but we did see some giraffe on our way out of camp and later spent time studying a herd of buffalo (African Cape Buffalo to be exact) on the way to the boat station.

I can see all you sophisticated urban types rolling your eyes; "Oh my, studying a herd of buffalo, how terribly exciting; that sounds just marvelous - next he's going to start talking about the subtle nuances of elephant dung!"

Well, the elephant dung thing may come later, so sit tight; and if you haven't studied a herd of buffalo in the African wilderness before, don't knock it! It's actually about more than just watching the buffalo stand there chewing their cud staring back at you with a motionless intensity. There's actually a lot going on when buffalo chew their cud and stare at you staring at them. For instance, this morning there where signs that the herd was being stalked by lion (our lion friends from yesterday perhaps - or even most likely). The buffalo perceive this sense of danger and group themselves for maximum protection. The bigger males take up position on the outside of the group, with the younger animals and females bunched up in the middle. When a lion attacks, they will go for the slower and weaker. Any animal that gets away from the herd is very likely doomed. The big adult males guard the perimeter, and the females guard the young animals standing in the center of the herd. And somewhere close by and unseen are the lion watching the buffalo - and the humans. As the morning sun grows higher in the sky, the chances that the lion will make any move before twilight diminish.

I personally think it's good for a human's soul to get out of their technology and advertising driven lives, full of plastic, over-consumption, meaningless distraction, and noise, to quietly watch nature working. Yes, it does mean sitting still for a time - but it's good for you. Instead of watching some inane, entirely unrealistic reality TV crap, go out and watch some real reality. Oops! I seem to have stumbled onto a soapbox there for a second or two, I promise that won't happen again until the next time... See what happens when my brain isn't muddled by malaria medication?

Anyway, our boat ride up river was both interesting and uniquely restful and even inspiring; giving a real sense of the Okavango Delta. In case I haven't mentioned it before, the Okavango Delta is the largest inland delta system in the world. Fed by the wet season runoff from the highlands of Angola, the delta spreads out in northwestern Botswana into a maze of channels, islands, and lagoons - all disappearing into the sands of the Kalahari, its southern-most point around Maun, where we started our safari.

From the boat station, our expert boat driver headed northwest as we settled into our little aluminum river cruiser, easily accommodating the nine of us (Stanley is staying behind for this portion of the trip and will meet up with us on Friday when we fly back downriver). The boat had an aluminum canopied top suitable for teenagers - and eventually Jayne - to go up top and sun themselves. I settled myself in a jumper seat that rode low in the water near the bow. Stretching my feet out in front of me, the spray from the bow got the sides of my shoes wet, but I didn't care. I fancied myself as some intrepid explorer on safari in the African interior; going upriver to an exotic and remote camp to explore the wilderness. Which was all true, of course, except for the "intrepid explorer" part.

Soon after leaving the boat station, the wide lagoon narrowed into a series of inlets and narrow channels, lined with tall reeds, papyrus, hibiscus, and the occasional crocodile; water chestnut and water lily dotted the channel.

Game viewing wasn't prime, given our position low on the water and surrounded by the tall reeds of the delta, but an elephant is still pretty hard to miss. We spied some elephants feeding close by as we pulled onto a suitable landing spot amidst the reeds for some in the party to disembark for a pee-break (after Alwyn had checked the area and given the all-clear, of course). A little further down, we spotted an adolescent male feeding alone on the other side of the channel from where we saw the group during our pit stop. We slowly pulled the boat into the reeds and cut the engine near him to get a closer look. Jayne was at the tip of the bow, then Nancy and I right behind, all taking pictures and acting as respectful as humanly possible. The elephant continued to feed, but was also moving closer to the boat and eyeing us suspiciously. When he was only thirty or so yards away from the boat, he suddenly decided to let us know who was boss. He abruptly lifted his trunk, shook his ears, and charged the boat. A rush of adrenalin surged through my veins as I stood motionless in preparation for the elephant's wrath, Nancy pushed behind me in a startled rush, Jayne ducked, and the boat driver calmly started the engine and waited. What the others did I have no idea as my focus was intent on the tons of elephant moving in our direction.

