THE ULTIMATE SAFARI I

EAST AFRICA

It was only 5:00 when I awakened in my hut at one of the several camps in Kruger National Park. No game drive had been scheduled that morning, so we didn't have to arise at 3:45 as on the previous day, in order to be “first in line when the gate is opened”; we unnecessarily gave up half an hour's sleep that morning because our driver-guide failed to recall that timetables change with the seasons. The first day's 13 hours of game driving had exhilarated me, because of the many animals I had seen for the first time, but the others were disappointed because Michael, our multilingual–at least eight– chain-smoking–at least two packs daily–guide had been unable to find a big cat despite nearly non-stop, hard driving. So at dinner that night–Cape buffalo is tender and quite tasty, even when designated impala on the menu–I had bought a little red wine to help relieve tensions and promote sleep, and for me, at least, it worked well.

I lounged about for a half hour and then got down to the business of writing notes on the animals seen and a few to be looked for in the future. (The local wildebeest is dubbed “blue” here, so I briefly considered naming this piece “Once on a Blue Gnu.”) About a half hour before breakfast, I finally stumbled out into the morning sunlight to look at birds. My eyes were barely focused, when a flash of soft green on its way to settling in a nearby tree activated my brain. Could it be an emerald-spotted wood dove? I had just located that bird when a flash of red in another corner of the same tree suggested a firefinch. Clearly I had to return to my room for binoculars. On the way I heard quite a ruckus just over the fence, and the call seemed to be that of a francolin, but was it? I could see nothing. And then, just as I neared the hut, another green bird flashed over my head.

When I came back outside, the first bird I saw appeared to be a robin chat, and then I found my green bird again; it was, somewhat disappointingly, “only” a green pigeon. The supposed francolin continued to squawk, but from such deep grass I still couldn't see it. I walked on, and the movement of a tree squirrel caught my eye, but even before I could get my glasses on it, a woodland kingfisher perched on the same tree, and so it went. As I approached the restaurant for breakfast, Michael excitedly intercepted me and exclaimed, “I just saw a purple crested lourie, but I couldn't find you.” This is the rare cousin of the Knysna lourie I had watched, actually a pair of them, for thirty minutes a few days earlier in another national park.

The above lines illustrate a major problem with African safaris. The tourist wants to see “the big five,” elephant, buffalo, rhinoceros, lion, and leopard, or perhaps that's what the tour guide claims should be seen. Consequently, all guides spend their time looking for these animals, and their clients sleep during the intervals between sightings of these five only. Even my dear friend and guide, Peter, is not really himself until he has sighted a lion. So I cater to his anxiety and urge him to find a pair, so that we can then start looking leisurely at birds and the many lesser animals. Thus, the first commandment for a glorious safari is to find companions and a guide who are interested in the whole of nature's zoo, not just the big five.

There is no finer place to begin a safari than in East Africa, and there is no better way to enter East Africa than through Nairobi. International airlines have cooperated, however unlikely that may seem, to make this entry as uncomfortable and tiring as possible. The safarist leaves the US for an overnight flight to London, where he or she can elect to spend an uncomfortable day in an inhospitable lounge at Heathrow or take the tube to town and freeze to death on the streets of London; the most popular month in East Africa is February, which seldom finds the UK at its warmest. Then the safarist must resume travel on yet another overnight flight to Nairobi's rather chaotic Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. The best approach to the latter is business class aboard British Air; ask your travel agent to book a seat on the upper deck of a 747.

My advice, when leaving the airport at 10 a.m. or so, is to head straight for the Amboseli National Park and its Amboseli Serena Lodge. Lots of game animals, including friendly elephants, are close at hand; the terrain is varied enough to support an impressive variety of bird life; and if by chance the weather clears, East Africa's most beautiful vista, the snow-capped Kilimanjaro, looms above the verdant plain. The rooms at the Lodge have an interesting design and are well-appointed, but small, thus affording a gradual transition from an airplane cabin to normal life. The food is about as good as business class meals on BA, and the service is gushingly friendly; the training manuals for both staffs were likely prepared in the same Regent Street office. But best of all, many of the plants on the grounds bear nametags.

