One of our guests, Caroline Kullendorff, very kindly let me steal some of her photos from her Facebook page to give you a better idea of what to expect when coming on a camping tour with us to see the Masai Mara and Uganda’s Silverback Mountain Gorilla… This is part one of her tour, from Nairobi to Kampala
Stay tuned for Part Two!!
- Mambo Jambo Masai Mara – Masai Mara National Reserve, Kenya (travelpod.com)
- Lions of the Masai Mara – closer than ever before (greatcatsoftheworld.wordpress.com)
- Masai Mara Kenya – A Memorable African Safari Getaway (boldstate.com)
I am sitting at home, unpacked, washing machine going merrily (with possible clogged pipes tomorrow, full of desert dunes), the dogs have now licked every available piece of skin they could find on my feet and legs, and the blurry photos have been deleted.
I know, I know, you’re thinking, what happened to Darling? Little known fact, I actually lived in Darling for years, and have a house there, where my mom lives. So I went to Darling, I just did not visit Evita. I forced my poor mom to sit through 1784 photos, which took me an hour to setup on the laptop as a slide show (and don’t be shaking your head now, we have all put poor unsuspecting souls through this same torture of a pictorial review of our just completed holiday!). Mom is 81. Ten photos later, she was yawning, and recalling when my Dad could not buy cool drink at the Lamberts Bay Hotel, because he was not wearing a tie. This was in 1950. And by photo 1531 she was actually nodding away.
She snapped right out of that again when I mentioned that my writing has been put on the internet. “How did you get it there?” she asked. Well, I have this dongle thing, it is like calling on a cell phone, but instead of using my voice, it sends text. “Yes, but how did you get it to land on the internet?” I emailed it to the office, and they pasted it on there. “No, that’s not possible, there’s no cable or aerial. So, how did you get it on there?” Ok, Mom, focus. My stuff was on the internet, don’t worry how I got it there. And people I don’t know read it. “How did they know to read it? Did somebody call them?”. Laugh all you want, you try and explain the internet, and wireless, and Facebook to somebody who worked in DOS years ago for two months! And now she wants to buy a laptop, so she can find recipes and needle point patterns on there. She can barely send an sms yet! I am keeping myself out of that little debacle!
Luckily, my brother is one of the people who actually read this, so there was no need to explain this to him. But he is actually a Mr Twitcher. He has 14.5 bird books and promptly downloaded all my photos, and is most probably sitting as we are speaking, identifying all the shots I took of avian life in the Kalahari! And he faithfully read my story every day: Hey Boet!
The recap done with the family I now sit and reflect on my absolutely Epic adventure.
I met some amazing, and odd people! The game spotters in the Kalahari, some from close, some from far, all were there with one purpose, to see wildlife. In each other or in the bush there are questions not fully answered yet, but still.
The two drunk Frenchmen, who took their lives in their own hands by getting out of their car next to lions, and to offer me drinkies, after I sat in the sun for three hours next to said Lions.
The people of Kenhard, who stepped into the 21st century, and had their first interracial wedding the evening I was there and let me tell you, it was a big makietie! I actually also met a true wildlife photographer, Hannes Lochner, from the back seat of a land cruiser, but still, I met the man, I saw his photos, and let me tell you, he actually lives permanently in the Kgalagadi. One can see that. Ok, I did not actually meet him per se, more like waved at him. He would not know me from a bar of soap!
Then the crazy kayak people from Khamkirri, who really fell with their career bums in the butter, seeing as they live right next to the river where they can practice and enjoy their passion! Kayaking you sickos!
One can say I nearly met Lord Milner’s wife. Thank goodness I did not! And one can say I nearly met the Polish space people as well, but seeing as they do it all remotely from Poland, also not.
I am very sure I met an Alien, but they wiped my memory after they did the tests and stuff, and concluded that there is intelligent life down here!
The seafood man from Lamberts Bay, the laughing locals in Brandvlei, farmer Jnr and his dog, the perpetually late gate keeper at Kgalagadi, the old man with the road phobias at Hyundai in Upington, and all in all, most of the road workers between Keimoes and Kakamas!
The places were a revelation, and yet strangely familiar! Perhaps because I have been to most of the places before but every time, is a new time with new sights and smells. I am still looking for the broken bottle of shampoo in my car, but the smell is apparently the Katbos and Kambroo bushes from the Karoo, and not shampoo! The Bullet and I traveled from Cape fold mountains, to flat stretches with bicycle warning signs, to deep red sand dunes, and flat salt pans, all with its own appeal and enough space to actually have a thought or two. We also had very nice acoustics, hence missing the V8 engine sounds for half a day! And I swear, the higher up in altitude one goes, the higher one can sing as well. I could reach that one spectacular note with Alphaville! A couple of times. And I am technically classified as a tenor, more like James Earl Jones after the ciggies and the vodka drinking from my youth. Like Rebroff in his hey day! But I hit that high note (also nearly popped a vein in the process)!
