Day 7
Kruger National Park – Skukuza to next rest camp
As usual, an early awakening by tent shaking, but not as painful as yesterday’s 4am start. We grabbed some bread to munch on and the necessary cups of tea to down before setting off through the sunsrise to have breakfast on the way, awake enough not to spill hot porridge everywhere. The air was warming by the time we reached our breakfast pitstop, but still we had not seen the promised lions. Our leader had modified his promise to ‘we will see lions TODAY, I swear’. The toilet block had a large warning sign warning of, specifically, ‘BABOONS!!’. With two exclamation marks. However, we didn’t need to be cautious of these food thieves, it was the birds that caused the most nuisance. Apparently glossy starlings like toast. Always the quiet ones. After some eggy bread and porridge made on the pull out truck hob, and our team spreding out and making a range of friends at the picnic tables (mostly human), we were off again.
By our Almighty Leader’s instruction, we shuffled round so we were not sitting by our tent buddies. There was muttering among some people that we had been told we were likely to come across a pride of lions that had been spotted further down the track. Keeping our eyes peeled, scanning the dusty bushland that seemed to stretch out forever, we managed to pass the hours before our lunch stop. Despite some close elephant encounters and a beautiful bee-eater spotting, no lions, however many animal puns had been created with the use of the wildlife guidebook and the ever resourceful boys.
At the pitstop, we had a chance to buy and send postcards. I knew it must be done, so chose two and struggled to remember two addresses of anyone I knew. Luckily I could just remember my own home, so sent a message to my parents; ‘alive and well, AMAZING!’ with a pen dangerously low on ink. My card to Hiba was probably more detailed, I remember having an impulse to release my inner artist.
By the time I got back to the truck, I had been left with an empty roll for lunch. Which was nice. Sometimes I would forgive you for mistaking our team for a flock of vultures.
We trundled away once more on the last leg of a mammoth road. We only had three hours left until camp! Hoorah! But guess what. No lions. This didn’t cross my mind however, as one of the most tense moments of the trip unfolded before us. As usual, everyone was either bantering (“for the lads, whey-heyyyyy”) or gazing out of their window at the infinite sandy lanscape bustling with life. Ostriches courting, mongooses mongoosing, and elephants being very photogenic a safe distance away. Until we met the bull. Glancing ahead as we carried on down the dusty road, we noticed a huge bull elephant in the bush right next to the track. Thula slowed the truck so as not to startle him, and we ground to a halt at a perfect picture-taking level. However, the elephant was curious. It slowly plodded forward until it was eye-level with the windows. A memory of a video involving one elephant overturning a van flashed before my eyes.
‘Don’t worry, it’s only when the elephant starts showing signs of charge we should worry,’ said the leader.
The elephant flapped its ears.
‘Isn’t that a sign of charge?’ said I.
‘Well we should only really worry if it tucks away its trunk so we know its not just a mock charge!’ said the leader.
The elephant tucked its trunk behind its tusks.
It huffed, shuffling its feet.
‘Oh my God, drive drive drive!’ I hissed, cowering in my seat as Will laughed at me.
‘Drive!’ warned the leader, and we accelerated, the lumbering beast giving us a few half-hearted gallops foreward before he crossed the path to meet his females. I would never have previously understood how huge, strong and terrifying a bull elephant could be. I seemed to have been the only one, however, who thought they might have died.
The next stop was our camp for the night, still within Kruger Park. We set up the tents like pros, and after a huge lecture about leaving possessions on the vehicle and how awful a crime this was, soon had cleaned the truck and were washing clothes in the metal sinks. The sun went down, bringing its usual chill, and the stars came out, but the sky was blustery. That night we had the first wind of the trip.
The fire did not suffer, however, and the meal definitely made the top five. Pudding was a gorgeous banana, melted chocolate and crushed biscuit split, roasted on the fire in tin foil. Burnt metal never tasted so sublime.