When one is acclimatized to ground-based, civilized life again, it is time to return to Nairobi for a night or two at the Norfolk Hotel. Those requiring advice on how to enjoy their stay there might just as well pack their bags and return home immediately. On my transition night–well, it is a hard drive up from Arusha–I dined as usual in the Ibis Grill and was exceedingly pleased with the fresh asparagus appetizer, passable Hollandaise, and lovely poached sole. On the previous visit I had skipped the asparagus because three Frenchwomen at the adjacent table were actually using forks to eat it, and I didn't wish to embarrass them. On this night the next table was vacant, however, and I was prepared to indulge myself, when to my total dismay a fancy silver apparatus was presented for my use, and I felt duty bound to try it. “Cultural awareness,” the Peace Corps calls this attitude. I got the device wrapped around a stalk of asparagus without too much difficulty, but how could it be transfered into the mouth without taking a bite of silver? I was sweating out the third stalk, thinking it would be a long night, when I saw my waiter striding forward with a most welcome sight in his hands: a lovely finger bowl. Then it was I knew for sure that in all the best places, including home, asparagus is taken with the fingers, Hollandaise or no. So, assuming that all my readers have the imagination to enjoy fully their good fortune at being on safari in East Africa, I wish to comment briefly on other places I have visited here.

One must stay at a permanent tented camp sometime during a proper safari, and I have experienced none finer than Larsen's in Samburu National Reserve. Sited on the Uaso Nyiro River, with the possibility of an occasional croc on the bank in front of the tents, we were warned, it is very well run with excellent food and service. Care must be taken to keep the somewhat too friendly Vervet monkeys out of tents, and birds regularly threaten to steal favorite tidbits of food from plates, but these problems only add pleasure to the experience.

The game here is a bit different than that in other parks. I was very excited by the first two species we encountered and was delighted throughout our stay to see them again and again: the fringe-eared oryx, and that Audrey Hepburn of gazelles, the gerenuk. Elegant, slender, graceful, and with noticeably long necks, the latter typically rise on their hind legs to nibble tree leaves. Dik-diks are very abundant, Grevy's zebras are plentiful, and I saw quite a number of new birds. One afternoon we watched an entire brigade of baboons happily munching meadow blossoms, and the next noon we followed two cheetahs for over an hour as they stalked, unsuccessfully it turned out, an unseen, until the final charge, herd of impalas. Although we did not, many visitors spend some time in the nearby camp of the Samburu tribe.

Buffalo Springs National Reserve is just across the river from the Samburu, but because it's in another political district, an additional full set of park fees is required to visit it. That added expense, plus the fact that the connecting bridge was closed by high water, kept us on the Samburu side. Nearby is Sweetwaters Rhino Reserve, where we also spent two nights, in Sweetwaters Tented Camp. Game drives here were more than a little hampered by water standing on unmaintained roads, and the absence of predators, although an obvious requirement, did lend an unnatural air to the surroundings. Still, the large herds of eland were especially exciting, and the occasional glimpses of nearby Mt. Kenya, very rewarding. Why we didn't make a night game drive, only Peter can explain. Larsen's is a must; Sweetwaters is an option.

The Rift Valley lakes are famous for their waterfowl, particularly the flamingos. On this visit we stayed at the Lake Naivasha Country Club in individual cottages overlooking a huge lawn leading to the shore of the Lake. A feature of our stay was an hour-long boat ride on the lake with an informed guide who pointed out a fascinating variety of water birds, including my personal favorite, the purple heron. The food was quite good here, and I particularly liked the luncheon buffet of traditional Kenyan food, although our pleasure was dampened, both literally and figuratively, by a thunderstorm that drove us into an unilluminated room filled with wet lawn chairs.

We spent some time in the nearby Hell's Gate National Park, which features some unusual rock formations and is claimed to be a nesting site for the rather rare, in this part of the world, bearded vulture, or lammergeyer, as it’s also known. We failed to see that bird, but I thoroughly enjoyed the comparative solitude of the park proper before continuing on to a very interesting commercial geothermal site.

On the return trip to our base, we catered to one of my interests and stopped for a look at the Naivasha Vineyards. My luck was good, the owners happened by, and we were invited to inspect the winery the next morning, which we did. Owner John d'Olier is motivated by Davis viticulture, although he didn't study there–his wife is from California, and it's my recollection that his ancestry is French Hugenot–and his wines include fume' blanc, chardonnay, colombard, and carnelian. Prices are very attractive, and should I ever settle in here, his wines would become a house staple–and I could forget Kenya pilsner. Not too far away is Elsamere, the home of the late Joy Adamson, author of Born Free. It is now an as yet untried alternative to the Club for both dining and lodging.

A visit to at least one of the flamingo lakes is mandatory. My principal, six-year-old recollection of Lake Nakuru is of vast swarms of these colorful birds both in and above the lake. In the right season that may make it the soda lake of choice. Tanzania's Lake Natron is a third possibility.