Animals. More Animals. The strange, the furry, the bald, the evil, the lazy and the funny! My personal heroes, officially, the fantastically brave suricates! They surpassed the wild dog, cheetah, and hyena in my affection now. No other animal poses as well for photos, pulls the weirdest faces, and just generally are soo busy, they don’t have time to just sit back and hide in bushes. Oh, and the Mice. Man, the smallest little things, but Braveheart is nothing compared to them. They should really paint their faces blue as well.
And the animals were not contained to the Kgalagadi. No, baboons at du Toits Kloof, rock hyraxes next to Tankwa Karoo, raptors on telephone lines all over, seagulls, and attacking Kelp Gulls on the coast, and I even saw a klipspringer close to Citrusdal. And not to mention the one gazillion locusts who bravely died, in full battalions, on a 100km stretch in the karoo.
I do hope the two frogs from Sutherland got the feeling back in their legs, after sleeping under me for a night.
Not to forget the livestock. Chicken, geese, donkeys, peacocks, sheep (different types as well) goats, dogs, cats, cattle, emus and some horses.
And then there was Damien. My friend, the narcissist, mirror crashing bat straight out of a Meatloaf song!
I think of doing a list of what I did see, I should perhaps note what I did not see!
My final thoughts after all this excitement: One should never go on holiday with big expectations. No place, person or event would ever be able to live up to that which one built up in the head. Expect to see a nice tree, that way, the crocodile hanging from the elephants tail, while singing karaoke, will be more visible under the tree!
One should always pack medicine, that way you won’t get sick while on holiday. It is when Murphy comes calling because you have no stomach remedies, or flu medicine that things become a little on the uncomfortable side.
Prepare for the coldest ever, and think summer holiday. It takes double the space in the car, but, you won’t be caught wrapped up in your beach sarong, beach towel, oil rag and three pairs of jeans, with dishtowels around the feet, and having to shove your hands into live coals to get some heat going!
Don’t look for the big things. Keep the eyes open, the imagination running, and make up stuff in your head!
And watch out for Aliens, ghosts, and all things that can make an appearance in a Spielberg film.
(And note to self, I watch way too many movies!)
Things I have learnt:
I need to take more leave.
Unusually, after a stint like this, I do not regret not going to work for San Parks. If I did, I would still be there, and not be able to tell anybody any off this, as it would be every day. This way, I could tell everybody about my Epic Adventure, ad nauseum (the Latin rears its ugly head again).
Bullet is not a 4×4.
My tops become shorter, the more I eat! I am practically wearing a boob tube today!
And I have the coolest job of all times! I can go do stuff like this, write about it, have people go oe and aah, and still have a job when I come back!
I am back at work, broke and heart sore. But in my dreams I am running with the cheetah, lying on sand dunes, and driving a rally car on a deserted stretch of a two lane dirt track through the Karoo. With not a care in the world. In my dreams I am strapped to the roof of a Landrower, and some khaki clad Marlboro man is calling me Ms Slovakia!
In my dreams…..
( Hene, all dramatic ne!)
Please contact me on firstname.lastname@example.org for any information on the 9 Day, Cape Town to Cape Town, Karoo, Kalahari and West Coast Tour, we would love to have you on board with us!
Grab a pen and paper, or your iSheet, tablet? If nothing else close at hand, a coal from last nights braai. I am about to give you very sound, thorough advice. If you are going to come and experience the Kalaroo adventure, pack a beanie, and a scarf, and gloves, and mittens, and polar socks. Also, pack your minus 200 degrees parka. Did I mention a beanie? Scrap that, pack a balaklawa! It Is Cold! Enough said.
My morning started with the sound of a softly flowing Orange River behind my tent, and little birds cheeping… and the absence of my fingers. I first thought I forgot them somewhere again, but it is just the cold. Numbingly cold, cold. With Visions of Sutherland, I pack up the paper tent, which actually stayed quiet last night. It can also be that the Farmers Association party drowned out the sound of the Encyclopedia Britannica being crumpled up. Oh, yes, write this down as well. Do not, under any circumstances, pitch your tent a metre from the main reception/dance hall. You might have some problems with drunk farmers tumbling over your tent on the way to their carefully pitched, 1 km away, tents. And if you should have a party the previous evening, then rather pitch your tent close to a light source, and close to where you are having your party. I think I saw one farmer on the opposite side of the Orange River, sleeping on the banks, hugging a reed. I of course, slept the sleep of the dead, and, thanks to my careful wake up training from the Kalahari, woke up at 5h30 AM, with a vague desire to have some coffee.