Determined to put a stop to our lovely evening, a drunk 20-something ambled over to the fire. I missed the conversation but whispers got round that he had been making racist comments and our driver had walked off. We exchanged disgusted glances through the firelight. The man was insistant that we joined him in his camp on the other side of the kitchen block, but to our credit, nobody took up the offer. Instead, in a show of unity, we loudly decided it was time to do our teeth and go to bed, leaving him alone by the fire. We went to chat to Thula and he told us about the racism still prominent in South Africa. I was appalled, and the wave of anger resulted in me swearing, and not quietly. I was not reprimanded.
Comradery restored, an early night was called for in the girls half of the circle. However the boys disappeared into the darkness wielding torches. The wind battered us all night, and we finally closed the window flaps, and padlocked ourselves in.
Day 6
Kruger National Park
Thula gave us our earliest wake-up call yet at 4;30am. I’d had very little sleep, but was grateful for the shaking of our tent walls, as it meant I could go to the toilet! It was dark, and the coldest we had probably ever experienced, however. Getting dressed inside a sleeping bag, fast, was a skill I developed quickly. This was where the jacket I had been using as a pillow came into its own. My tent buddy was less enthusiastic to emerge from her cocoon, so I slipped out and shivered my way to the toilet block, poked in my contact lenses, and went back for a questionably chewy breakfast by the cooking team.
It was still dark as we got on the truck for an early morning safari, and I thought I was going to freeze over. Sunrise was at approximately 6am, so as the light started to pour over the horizon, a warm orange glow through the acacia trees warmed us where it hit. Unfortunately it didn’t hit everywhere, so we made a stop and we stretched out in the sun like cold-blooded creatures absorbing our energy.
In the rest stop was a gorgeous view of a vast lake, hippos wallowing on the far bank, dots in the distance. Nearby, monkeys were fighting over a packet of crisps. I was warm at last.
Our lead teacher made a dramatic speech, based on a promise he made that ‘if we don’t see lions on this drive, I’ll eat my socks.’
Needless to say, we didn’t see any lions. But we did have some incredible encounters with a family of elephants, plenty of impala, giraffe, hippo, gazelle, waterbuck, and crocodile. You get the message! Watering holes are just overwhelming.
A few dozen of what you initially glance past as rocks turn out to be a row of crocs, surrounded by a herd of antelope, ten metres away from a couple of hippo, across from wading birds and giraffe in the bushes. And so on! It felt like a scene from 64 Zoo Lane.
After some wonderful photo opportunities, and some feverish leafing through identification books, we made our way back to the camp where some of us (not me, thanks) had a swim in the outdoor pool. Those who did immediately regretted it, and rushed back to the showers shivering, only to find me happily using up the hot water. Oh yes.
The evening game drive was one of my favourites, as I was in a perfect mood, had clean hair, and smelt not of my own sweat. Driving through the park in the evening compared to the morning was a completely different world. The sun lit up the stunning landscape that was so familiar from TV shows and films, and threw it into reality. We scanned huge piles of rocks for leopards, and around trees for elephants. If you ever want to improve my posture, stick me on a bumpy safari truck and tell me there are African animals to be spotted. Bolt upright and ears pricked instantly! High spirits on this journey however caused me to avert my gaze and sing Grease songs for a split second too long.
The truck ground to a halt. Thula turned and hissed through the driver’s window to the bus, ‘rhino!’ There was a collective gasp, and scrambling to look out of the window. 500 metres away, a dense grey shape shifted behind the bushes. We were silent, apart from camera lenses clicking and whirring. After a few minutes of watching the White Rhino munching on the shrubs, it was decided we needed to get back to camp before they shut the gates on us.
There was a bit of panic as one member of the team recalled the time they closed the camp half an hour earlier than our leader had planned. If it is possible to break the speed limit on an African plain, I think we did. Speeding past a gorgeous family of elephants bathing in the twilight was a huge shame, but I was too pumped up from the rhino sighting to be disappointed. We got the gates about 1 minute too late, but luckily we had a sweet talking leader, so we didn’t have to pay the fine.