Most often, an elephant rushing you is just a feint; just stand your ground - yeah, right! No really! They usually have no intention of following through with their charge (unless you're being incredibly stupid and really pissing the animal off), as the message is sent and received long before actual elephant contact occurs. Still, the elephant weighs more than the boat and all the people on it combined, and it was made abundantly clear that our presence right there wasn't making our friend happy. We slowly backed out, our driver remaining calm throughout the encounter. Alwyn deduced that our boy was with the group we had seen earlier on the other side of the channel, and had crossed by himself to take advantage of feeding opportunities. We backed up out of sight and Alwyn promised that if we waited quietly, we'd see the elephant cross the channel to catch up with his mates. Sure enough, a few minutes later he came across, looking as if the channel were a mere wading pool, to join up with his group.

Dan had the video camera with him up top on the boat and got the whole thing in full motion, including his mother running for cover. It was good for a chuckle for all as we moved off up river to find a suitable spot for lunch.

Soon after, we found a little island perfect to set up our lunch, and I do mean "little"; a dry spot of land about 30 feet by 50 feet. Someone inquired whether we should be on the lookout for crocodile that may also be in the mood for a little lunch (no doubt leaving the sandwiches and salad in favor of the goofy humans). Alwyn said there weren't any crocs around. One thing that is essential for the safety and enjoyment of a safari is placing your faith in your guide, and this was a perfect example. If Alwyn say there aren't any croc around, then break out the ham and swiss and let's have lunch!

After lunch Alwyn challenged Nicky, Scott, and Dan for a little race through the water. Scott and Dan needed a little (a lot actually) of encouragement to get in over their ankles, but they eventually did. After much splashing and running and laughing, Alwyn emerged from the contest thoroughly soaked. If there had been crocs around, they would surely have been scared off by the commotion.

Soon we were off again for the three hour ride left to us until reaching Xugana. We all settled in to our spots, most of us dozing off for a nap.

I settled into my bow end jump seat, spread out, my feet just inches from the water as it rushed by and was soon falling into a woozy dreamlike state, my head occasionally bobbing against my chest as I lost control of both my muscles and my imagination...

The river cruiser headed up stream through the dense and fetid jungle. The captain looked at Kurtz saying "My orders tell me that I'm not to know where we're headed, and I don't... But one look at you and I know it's going to be hot"

Suddenly my head would bounce against my chest and I'd be jerked back into reality. A reality of warm afternoon sun on my shoulders, tall, golden reeds and papyrus rushing by on either side of a narrow channel, the wind in my face, and water lapping at the souls of my boots. I looked behind at my safari mates, either napping or idly watching the delta rush by. Sometime you are fortunate enough to realize a special moment while you are still in it. Able to savor the feeling, an immense sensation of gratitude and happiness washes over you. I smiled and turned my face to the wind. Happy and grateful.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090373400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090373400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090373400/tpod.html Mon, 09 Aug 2004 12:05:56 -0400 Botswana Wildlife Safari

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4th Bridge Camp, Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana

Sometimes you go to the elephants, other times they come to you. This afternoon just after I left you, a call went up for us all to grab our stuff and get "saddled up". A herd of maybe thirty or so elephant was meandering through the brush not 100 yards from camp. It may seem like it would have been fun to just walk over to them and say hi, but, of course to just go walking up to several dozen elephant wouldn't have been prudent. So we "saddled up" and set up a position nearby to quietly watch them feeding and interacting with each other. As we stood in the trucks, so many heads sticking out of the tops of the Land Cruisers, the elephants made a slow procession by us. We stood quietly observing and as long as the Matriarch wasn't too concerned with us, no one else was either. After all, an elephant has to stay busy feeding to get their three or four hundred pounds of roughage they require every day. Apparently an elephant will spend eighteen hours a day feeding and only twenty minutes or so sleeping - imagine, a power nap every day and you're fine; the flip side spending most of the rest of your day eating. There was one young juvenile elephant that stopped near our trucks, lifted his trunk at us (smelling us) and did a little shake of his head while stomping his feet a bit. After a minute or two he moved on with the others in search of more to eat. Alwyn explained he was probably just trying to show his mom and aunts that he was a tough guy.