Two hours later, I was skulking around, trying to sniff out anybody with a little caffeine in their tents. Maybe hidden in the toilet tank. Perhaps the bar has a secret lock, and inside they store the best mocca ever. Coffeeeee! Please, just inject it straight into the veins. Finally some of the kitchen staff shows up, and I try and pull my best, “Oh, look at this poor thing, one can clearly see she needs a cup of coffee” look. To no avail. They most probably thought I had indigestion. Then I thought, if I can steal some wood somewhere, and start a fire, then I can boil water and have COFFEE! Nope, no wood. I even considered making coffee from warm tap water. Finally, after the tables were set, and farmers were all in attendance, and Bullet has been packed, and standing ready with bleary eyes, does somebody say, oh, would you like a cup of coffee? Nah, thanks, I’m ok. YES demit, can you not see the craving stamped on my forehead! Now, having to make inane conversation with a red road map eyeball farmer, about the strange weather, meanwhile it is screaming in my head, can you please just get the sugar in your cup, so that I can get to the good stuff! Finally, I had coffee. Good stuff too.
Then I heard the bad news that there is no shortcut to Niewoudville, my camp for the night. It is back to Kakamas, then to Keimoes, then down to Kenhard, Brandvlei, Calvinia, and there, finally a turn to Niewoudville. And it is about 500km. In my search for coffee, I was still standing at the Orange River at 9am this morning. But, with sad goodbyes to Phillipa and Danie, and the three kittens running around, and Sparky my canoeing guide from Mafikeng, I started the 500km journey.
Kakamas first. After my 3 hours craving, just one cup of Java would just not do it. So, I decide to turn into Kakamas town. Two streets really, please do not expect a metropolis. And there, on the side of the road, I find The Pienk Farmstall. Yes, you heard me correctly. The Pienk Farmstall. And not just the name, everything from the name board, to the lady at the till, all pink. And not just any pink, binneboud pink (inner thigh pink? Hidden part of bum pink?). And absolutely nothing of any value, or to do with a farm stall inside.
But a coffee machine! Besides the coffee machine, there was an old typewriter. Pink porcelain savings piggies, stuffed and mounted Springbok head, wearing a pink baseball cap. One spectacular sundress, surprisingly not pink. Thinking that a biscuit or some kind of baked goodies will go nicely with the machined pure half mast cup of coffee, I only find four empty serving plates. But wait, dining tables outside under the awning. So I ask the pink clad ladies, do you serve breakfast? Nope, they say. Aaa, I thought to myself, they cater for the lunch crowd. Lunch? I ask. Nope. Well, then dinner surely, nope. They don’t serve meals, but then why in all that is logical, do you have a seating area like a restaurant? Answer: In case people want to sit down (in my head, this amounts to teasing, people can bloody go sit in their cars if they want to sit). Anyhow, I walk out with some stale koeksusters, and the last biltong muffin, and I must admit, not bad. Very salty, but not bad.
Ok, rest of the driving. I swear, I have solid 8 hours sleep. Solid, despite the farmer doing a Nuck Chorris over my tent, with a double Flick Flack, side split, ending with an overhead roundhouse, so I should have been bushy tailed and very awake. My personal opinion is, it is the damn roads! 5 min into taking the long road, I feel like I have the Titanic attached to my eyelids. But I soldier on, get through Kenhard, and then had to stop about 20km’s outside of town. Not because of sleepy eyes, 20km outside Kenhard there is nothing. Some large farms, no farm houses, just grass, broken telephone lines, and a fence. That’s it. No other signs of civilization, or people living there. Yet, on the side of the road, a very clear road sign, to please be cautious of the Bicycles. Where? What bicycles? Really? You serious? I actually had to do a U-turn on the highway, to get a shot of this. I am sitting here typing, still wondering about that.
Ok, off the 500km I did, it went quiet for about 150 of those. To Brandvlei. But by then I could have just as well put Bullet on autopilot, and slept. Luckily, Brandvlei, with all five of it’s houses, do have a wide open stretch of sand, with some iffy shade trees. I pull in there, and decide to just close my eyes for a bit. An hour later, I wake up, (or possibly I snored myself awake) with two locals sitting next to Bullet, against a tree. A couple of slow blinks later confirms it is not a mirage. Two locals, and they are giggling away. Looking at the only remaining reg number plate on Bullet, the one asks me, so, you from Somerset West? My reply was, no, of course not, this is a rental car (yes, I know, I disavowed poor Bullet, but she got it), and off I sped.
Now I have been saying from the start, there is something amok with spirits and ghosts and freaky stuff in the Northern Cape. I am driving along, full sunshine, thinking to myself that I should maybe exchange the sweat pants for shorts, when it starts raining! Big drops. Not a lot, but causing me to look up, and again, I swear, clouds! And then Arabian days started. In that area are lots of pans, with no vegetation. Just sand. I see a couple of sheep to the side, trying to actually dig a hole, so close to the ground they are lying, and think, strange, why aren’t they hopping along like sheep do? When to my right, a sand storm the like I have only seen once in the Namib, approaches, and together with the sand storm is a cloud bank, with rain tinted a brown colour due to the sand storm. I did stop Bullet, who also promptly tried to start digging a hole to hide in, and just looked at this spectacular freaky bit of wind magic going on!