Dinner was prepared wonderfully by the best cooking team yet! (No prizes for guessing one of it’s members…) Pasta was the nicest yet, although it was a stressful preparation time, full of disputes over how small we needed the onions chopped (yes, I won on that one). The sizzling braai added some sizzling atmosphere to the chirps of the crickets, and the biting cold was expelled by the warmth.
We handed over to the washing up team and got ready for bed. All the tensions had melted away, and by bedtime everyone was snug in their tents. Apart from three of us. Then two.
Another team member and I stood away from the truck and the tents, a few metres away from each other, heads thrown back, in an awed silence. The night sky was not something to get over. A smudge of glitter on the inky black night was the Milky Way, and bright paints splatters shone and blinked, millions of miles away.
‘I feel… so small.’
‘Wow. Just wow.’
Day 5
Moholoholo – Hoedspruit Endangered Species Centre – Kruger National Park
Left Moholoholo Mountain View for the last time, and I haven’t even written about the campfire games; otters splashing around in the dark; the boys meeting Dennis the rhino; the fan in our room covered in brown smudges (inspiring one of the best lines of the trip: ‘The shit really DID hit the fan’); watching the sunset from the truck roof; our group chant of ‘MOHOLOHOLOHOLO, OI OI OI’; the snake in the trees; chasing the baboon; poking rhino poo; scary Brian; the Aye-Aye in the roof; or the frog in the shower. I miss this amazing place, and in this instance, ‘amazing’ is not an overstatement… But onwards we go!
Kruger Park was an experience I personally had been looking forward to for months, and I couldn’t wait to get there. First, however, we paid a memorable visit to Hoedspruit Endangered Species Centre. The centre is known for the conservation work it does with cheetahs, but we weren’t expecting the breath-taking range of wildlife we were exposed to. First, we had an encounter with an African Grey Parrot.
It mewed, imitating the Cheetahs it was near, but obviously decided to stop as soon as we started filming. There was a notice on the wall claiming it could say the word ‘stupid’ but I suspected that this was a ploy to get gullible tourists to stand and repeat the word ‘stupid’ to a parrot, who I swear was laughing inside.
We got on the trucks and set off through the centre. All the animals were caged – obviously very roomy enclosures – but not even close to the size of their territory in the wild. I had mixed feelings about this, it was reminiscent of a zoo. On the other hand, I have no knowledge of the specifics of each animal’s situation, so am in no place to criticise.
We filed into a room and took our seats to watch a documentary about the centre. This seemed to me a bit redundant, as we could hear the noises of wildlife from outside, but it was interesting to hear a bit of background on their aims and values. It was set up by a single young girl (6) and her mother, after being given an abandoned Cheetah to raise.
We boarded the safari trucks, excited for the drive ahead. There was pausing and shuffling as we all silently debated which seat was best to have. The one on the outside, doorless, wall-less, and windowless, exposed entirely to the wild? Hmm. That was the one I ended up in, anyway.
We first encountered not a lion, not a cheetah, not even an exotic bird; but a sheep. [insert ironic Welsh sheep reference here] We were told that this sheep is used as an adoptive mother to orphan animals – her current ‘child’ was a young zebra. Apparently this sheep is extremely protective, and we had to negotiate round it in the safari truck as she stood stubbornly in the middle of the road. As we trundled towards the lion enclosure, the sheep ambled off behind us, zebra cautiously joining her from the bushes. This is the stuff of Disney movies, we thought.
The lioness was fat. There is no kinder way to put it. This was not puppy fat, or big bones. She was straightforwardly overweight. The ranger explained to us that the lioness had to be put on contraception, as a cub would be a disaster for the sanctuary. She and her mate observed us with quiet contempt as we drove on. Apparently contraception has the same effects on lions as it does humans; there’s no getting away from it ladies, forget about changing species. Weight gain and mood swings of The Pill will haunt you wherever you run.