Elephants are fascinating to watch. Their movements are very deliberate, almost in slow motion. To stand and watch them moving through the mopane woodland in the warm afternoon sun is meditative.

After about forty minutes we moved off to continue our game drive. We came across some giraffe and another group of elephants a few miles down the trail. This herd of elephants was much more skittish than the ones near our camp. Even though we stayed well away from them, a mile or more, Alwyn could tell that they were aware of us and weren't comfortable. It looked as if some mothers were being extremely protective of their young. We left them alone. I wondered if this group may have been the same group that Alwyn had heard in distress this morning, and he said that it probably was. They obviously weren't having a good day.

Our evening game drive was capped off with another sighting of the same pride of lions we saw this morning. Once again sauntering right in between our trucks and paying us no mind whatsoever. No sound but the clicks of shutters. I'd almost expect one of the lions to stop and ask for a model release. But that's just silly.

On the drive in we stopped to admire the sun setting over a lagoon, a heron silhouetted against the orange glow. I can tell I'm really going to like the sunsets here out in the bush.

Tomorrow we have a morning game drive and then get a boat to go up-river for two nights on the Okavango Delta at the Xunaga Lodge.

I'm going to sign off for now as I'm not feeling all that well; a little nauseous and headache-y. I took my malaria medication after lunch this afternoon, and during the game drive started to get the queasy stomach. Now I feel like what I've read it feels like when you start to have malaria. Maybe my little pills are actually malaria-in-a box instead of malaria-cure-in-a-box. (I don't really think I've got malaria, I haven't really had a chance to contract it yet, and I'm sure I'd really feel worse than I do now... No worries!)

Alwyn suggests that there is little chance of anyone contracting malaria. He's never taken anything for it and for all his years in the bush has never contracted it. I think I may stop taking the pills and see what happens. If I get malaria, I'll just start taking them again.

Anyway, it's all part of the adventure. Though I do look forward to a good nights sleep.

More tomorrow.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1103571300/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1103571300/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1103571300/tpod.html Fri, 06 Aug 2004 17:38:56 -0400 Botswana Wildlife Safari

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Moremi Game Reserve - 4th Bridge Camp, Botswana

On safari, after lunch is siesta time; very civilized, if you asked me. Of course, one of the principal reasons is that most the animals are active in the early morning and late afternoon/evening, opting to siesta themselves in the heat of the day. So I've had my siesta and will now try to catch up on the events of the morning game drive.

When I awoke just before 6:00 this morning the early morning chill made me want to stay in my nice cozy cot. The thought of going outside to do my morning ablutions was none too appealing. It reminded me of my days as a lad when our boy scout troop would go camping in the dead of winter (which, as a reminder, it is here in southern Africa) and the troop leader would roust all his charges out of bed with a rousing rendition of "Oh, what a beautiful morning" cutting through the stillness of the morning. To make it stop, a young boy had to pull himself out of his sleeping bag.

Fortunately, such is not the case here. We are awakened by the sound of hot water being poured into our canvas washbasins at the front of our tents and a quiet "Good Morning." We respond in kind, and the day begins. I am told more forceful means are employed if we fail to respond to the good morning salutation, but I'm not particularly interested in finding out what that might be. The whole point is to get us up and moving so we're out on our morning game drive as early as possible. The goal this morning was to be "saddled up" by 6:45 or so (African Time), though I don't think we made it for our first camp morning. It was after 7 when we were leaving camp.