It was sand and dust, and rain altogether! I was actually expecting Omar Sharif on a camel to come tumbling past at least! I actually started humming the theme song to Caravans! Then a Land Cruiser drove into that whole sand water aerial mess! Bravely going where no other vehicle (except for the Nomad Truck that other time in the Namib) has ever gone! William was waving from the back seat! Spectacular! I stopped a little further down, and called farmer Tractor Wagon, to arrange for the meeting re the tractor wagon trail at Niewoudville. He says, lady, on a Sunday, farmers sleep in the afternoon, so I would have to call him at 6am the next morning. So, nothing to rush forward to, I meander on to Niewoudville, in pouring rain, glad I have my sweat pants on!
Then I get another urge for coffee. Luckily in Calvinia, the local petrol attendant has a kettle. Working like an Old Model T Ford, but still working. Thirty minutes after starting it, we had liftoff, and I had a flask full of coffee. Only to arrive in Niewoudville sooner than I could get a cup poured. But, 500km, not to be sneezed at, so I am rather tired at this point, and not one soul to be seen on the streets, or rather, street, of Niewoudville. A little like Tommy Knockers. I find Olive camp ground, get the gate open, drive around to the back, and am greeted by, wait for it, a chicken! And an aggressive chicken at that! And following close behind him, two Peacocks! Tommy Knockers!
Calling the number on the gate gets me through to the owner, who it seems, owns most of the town. He directs me to the Smidswinkel restaurant, where one lady waits. Shame, I don’t know what she does on weekends there, but definitely not gather with a sociable group or something fun like that. No other people! And then comes the good news, I don’t have to stay in the camping ground, they prepared one of the guest houses for me! Great! Historical house, restored. With no other soul in town? AAAAaaaaaargh, Matjiesfontein all over again! I start a fire, which cheers me up slightly, make a massive amount of food, which cheers me up even more, and then the sun sets. And still, no sound. No wind through the trees, no sound of kids playing, grownups talking. Only a sad sheep baaaaaa coming from two houses down. The last ciggie I had, I was huddled in the corner of the stoep. Trying my best not to give off body heat, or a heartbeat! You know they can find you like that!
- Tosca’s Epic Kalaroo Adventure … Wet, wild and very muddy! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s epic Kalaroo Adventure… kaalgat in the Kalahari! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s Epic Kalaroo adventure … telescopes, toads and technical driving! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s epic Kalaroo Adventure… The Slaughter of the Small Folk! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s Epic Kalaroo Adventure… the massacre! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s Epic Kalaroo Adventure… Bravely going where only one mad bat would not fear to fly! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s Epic Kalaroo Adventure… Damien the demon and other baby beasts (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s Guide to National Park People Watching (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
I am going to veer a bit off topic, but I assume some people have never been to a Southern African National Park and need a crash course in people spotting. Now by National Park, I mean a place with animals, preferably some of the Big 5.
With that in mind, there are two things that you need to know about, one, are Animals – that would be the furry and feathered types; the other, is the people coming to look for, and at the animals. Also, the furry type.
Now the second category can also be subdivided into quite a few smaller categories, and even share some common traits with other categories.
Lets start with the most well know. Mr Big 5, that is the guy, usually in a Bakkie, with a much cowed wife in tow. Also, can be recognized by the fact that he usually shows up with a caravan, and a trailer in tow. He can mostly be spotted, zipping at top speed, between waterholes, and carries a humongous pair of binoculars (not to be confused with the Bird watcher, which we will dicuss later).
Now Mr Big 5 is not a guy that will keep quiet about his findings ( unlike the Ms/Mr Yuppie Big 5). Any chance he has, he will stop you, and gleefully tell you all about the Lion he saw that morning. Nearly. Well, his paw was peeking out! It was a magnificent paw! And it was at a waterhole so and so. Tomorrow morning, he will be back there, looking for the Big sighting!
Now Mr Big 5 is good for some limited information on where to find some of the animals you are looking for. When the day is done, Mr Big 5 can be found, in his chair, outside his caravan, while his wife organises supper.
Ms/Mr Yuppie Big 5, well, difference here, she/he shows up in a brand new Pajero. With Aircon. Also differs slightly from Mr Big 5, in that he/she stays in chalets, and uses the very expensive high tech camera in a dual function of binoculars as well. Ms Yuppie Big 5 will Never share info with the other weary travellers, as this would most probably necessitate for them to open the Pajero window, and that in turn will get dust onto the GPS system, which in turn will delete all the info, triangulated, of the previous visits Big 5 sightings. Ms Yuppie Big 5 will only share this vital information with the other Yuppie friends, at home. And have a right giggle at those other fools, looking for birds! And telling other people where to find stuff! This all over a glass of carefully selected Sancere.