The next stop was the pack of Wild Dogs. We drove right through their territory, wielding our cameras as they trotted around the wheels. They are arguably some of the most underrated, coordinated and in-sync pack animals on Earth; they have incredibly advanced methods of communication, ways of greeting each other and care for relatives that human civilisation would envy. They look after their old and disabled, share childcare responsibilities, and hunt for hours as a perfectly synchronised team until their prey is run to death. It was intimidating to be near these stunningly impressive African hunters.
Then was the Cheetah run. Escaping from the Wild Dogs as they followed the truck, circling us and each other, we closed the gates behind us and carried on down a long track, chattering animatedly before we noticed the Cheetahs appearing on our either side. they each had their own long enclosure, and it was feeding time. One had cubs, shyly shielding them from the oncoming safari group. The King Cheetahs were a huge deal here – they are male Cheetahs with a darkened coat due to a genetic mutation. This meant they were unable to find a mate as no females wanted their young to be un-camouflaged in the bush. It was unnerving watching an animal we had so excitedly petted the day before devouring hunks of meat so effortlessly before our eyes (not devouring the meat before leaping at us and devouring our eyes, I mean devouring the meat in front of us. Oh, you knew that, shush, stop fidgeting and listen).
The beautiful animals we encountered at the centre managed, in the space of an hour, to change my life. After spotting a Monitor lizard scuttle into a hole myself, squinting through binoculars at Grey Herons, and questioning our guide relentlessly about each animal, I had made a firm decision this is what I wanted to do with my life. Unfortunately, this dream was shattered when someone pointed out I wouldn’t be able to work here as long as I couldn’t speak Afrikaans.
Then, food-shopping time. At Kruger we would be self-sufficient, so we descended on the supermarket, all 24 of us, in our purple hoodies clutching lists. This was the first time we split into our cooking groups of four, and clogged up the checkout queues, spending thousands of Rand, luckily within our budget. We stashed the food into the storage of the truck, and boarded for the long drive to Kruger. After a few hours that I have blanked from my memory, we hit the entrance gates. Exciting. Very.
Our first rest camp, Skukuza, was huge. Completely different to any ‘wild living’ we had imagined. It had shops. Actual shops. A swimming pool, a shower block, and a restaurant.
And internet, and payphones. I managed to restrain myself from contacting home, it didn’t feel right. I’m glad I did.
The tents came down from the roof of our truck for the first time, and Thula showed us how to erect them. They would be our homes for the forseeable future, and we were sufficiently pleased. The elderly American couple next to us seemed pleasant enough, until they gave us all leaflets explaining how any non-Christians were living in sin. That sparked a few crumpled pieces of paper in the bin.
Two other girls and I explored the site with a map, not managing to find anything we wanted. This provoked the first argument of the trip, where Girl 1 and I made fun of Girl 2’s map reading skills – a topic apparently she was very sensitive about, surprisingly.
The first meal was prepared, a few hours late, the sun gone from the sky, and the cold well and truly settled in. The meal was far from the best we’ve ever eaten, prepared in the dark, but we were grateful for it. I don’t know how grateful other campers trying to use the communal hobs were, however.
A talk (lecture) from our leader about teamwork, then bedtime. We were commanded to bond, and bond we did.
I lay awake in the tent, having leapt from clothes to PJs in record time to avoid the cold. Thank goodness for four-season sleeping bags. I heard an elephant trumpet in the distance, and the scuffles of wild boar from the bushes just outside the boundary. I truly felt part of something incredible, and I drifted off to sleep.
… Until my bladder decided to wake me up at 3am. Lying curled up on the floor needing to pee in the African night is something I never thought would be so torturous. It was too cold to leave the tent, so I put my headphones in and listened to Our Window by Noah and The Whale, while staring out of the tent window up at the glimmering night sky. (It’s four in the morning / the stars / are shining through our window/ and it’s been a while / since I stared at the stars).
My life had never come so close to perfect.