We all decided to stay grouped as we were yesterday but to change guides, so Nancy, Dan, Jayne, and I were with Alwyn and the Abbott's with Stanley. That way we'd all get to know each guide better before mixing and matching the groups.

The two land cruisers stay in touch via CB radio, and don't necessarily stick together. That way, more ground is covered and if one truck finds something, it's reported to the other truck so we can all meet up to see what there is to see. That's what happened this morning. We were investigating some vultures hanging out in some scattered mopane trees and looking for some sign of a "kill". (Which is indicative whenever you find vultures hanging out, of course) Alwyn heard the sound of a distressed elephant in the distance and theorized that there had been an elephant kill somewhere close-by. The distressed elephant was still mourning the loss and hanging around, but the kill had probably already been consumed, explaining why the vultures were scattered and not concentrated in one area.

We were all "digesting" this information (sorry, a little "bush humor") when Stanley called to inform us that he had come upon a pride of lions. Holy African Safari, Batman! Not yet 24 hours in the bush and we're headed off to see our first pride in the wild!

When we got to where Stanley was, there were a couple other safari trucks there along with him. (Piccadilly Circus trucks, as Alwyn calls them; nothing more than a pick-up truck with three or four rows of raked seats under a canopy mounted onto the truck bed. These were usually from the few game lodges in the general area. Not a real safari like us, sleeping in tents and showering under the stars - and certainly not in some Piccadilly Circus truck! Already I've become a safari snob - but I digress...)

We slowly came up to the group of vehicles and cut our engine (always cut your engine when you stop to look at game). I immediately looked off into the distance when suddenly, to my delight and surprise, noticed the group of lions stately lounging on top of a termite mound not thirty yards from where we stood!

Lions are so very, very cool. They are the essence of cool. They hung around for awhile, then one by one, slowly got up and walked down the trail within feet of our truck, not looking at us, not caring. I guess the only way they'd have bothered is if any of us had been stupid enough to get out of the truck (which, of course, no one was) The only sound was an occasional whisper and the click and whir of cameras.

The lions padded silently down the trail, a vision of power, beauty, and grace - and, of course, cool. The lionesses went first, then the male lions, with their magnificent manes. Apparently, it is the lioness that does most of the work, leading and executing the hunt. The male lions help with bigger game, and are always available to help eat what the lionesses have hunted and killed... Any comment I could make about this that I think would be witty and urbane would probably be viewed by many as tiresome and typical, so I shall refrain.

At this point, Alwyn started up his engine and moved quickly away from the group of vehicles and did a flanking maneuver around to intercept the direction that the lions were moving. His expertise proved accurate and a few minutes later we saw the pride moving across our path once again. More excited whispers and shutters clicking.

Stanley soon met up with us and we all watched as the lions moved off into the distance. What a great morning so far!

We all then drove a short way to a nearby lagoon, disembarked from the vehicles, and had morning tea, coffee, and cookies. I could really get used to this!

After lunch Stanley went one way and we in Alwyn's truck went another to explore for the remaining ninety minutes or so left for the morning game drive.

We were all still flush with the excitement of spotting the pride of lions, and were still able to spy one of the pride for off in the distance. The highlight for the end of the morning however was a hippo out of the water by himself placidly munching away on some sagebrush. We sat in the truck for fifteen or twenty minutes discussing the habits and behavior of the hippopotamus (Jayne definitely being the one coming up with the most intelligent questions), everyone enjoying the warming morning sunshine - humans and hippo alike. The fact that our hippo friend was out of the water in the middle of the day was a little unusual, but the moderate winter temperature was apparently agreeable to him - and he was certainly content to much on the brush as an "ox-pecker" bird rode along and assisted the hippo with some personal grooming. Nature is nothing if not a showcase for symbiotic relationships. It all fits together so perfectly.