Briefly mentioned above is the Bird Watcher. Fantastic type, who mostly accidentally see the big 5, as he is so busy scanning trees, and driving so slowly as not to disturb the lesser breasted, immature, never spotted here before bird, that he just kind of stumbles over the Big stuff. Mr Twitcher actually does not secretly yearn to see the Big 5 ( unlike Mr Tourist), and sees animals as a bit of an inconvenience, especially if said member of Big 5 is lying close to the much sought after Lesser breasted, immature, never before spotted Tit. Mr Twitcher is easy to identify. He also carries a pair of binoculars, but these have distance and height and all kinds of vital statistics showing on the inside lens. He is also the one driving really slowly. And when parked, please watch angle of head. If pointed upwards into a tree, chances are he is Mr Twitcher. Mr Twitcher’s wife, Mrs Twitcher, shares his passion, but secretly yearns to see the big five, as she gets very tired of handing over one of the 12 different bird books that Mr Twitcher carries with him. Always. Even to the shop, as one never knows when, a lesser breasted, does not exist wading Mossie, will dart around the next isle. Mrs Twitcher, however, can’t cook to save her life, and is thus dependant on Mr Twitcher’s good will, in the evening, when they park off next to their small tent, made of recycled Gwano platform pillars.
Mr Tourist can be divided into two sub-categories. One would be the large luxury coach type tourist, usually from some Asian country (where cameras can basically cure cancer, while operating on your pet parakeet, and cost barely absolutely nothing in their currency, and can link to your iMattress, that in turn can call up your stock broker, who can programme the iFax to bounce off iSatellite, to make sure you choose the right pair of underpants). So, Mr Luxury Bus Tourist is pretty much like Mr Big 5, only not in a bakkie, or with a caravan, and won’t tell you where the Big 5 is, as he basically doesn’t know if he saw a cheetah or a goose. Also, he can only say: “Where is the bathroom?” and “my pants are on fire”, in English. Mr Luxury Bus Tourist comes stock standard with a guide, who wears his Field Guide badge proudly, and reports anybody else, who looks like they can actually communicate with their own clients, as non registered. Mr Luxury Bus Tourist Guide also knows to shut up, find the Big 5, or as close as possible without Mr Luxury Bus Tourist knowing it is actually a domestic cat, and not a cheetah he so kindly pointed out.
The second sub category of Mr Tourist, is actually Mr Undercover Tourist. Now Mr Undercover Tourist has heard about the other types of tourists who visits National Parks, and would never want to be known as one of those. So, Mr Undercover Tourist can be recognized by the rental 4×4 he is driving, and his obsessive road rule use. Mr Undercover Tourist also invested big money on a mammal guide book, a bird book, a map of the said park, a book written by rangers about their stories in the bush, as well as a book on the Traffic Act, the full 12 editions.
Mr Undercover tourist will carefully read the park rules and instructions at reception when clocking in, and will never ever ever be late for a gate closing time. He is unfailingly polite, and will stay on the left side of the road, even if on the right side there is a lion, chasing a hyena, using a springbok leg as a club, and every Mr Big Five in the district is blocking his view. It says so in the 12 part Traffic Act book. Drive on the left side of the road, and when he sees a crocodile, hanging from an elephants tail, smoking some marijuana, he will not slam on brakes and pull out cameras. No, he will first indicate that he will pull off. To the left. And once the car has come to a complete halt, he will then put on the hazards.
Mr Undercover Tourist would secretly also like to see the big 5, but that brings him too close to Mr Luxury Bus Tourist. So he keeps that to himself. Mr Undercover Tourist also bought the full Bush Pride Safari Wear range, including the zip off pants. He carries a regular sized camera, with interchangeable lenses, in case he has to take some shots of the chalet as well. Now the first two days of his 7 day stay in the park, with the days carefully divided between the main camps, will be spent getting the lay of the land. So if you should stop next to him, and ask him to roll down his window so that you can have a chat about sightings, he will first be hesitant, and only roll down two centimeters (he also researched the crime stats in SA, and was told to never ever ever open your car window to strangers). So, when you then tell him, two kilometers on, he will see two lions under a tree, he will first look shocked, and then start doing the calculations in his mind to convert miles to kilometers. But, two days later, if you should meet up with him again, he will flash lights at you, and greet you like an old friend, and swap sighting stories with you. He catches on fast and is a great source of info, as he is actually very diligent in checking out every bush and tree, and generally enjoys the small stuff too. He is easily identified in the evening, as he will be spending it inside his chalet (he really wanted to camp, but he could not get the tent he used for last years everest attempt through customs, and also could not find a place on the internet who rents out tents) eating a plate of cooked food. He does not know how to braai. He would love to, but is scared this will give away the game, and then everybody will know he is a tourist. Please invite him over if you should be braaing yourself!