Day 4
Moholoholo Rehabilitation Centre – Khamai Reptile Centre
A relaxed morning consisting of gingerly leaving the lodge for fear of rhino reprisal; breakfast in the open fronted/sided thatched dining area looking out into the hippo pool with baboons chilling in the trees; napping outside in the early morning sun…. Until the underestimation of our distance from the neighbouring rehab centre caused us to be late for our first appointment! Luckily, we were forgiven by the rangers, although the resident honey badger had other ideas.
As did the vultures…
And the lion. And the leopard.
(yes, that is someone’s finger)
Luckily the baby white rhino and the cheetah were more forgiving.
(yes, we are stroking that cheetah. That cheetah, called Bullet. I would’ve suggesting running for sweet mercy but again, friends with other ideas etc etc.)
I noted that all the animals are so much HUGER in real life than on BBC David Attenborough shows.
Maybe those photos deserve some explanation (unless it is just the photos you are here for, in which case leave me alone and go and sweat over something else, creep).
The honey badger bee-lined for a certain team member, ravaging his toes (which I had previously observed as being blessed with nails an eagle would be proud of), and nibbling his ankles. Since honey badgers had been a running joke (the hilarious concept that one of the most dangerous mammals in Africa just don’t give a shit), it was a surreal moment to have one scampering about our feet.
The vultures were much more majestic than one would imagine. There were a dozen of them in the sanctuary, and each had their own heart-breaking story of poaching, neglect, orphanage, or abuse. As did every animal here, actually.
The lions were knee-tremblingly terrifying. The guttural growl that bubbled from the glinting jaws of Big Boy was enough to make our group collectively gasp and flinch. I felt an almost primeval instinct stirring in my stomach. The reason for their regal reputation was clear – each move was subtle, flowing and calculated. There did not need to be a group of them for the pride to be evident (see what I did there?).
The leopards were beautiful, sphinx-like and elegant. The power rippled through their muscles.
The white rhino was special. Its mother had died and it hadn’t had a chance to consume enough breast-milk to develop its immune system sufficiently. The rangers were doing their best to hand rear it, but only the select few were allowed to touch, for fear of spreading dangerous infection.
And Bullet, the cheetah, had been hand raised. She purred and mewed like a house cat, reacting to the mass of hands tickling her chin. I never thought I’d stroke a Big Cat.
Other animals here included an elusive black rhino, that we could only hear as it chewed behind a bush; hyenas, which were aggressive, noisy, and energetic – a perfect combination for generating WOAH I THOUGH I WAS GONNA DIE WHEN IT JUMPED UP moments; a timid serval; and what felt like every bird in Africa – from eagles, hornbills (ground and otherwise), Einstein the Marabou Stork, to and owls and sparrows and parrots.
I was also introduced to what would become my favourite animal – the African Wild Dogs.
Next stop, after tearing ourselves away from the amazing Rehab Centre, was Khamai Reptile Centre.
This involved handling snakes, spiders, chameleons, iguanas and friendly, incredibly cute squirrel monkeys. It also involved keeping our distance from stone-still crocodiles, eyes glinting, jaws raised in silence. We witnessed Black Mambas fighting over a rat, and said rat being mercilessly digested whole. Scorpions were placed on our faces, and puff adders placed on the ground in front of our sitting party. Many heart rates were raised that day.
The last incident of the day occurred as the sun was setting. Me and a few others climbed up on to the dizzying roof of the truck to watch the sunset and take in the stunning surroundings with the Drakensberg Mountain Range creating a gorgeous backdrop. Something moving in the bush, way past the huts, however, caught our eyes. There were about five people, blobs in the distance, making their way through the scrub. We were puzzled; what were they doing so far out of range? That MUST be past the fence? Just as we were complaining we weren’t allowed to go places so exciting, someone on the truck gasped, ‘oh my word, is that a GIRAFFE?’ And it sure it was. A towering, swaying giant had popped up about five metres in the trees behind them. This was a problem. They could stumble into it, completely unaware, and be seriously harmed.