Soon it was time to head back to camp for lunch and siesta. Alwyn called into camp with "Barnes, Barnes, Barnes" on the radio (Barnes is our camp manager) and a "ten minute warning" (to which I automatically add "mic check, please", but that's my own problem). When we roll into camp, the table is set and lunch is waiting.

And now we are full circle, soon we'll be out for the evening game drive. I'll report back later to tell what discoveries we make then.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090241700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090241700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090241700/tpod.html Thu, 05 Aug 2004 15:15:16 -0400 Botswana Wildlife Safari

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Maun, Botswana

July 19 - Maun, 8:55AM

Had a good night's sleep on a too short bed serenaded to sleep by the sound of frogs along the river.

I'm ready to head out.

It's a good idea to have the one night here at Riley's. Not only to recover from jet lag and air travel limbo-hell, but also to give one pause; time to really wrap your head around the idea of leaving civilization - going out into the bush. That is where I will be when I next write into this diary.

9:15PM-ish

What an exciting first day! Alwyn and Stanley, the assistant trip leader, came to pick us up at the appointed hour (African Time - which, by the way, is very similar to Island Time). Our safari vehicles are modified Toyota Land Cruisers with real heavy-duty stuff all around - not the wimpy versions sold to Americans that never get off asphalt. In addition to that, they are fitted with padded holes in the roof above every seat. I didn't notice this at first, but after we crossed the somewhat controversial 1800+ mile long "buffalo fence" (officially called Veterinary Cordon Fence) that demarcates the area available to livestock to the wild game reserves of northern Botswana, Stanley took the protective tarp off the top of the truck and coo of excitement rose amongst us tourists in the back.

Nancy and Dan were our vehicle-mates for the day with the Abbott family in the other Land Cruiser with Alwyn. The four of us hit it off and Dan especially seemed much more animated and excited than he had at the orientation dinner last night.

Not long after the top was off and we were heading for the entrance to the Moremi Game Reserve we stopped to watch our first few giraffe, quieting feeding on the high branches of the mopane and acacia trees. It was interesting to me to have to force myself to realize that this is for real. This isn't a giraffe in some well run zoo. If there is anyone out of place here, it's me (us). Perhaps the giraffe view our vehicle as some sort of moving zoo displaying human heads popping out of a metallic body; popping back down again and moving slowly on. They curiously and cautiously watch while eating the foliage from the tops of trees.

We made the South Gate to the Moremi Game Reserve by lunch time and stopped for sandwiches as the vervet monkeys looked on. Our afternoon drive into camp included zebra, a herd of hippo running into a lagoon as if they'd just had a fright - quite a site - baboon along the side of the trail (I don't want to give anyone a wrong idea by calling it a "road"), no shortage of impala, lechewe (another antelope similar to the impala), warthog, wildebeest, ostrich...

And then capping off the evening, just as we were getting close to camp and the sun was sinking into the west, we saw our first herd of elephant. In fact, we suddenly found ourselves in their midst, with one elephant crossing the road ahead of us and several others off to our right not very happy. Stanley expertly maneuvered us out of the way (basically by driving fast and getting the hell out of there.) As we past one disgruntled elephant she shook her ears at us (a clear sign of an elephant's discontent) and started what looked like a mock charge - but we were moving too fast.

Stanley and Alwyn both make it clear that our intent is not to disturb the animals, only to observe them. This isn't the kind of safari that you see sometimes on Animal Planet where all the macho yahoos run around trying to capture snakes, crocs, etc. What's the point of that? But there are times when you'll quite suddenly and accidentally find yourself mixing with elephants and you've just got to move.

Anyway, we met up with the other truck just outside of camp to enjoy some giraffe silhouetted against the dying sun, and then made the short way to our first camp.