One of my personal favorites, is Mr Wannabe Photographer. Not professional, them you never see, they hang out on the no access roads, because they grew up in the park, and their father is the head ranger etc. No, Mr Wannabe Photographer is the one whom you must not park close to at any sighting as when he starts to unroll the camera lens, chances are you are going to lose your car windshield. The lenses Mr Wannabe Photographer carries are bigger in circumference than Mike Tyson’s thigh. It is so big, that Mr Wannabe Photographer must carry it with a special pillow and pulley system, just to lower it onto the window frame. Mr Wannabe Photographer also hogs all the space at any sighting, and stays there until whatever animal you wanted to see, has disappeared beyond the 10 km mark, which is how far his lens can see. Mr Wannabe Photographer does not have time for chats about where to find what animal as he is too busy cleaning his lens and hoisting it back into the car, which is also a Pajero. Because if one can afford a NASA lens, as a hobby, chances are a Pajero costs nothing to him either. Mr Wannabe Photographer is not the happiest type, as he secretly yearns to find the Big 5 and then talks incessantly about it. But he can’t, as he is busy with his lenses. No time.
Just on a side note, if you should ever run into Mr Professional Photographer: He drives a beat up old 1980 Uno, as he spends all his money on cameras and Park Fees. He is also dating the current Miss Slovakia, who he straps onto the roof rack of his Uno (or Landrover), as his custom built camera box, that is also bullet proof, water proof, sand proof and has in fact survived Sarajevo, takes prime seat in the front. In the back of the car he keeps his emergency supplies, in case he has to sit next to a sand dune for 10 days, where 9 days ago somebody saw a Lion. Miss Slovakia he keeps on hand for, well, things that only Miss Slovakia can do. Also because it looks cool!
Another of my favourites, just because of sheer dogged determination, is Family Joe Soap. Now Family Joe Soap can easily be confused with Mr Big 5, as they also pull in with a caravan. But that is about where it stops. They have 3 kids, of which one is a baby. The reason why they show up in a National Park is to instill the love of nature that their parents taught them at that age, and their parents before them etc. So, very optimistic bunch this, as they rock up at the camp site, where Mom runs off with baby to find some space somewhere to change diapers, and Dad starts leveling the Caravan. Boet and Sus will go suss out the shop, and the swimming pool. On gate opening time, the whole family will sit ready at the gate, with baby on mom’s lap, and Boet and Sus with their noses smashed up against the back windows, ready for action. And all goes well for at least 30 minutes. But after 3 hours in a non airconditioned sedan, Boet then has his finger up Sus’ nose, baby is screaming, and Sus is trying to hide under the driver’s seat from the spider she saw three hours ago at the gate. Dad actually really wishes with all his heart for the big 5, preferably within 30 minutes of leaving camp, so that he can then turn around, go start the fire for his afternoon braai, while the kids play in the swimming pool for the rest of the day. Mom wishes for the same, but instead of the braai part, she wishes fervently for somebody else to be changing diapers, while doing said task on the dashboard on a side dusty road. After about 3 days if this, both Mom and Dad promise each other to rather go to Bela Bela next year. But, next year they will be back, as this is what their parents did, and their parents, and they can only remember how much fun it was to sit in the back with their noses pressed to the windows, waiting for the first sight of lion. Bless their hearts, at least they are trying to get their children into nature! As much hell as it seems. And please don’t disturb them with questions about sightings? They most probably only saw dirty diapers, and Boets bleeding foot which he stuck out the window and which then got torn open by a branch, and really can’t tell you anything, as much as they want to.
And so the list goes on. The Amateur Field Guide, who will tell you where he saw animals, but who would also want to share his limited knowledge of wildife, gleamed from a National Geographic channel in the process, to be avoided unless you have no other choice.
The Forever Couple who have been coming to the same park for the last 20 years, every year, and keeps to themselves, unless you ask them where to find what. Fantastic source of info, as they won’t talk your ear off, but will be very precise in the info (third bush to the left, tree that looks like a dog upside down, 1 metre behind, is a Cape Fox. In the tree above him, is also a Rock Kestrel, in case you like birds).
So, the bottom line of all of this, you will meet some strange and wonderful people in National Parks, and lets face it, everybody really wants to tell somebody of the luck they had today when they saw blah blah. So go make friends, start a chat in the bathroom, speak to the gate guard, roll down the window, flash the lights if you saw something, as when you leave the park you will not know anybody’s name, but you still would have made a friend for life!
As I near the end of my visit to the Kgalagadi National Park, I look back and realize I saw, interacted with and met most of the above, and a little of each of the above is in me too!