Our first thoughts, however, were not on their safety – we were furiously jealous! ‘They’ll come back with that amazing experience having seen a giraffe close up and they were breaking the rules! It’s not fair!’
We watched the blobs turn and troop back to the camp, and quickly scrambled down the ladder and ran to see them, feeling guilty for such bitterness, yet bitter we were. We bumped into the group outside the kitchen. They were talking about trees. It turned out they had no clue of the intimate moment they had just had with a giraffe, and we had to inform them of their own adventure.
Africa, as it turns out, is extremely unpredictable.
Day 3
Panoramic Route – Blyde River Canyon – Three Rondavels – Bourke’s Luck Potholes
What we thought was an early start for breakfast at 7:30am. I hoped to leap out of bed bright-eyed to catch my first African sunrise. I guessed I’d need to be outside at maybe 6:45? I mean come on, that’s early. I stuck to my own word, stumbled out in my pyjamas to find the sun already laughing at me from the sky. No peachy colours today. I shouldn’t have worried though, we were to be waking plenty early enough within a few days.
It was a team member’s birthday today, and one I daresay he’ll remember forever.
We set off on the truck, chattering with excitement, and shrieking in whispers at every animal that trotted past (impala, warthogs, baboons… cows). The panoramic route certainly lived up to its name. We trundled up dusty hills surrounded by cliff faces, past the odd ramshackle village, until the road twisted and a never-ending horizon was thrown into view. The plains of Africa were flat expanses, with the gorgeous, terrifying Drakensberg mountain range jutting through the quickly rising early morning mist in the distance. It was pointed out that it was impossible to tell where they ended. We stopped at a small, relaxed market and wandered through on the way to see the famous sight – The Three Rondavels.
Stunning views that won’t fit into a camera lens.
The rock formation is called such as the peaks form the shape of the common thatched houses – rondavels.
We proceeded past the ‘DO NOT PROCEED BEYOND THIS POINT’ sign, and spread out, one boulder each, staring in silent awe, cameras raised or not (until we were told to leave the danger zone by the authorities).
Next was the Bourke’s Luck Potholes. After authentic African picnic (or not) of cheese sandwiches, ‘Simba’ crisps, and apples, we headed down the path, completely unaware of the experience about to overwhelm us.
A few Usain Bolt poses were taken on a tiny bridge a hundred metres above the river gurgling ferociously in the chasm. Bushes and scrub we spontaneously bursting into flame due to the strength of the sun, but the altitude meant we were all in hoodies. After a few minutes of investigating, negotiating, leaping over (and falling into) the smaller potholes, we were mobbed. A school group from Limpopo had come on a trip too, and were fascinated by our pale skin and thin hair. Not surprisingly, hundreds of photos were taken. I felt like a celebrity, standing still while a line of excited fans took turns to come and pose with me, many touching my hair and grabbing my hands. It was completely and utterly surreal, yet utterly and completely wonderful. The kids were friendly and happy, some shivering in the 20+celsius heat as it was so much cooler than their home. Everyone in our group left grinning broadly, with memory cards substantially more full.
Thula, our driver, made short work of the journey home, complaining of the rush-hour when a single car passed us on the dust road. We offered to take him back to London.
As we turned into our gate at Moholoholo, the first monumental wildlife spot occurred. Somebody shouted, ‘A giraffe! Look!’ And the truck ground to a halt after a wave of insistence from us at the back. All of us piled against one window, cameras raised in anticipation. A pause.
‘Where?’
‘THERE!’
A completely black giraffe swayed into view about five hundred metres away, neck thrust up through the trees. You could hear the sound of twenty cameras zooming in simultaneously. Its family appeared one-by-one through the scrub, and grinned down at my t-shirt. It was a good day to wear clothing with a giraffe’s face on.
This was the evening Beth and I met Dennis for the first time. Dennis is a white rhino.