After meeting our camp crew of six (in the dark, I'm afraid I won't recognize anyone in the daylight), Alwyn gave us the rundown on our accommodations (two to a tent - each tent has a pit toilet and "shower" in back of it). I had my first "bucket shower" under the African winter sky. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that, but it is quite a feeling taking a shower while looking up at the stars.

We then made our way down to the dining tent and nearby fire to have a cocktail and await dinner. There is a full bar out in the bush - at least nearly so. Regular readers may wonder if one can enjoy a martini out here. I'm afraid not. (No vermouth) This is hardly a concern, of course. Dinner was a fabulous three-course gourmet affair. Ten of us (the eight tourists plus Alwyn and Stanley) ate by the light of a couple dozen hurricane lamps and all seemed warm and cozy despite the increasing chill of the night air.

After a brief stint by the fire after dinner, it was off to bed. Stanley led the way as we walked back to our tent, shining his light in all directions to make sure no hippos or other unwanted surprises blocked our path.

And thus ends my first day in the bush - a very good day.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090182600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090182600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/the_traveler/botswana/1090182600/tpod.html Thu, 05 Aug 2004 15:12:12 -0400 Botswana Wildlife Safari

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Maun, Botswana

We now sit in our little hotel room in Maun, Botswana. A little dazed and confused, but we have arrived at last! Don't let anyone tell you that international air travel isn't hard work, even if all you do is sit on an airplane for 21 hours trying to keep your blood flow and urine production at a minimum, and the other nine hours wandering through congested airports, standing in lines to show your passport to unsmiling strangers, sticking your arms straight out at your sides so another unsmiling male stranger can feel you up, walking to get some blood flow to your brain, and peeing as much as you can so you won't have to for the next ten and-a-half leg of the trip.

Oh yes, international air travel is hard work all right. It makes one long for the days of sailing ships when such a trip took months. At least you had a chance to get some fresh air and walk around a little, not to mention getting used to the time changes...

Oh well, we've only got weeks, not months. And this isn't a travelogue about air travel, blood flow, and peeing, it's a travelogue about an African adventure, and ours has begun.

Our tour group finally coalesced in its entirety. We met the president of Wilderness Travel, Bill and Barb Abbott, while in line to check in for our flight from Jo'burg to Maun; their kids, Nicole (18) and Scott (14), on the plane ride over the Kalahari Desert, and finally Nancy and Dan Foster while in line to get through customs at the little airport in Maun. (There's a lot of waiting in lines...)
Anyway, Nancy and Dan are mother and son. I'm estimating Nancy to be in her early forties and Dan is 14. They make an attractive mother and son pair, both with abundant dark hair and warm smiles. So far everyone seems decent and agreeable and I hope they think the same of Jayne and me.

We were met by Alwyn, the tour leader, just outside customs in Maun and then transferred the mile or so down the road to Riley's Hotel in what was described in something I read previously as the "center of town". It doesn't bother me a wit that there aren't many people about. I've met the 8 others that we'll be sharing the safari with and our leader - that's plenty for me!

Once we were all ensconced in our rooms, Jayne proceeded to take a bath in the slightly brownish tap water and I laid down on the bed and promptly fell asleep before I could even get my travel socks off.

The weather this afternoon is perfect for me, in the low to mid-seventies (it's winter here after all), but it was downright chilly in Jo'burg this morning as we disembarked off the 747 (series 400 - with the winglets you know) to board busses to take us into the terminal to begin our regimen of waiting in lines and displaying our passports.

I've now showered (in the slightly brownish water) and we are preparing for a little exploration of the town and the trails running along the Thalamakane River just beyond the hotel grounds. We'll meet up with the group and Alwyn at "6:30 or 7:00 - African Time" for our orientation dinner. I'll report back later.

9:30PM

We had our little walk out to the small marsh, got only a little lost, met up with the group for dinner and a review of our itinerary, and now it's time for sleep. Tomorrow we go on Safari. We begin in the morning at 9 or 9:30 - African Time.
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