To the Indian gentleman from Botswana, who described a waterhole scene in one sentence (hyenas with pups played and splashed and caused big drama and all); To the Dutch couple, with wife in the back seat, and husband in the front, and the most exited smiles ever; To the North West farmer who missed the lion by 2 hours; To the quantum full of Spanish folk who really tried to look for any predators, as I asked them to, while I was busy running a couple of metres into the bush to pick up a glass bottle there; And even to the two drunk Frenchmen, who made my life hell at a lion sighting with their “You want drinky?”. Here’s to seeing you all, in some form or other, at the next park!
Keen to find out what adventure awaits Tosca next? Here’s a clue… she will be playing on the longest one in South Africa!
Day 5 did not start well, and also did not end too well either…
On top of the flu, I also contracted a serious case of food poisoning! Serious! One lamb chop later, and my stomach colluded with Damien and sent me straight to hell. Eish! Not to get too much into the gory details, I woke up, realized my stomach woke up way before me, and so it started.
But, trooper that I am, I got some water, camera, and lots of ciggies (cause who does NOT smoke when seriously ill?) and went off on the first game drive. Luckily I met a farmer and his wife, from North West Province the previous day at the third Cheetah visit of the day, and ran into them again on my way out. So we drove in convoy. But I was basically bent double over my steering wheel, clutching for dear life, and hoping that Farmer North West was more awake and aware than I was. And as luck would have it, 20 minutes in, at the first watering hole, a Brown Hyena! Those that don’t know what they look like, it is a cross between a Desert Yeti, and a Lassie dog! Uncomfortably ugly, and incredibly shy. Basically like I was feeling at that point! Except for the shy bit. I took about 300 photos, but did throw up in between. I know. Gory. But reality bites!
After the Hyena sighting I bravely decided to continue on a bit, and about an hour later realized this was one of those not clearly thought through decisions! Turn around, and get to a Bathroom, PRONTO! (When I get ill, I do speak in foreign tongues. Pronto.). The road I was on, from Twee Rivieren Rest camp to Mata Mata rest camp was in a seriously bad shape. Luckily, Blue Bullet is an Automatic transmission, so I could cross my legs. Every car driving past making the mistake of wanting to ask me what I saw in back direction got a meek wave of the hand and a very pinched face, and an incredibly sour stare! As I am driving, with cold sweat running down my spine and trying very hard not to sneeze (with flu and dust, not a likely prospect), all I can think is, can this road please magically get better! You will not believe. The next thing I know, I am speeding past a road grader! Fixing the road. So, speed limit be damned, I put one foot in the corner and made haste for camp! And just in time.
Lesson one for our intrepid travelers. Please pack medicine for all occasions? As Twee Rivieren had Lewens Essens, and Red Lavender. One for wind, and the other for overeating! I did not overeat (well, ok, I did), I have food poisoning! I need some serious medicine. “Well,” Says the lady at the counter, “Ashkam has a clinic.”. Yes, this is if I want to drive 70km, crunched around my steering wheel!
So, next best thing to a doctor, phone Mom. At this point I am feeling pretty sorry for myself, and as Mom answers, I can barely contain the gulp, swallowing my tears. Ma, help! Eina. What my mom came up with was: “Eat Maizena. It will set in your stomach. Only drawback, you will be plugged up for at least two weeks afterwards.” Ok, Ma, no Maizena here. Right, eat mash. This, for some strange reason, I actually packed, although I never eat mash. But, says Mom, if that does not work, eat jelly, luke warm, so it can set in my stomach. Ok, now what about the cramps part. “Well,” Says Mom, “get something warm, and put it on your stomach.” Ja Ma, I did not pack the warm water bottle. Thanks. But, I can always roll one rock in from outside and put that on my stomach, seeing as it is about 45 degrees outside, and any rock would be oven temperature by now. Yes, says Mom, grand plan.
In the end, I basically slept most of the day. Ate mash, threw that up, and drank heavy pain pills, and threw that up and slept again. Luckily, emergency services Nomad came to the rescue, and moved my booking to another two nights Twee Rivieren. In my pain filled state, I walk to reception to check if I can just stay where I am, or can move. By this point word has spread, and all were asking how I was feeling, and their sisters cousin also came down with a stomach bug, she lives in Pofadder etc etc. Shame, very caring.
Bottom line, with mash and pain pills, and some caring spitting from Damien, I got over it.
Meanwhile, I made friends with my neighbours, also from the Helderberg area. They carried in some immune boosters, and pills and all kinds of stuff not relevant to flu, food poisoning or stomach bug, but still helpful. They went off on a game drive around 4pm, and about 40km out, they saw some lions. Then, they drove BACK, to come fetch me, to also see the Lions. Unfortunately, I was out for the count and did not even hear them! But that is above and beyond the call! See, making people and influencing friends. No, sorry, influencing meetings and friendly people. Ag, yes, Carnegie knows what I mean!