We were strolling along the bush path in the space of time we were given to explore the site, when Beth decided to stray off the path (a strict no-no) to take a photo of a picturesque tree in the setting sun. I refused to join her, and hopped about on the path telling her to watch out for snakes. I was frantically scanning the trees behind her in fear, when a grey angular shape came into focus. I started swearing and shaking.
‘Beth, shit, it’s a rhino or an elephant or something, fucking hell Beth come on, get away, shit Beth it’s a fucking rhino, Beth COME ON, get out, fuck…’ etc.
She didn’t believe me. I dragged her away down the path, laughing breathlessly with terror, and still swearing like a trooper. I was in pieces, keeping my eyes on that shifting creature through the trees.
‘No it isn’t Mair, do you think I’m stupid? Honestly, stop it, I’m not dull.’
‘Beth, LOOK!’ I pointed.
‘Oh shit, it’s rhino!’ She set off at a trot towards it, getting her camera ready. What was she doing? I followed, blind with panic. By the time we got to a fence, the rhino was just disappearing into the distance. I had no idea there was a mesh fence between us and it, although it was nothing that would stop a charging rhino for more than a microsecond. We had been told never ever to run when faced with a dangerous animal, but I never contemplated running towards it.
That night, after a wonderful campfire, I went to the toilet on my own. Or, I tried. Something rustled in the darkness, so I ran back to the fire. Everyone laughed. It wasn’t so funny when ten minutes later we were all barricaded in our rooms, told not to leave until the morning, as a rhino was investigating our lodges. Not the nicest good-night call, but enough adrenaline to last a life time.
Days 1-2
Abergavenny – Heathrow – Johannesburg – Moholoholo.
Quote of the day: “Dumbledore or Gandalf?” “What, to sleep with?”
The start of our journey. We all congregated in the biology labs in our matching purple hoodies, the cleanest we’d see them for three weeks. After a blur of safety briefings and a flurry of emotional farewell hugs, we were on the coach to Heathrow airport.
A few of my friends used the pay-phones in the departures lounge to call home while I danced around them singing ‘Payphone’ by Maroon 5, and taking pictures. I wasn’t about to think of home. My mind was already on safari – or at least in the arrivals lounge in Johannesburg.
After a short-loss-of-precious-bracelet scare (me) and genuine loss of watch-part down toilet incident (also me), it was time to board.
This was my first night-flight, and wasn’t an altogether pleasant experience. Unless you enjoy vacuum packed omelette, watery yoghurt and solid croissants for breakfast, after having been awake for 5 hours in the dim half-light with the smell of vomit wafting by, then neither will yours be.
The whole airport experience is a bit of a blur, and nothing remarkable happened. After hysterics (laughter) on the plane, I put my headphones in and listened to Radio Mika as I drifted in and out of sleep. Listening to it now brings the plane so vividly back to life. There’s a very specific smell on yourself after wearing the same clothes for days.
The truck was waiting for us at Johannesburg, and as we leapt up the dodgy ladder into it for the first time, I knew, just knew, this was going to be one of the best experiences of my life.
It took me until driving through Africa before I realised it was going to be incomparable.
We arrived at the Moholoholo lodges (which are in the middle of a wildlife reserve, home to predators and prey alike), ate, showered, and watched the sunset.
The night sky stole any words I have to describe it.
Finally, bed time to the background of chirps, tweets and hums. Although I think the hum was our ancient dying refrigerator (all mod-cons these days!). There were five of us in our lodge, and our door had no lock. We could hear the warthogs outside. The rangers keep a rubbish bin outside our door. I’ll let you imagine our panic for yourself. This panic caused our conversations to be frantically giggly ad excitable, athough we all slept as soon as closing our eyes (and after planning escape routes should we have an animal visitor in the nigh). The last thing I (hilariously, I thought at the time) wrote in my diary is ‘I hope we don’t die.’ I was only being partly facetious.
Tomorrow, the itinery begins.
Moholoholo
Oh, another impala. 