That excitement over, I have been blissfully writing about places, and most probably none of you know where the hell I am! Please don’t feel alone, I very rarely know either. But, to put me on the map, I am currently staying at Twee Rivieren Rest camp. This is the main rest camp for the Kgalagadi transfrontier park. And that is also a whole new story.
Years ago, the South African Parks Board, and the South African Government decided it would be a fantastic plan to merge (love that word, Meeeerge) a National Parks that connects to a National Park on the other side of the border. Country border. So, they started with the Kruger National park. Which became the Limpopo Transfrontier Park. That merged (love that word) Kruger and the counterpart on the Mozambique side. Funny little aside bit, after they lifted the fence in-between the two parks, they realized that the outer boundary of the Mozambique side did not actually have a working fence. They promptly put the middle fence up again, but I am sure a couple of old elephant geezers are currently lazing about with a sundowner on Bazaruto Island (you may find him on our Mozambique tour).
After that a few smaller ones were done, and then came the Kgalagadi. It was first known as the Kalahari Gemsbok National park. This merged (hehehehe) with the Kgalagadi Park on the Botswana side. So now one can actually travel from the SA side, through to Botswana. Well, not really. Only if you have a 4×4 and only if you stay in the park for two days. Not sure why. Maybe they think, if you are going to smuggle cocaine through the park, sitting in 45 degrees for two days, surrounded by Suricates, would make any person snort up the stock, and thus keep Botswana clean of the scourge of Cocaine? Or, perhaps they want to make a little money first before letting you loose on poor Botswana (not so poor really, they have nice diamonds). But, that is the back story of where I am now.
The Kgalagadi has three main rest camps, Twee Rivieren, Mata Mata (close to the Namibian side) and Nossop, close to nothing. I am sitting in chalet number 5, in Twee Rivieren. Please, no stalking!
Now I am hearing you all moan (well, the two people reading this at least, of which one is family, so really, you, out there moaning), why am I not staying only two days, like it says in the itinerary? Because I can! But, please don’t feel cheated out of 4 days in this wonderful, semi arid (hene, but I am throwing those English words now) park. Any visit is like an introduction, you can always come back again!
Enough explaining, if you are still not sure where I am, Google it!
Back to Damien. You know, the hissing, barking gecko in the rafters? Not a gecko, but, wait for it, a freaking bat! And either Damien is the only bat this side of the equator without the ability to echo locate (Google it), or he has a serious case of Narcissism. Damien just got loose, and starting flying wildly through my bedroom! I kid you not, he flew into the mirror, and with possible concussion, now flew into me! This went on for a while, and every time I think he has things under control, Wham, into the mirror again! (this does sound freakishly like George Michael, oh no, his problem was with the restroom, sorry, my mistake). I now called the Parks Board people. No, not a ranger with a 345 elephant hunting gun, the normal lady at reception. Now I though the only way to catch a bat is with a tennis racquet, and although I normally carry one in my handbag, I just clean forgot to pack it this time, it seems there is another way. I always thought there was something just plain wrong with toilet spray! Well, proof! Bats flee for their lives when sprayed with toilet spray! Handy hint this, write it down! So, tata Damien!
And Tata me. I am pooped. Excuse the pun.
Lessons learnt today: Always carry a Tennis racquet.
And toilet spray. The nastier the aroma, the better.
Always carry stomach medicine. And flu medicine. Next to the toilet spray.
Brown Hyenas are lonely too. Not just R.E.M.
Botswana has diamonds.
And I am in the Northern Cape, in the top little bit, and not with the Bazaruto drinking elephants.
Epic I tell you!
On the 17th September a truck full of excited adventurer’s set off from Johannesburg to be the first guests on our 16 Day Camping, Zimbabwe Rediscovered Tour. Zimbabwe has really come a long way in the last 3 years and has been working at re-establishing it’s National Parks and getting the basics back into good working order. Zimbabwe’s people have always valued having visitors in their country and now they have the opportunity of welcoming travellers back to their most incredible homeland.
One of our agents, Chris du Preez, joined the tour and is absolutely raving about it! Chris’ highlights included game viewing in Hwange National Park, the two night canoe adventure on the Zambezi River and the Great Zimbabwe Ruins. The spectacular scenery and unique activities certainly make up for some of the longer days on the road.
Below are some pictures from Chris’ tour, if you’d like more information, please contact me at email@example.com . You can also see a full itinerary of our 2011 and 2012 tours on our website (30% discount for 2011 departures)
Come and explore Zimbabwe with us, and if there’s something else you’re looking for, we have a huge selection of tours for you to choose from and loads of excellent specials for 2011 departures! Please visit our website for more information: www.nomadtours.co.za
Thank you Chris for these wonderful images of your Zimbabwe Rediscovered Tour.