Mt. Kenya, one of three impressive peaks in East Africa, is the dominant feature in this area, and no safari here is complete without some type of visit to it. My own preference, again based on that earlier visit, is to hike in, ascend the tourist peak of Point Lenana (16,355 feet), and then descend to the vicinity of Mackinder's Camp to spend the night in a tent. After admiring the Diamond Ice Couloir and Darwin Glacier from a distance in the early morning sunlight, and then saying farewell to the many nearby rock hyraxes, you begin the descent to the lower regions where ordinary mortals dwell. At first the going is easy, and spirits are light after the vigorous trekking of the previous day and the drenching afternoon thunderstorm in which you were likely caught. But then the track gets a bit marshy, and a bit later you start hopping over pools of water from one tussock of grass to the next. But finally even this stratagem becomes worthless, and you become yet another victim of the dreaded “Vertical Bog.” Those who slog through its watery slime either become hysterical with the hilarity of the adventure or wretchedly angry at the effort required to maintain progress; our group exhibited both reactions. But no matter, at the end of the travail, you are rewarded by the possibility of staying at one of the several mountain lodges in the area.

On my first visit the group stayed in the rather rustic Mountain Lodge. Already an old African hand at the end of only one week of trekking, I managed not only to shower in the few remaining drops of warm water, but also drew a room overlooking the watering hole; the stars that night were two rhinos. The gins and tonics were properly British and quickly demolished after the day's exertions, and the food, served family style at long tables, was certainly appreciated even if long since forgotten.

The Mount Kenya Safari Club must be the ultimate example of such establishments, with its large, fireplace-equipped bedrooms and gigantic baths. The golf course–it's the only place I've ever watched a marabou stork line up a putt on the practice green–and swimming pool are both very inviting, and the food very good, although our luncheon waiter was an embarrassment to such a prestigious establishment. Dinner that night was served in the members' dining room, and it was elegant indeed. The chef, a rather brash young man with a pony tail, deservedly made the rounds of the tables at the end of the evening to receive the plaudits of his patrons. It is the only time I have seen, or expect to see, Peter in jacket and tie. The mountain is visible from here, at least in the early morning, but you have to get closer and off to the southwest really to appreciate the splendor of its twin spires, Nelion and Batian, each class-six rock surpassing 17,000 feet by just a few dozen inches.

The Aberdare Country Club is quite similar to the Mount Kenya, but to me it seemed a bit less exciting. Peter took offense when asked to present our reservation form to the guard at the entrance gate, and his continuing truculence resulted in our being assigned to the least desirable of the residential units; this may have influenced my opinion. The nearby national park of the same name appears to require substantially more effort and prearrangement to appreciate properly, and although the Ark, which we visited, and Tree Tops are world renowned, they are a bit restricted. The former has a beautiful setting and a good design, and its public rooms are more than adequate in arrangement and size. Our “hunter” and hostess were not very outgoing, or ambitious, so guests were left pretty much without expert comment on what came by. When a sudden shower produced a torrent of water in my room, I thought the management should know, but they ignored the problem and simply suggested I move next door, where the torrent didn't arrive until a half hour later. It's an interesting place, but the Ark has a hole in it. The troop of black-and-white colobus we sighted on the return trip and the bushbucks, mongooses, and genets we watched during the night there were indeed exciting, however.

In Kenya then, it's Amboseli for acclimatization and views of Kilimanjaro, the Norfolk for restoration, Larsen's in the Samburu for the permanent tented camp experience and game drives that include some less familiar animals, one of the Rift Valley lakes for flamingos, and the Mount Kenya Safari Club, preferably after some hard trekking and camping in the park, for a pampered stay in the ultimate mountain lodge.

There is absolutely no reason to stop in Arusha, so one should push on from Nairobi to Karatu, the home of Gibb's Farm, which to me remains the ultimate watering hole in Tanzania. No less eminent a figure than the director of Peace Corps Tanzania alleges that at least one, if not both, of two lodges on nearby Mt. Meru surpass it, but there are several reasons to question his judgment in such matters, not the least being that he drinks no wine. They are simply too close to home for me to visit. Shangri-la, also in Karatu, deserves a visit.

If possible Gibb's was even better on the occasion of my third visit than it was during the first two. It was raining heavily on arrival, so I dried out my soaked trousers and a pair of wet shoes in front of the fireplace–you must insist on a room that has one; they all cost the same–while doing some reading and writing. The fire was restored during dinner and stayed sufficiently alive throughout the night that I was able to coax it back to full health before breakfast. Dinner was beautiful, and the wine list –actually a small box containing one bottle of each–is simple, fairly priced, and good. We enjoyed a Valpolicella with our meal, but dessert was the star: an elegant version of the English trifle so richly delightful that Peter took the entire serving bowl to bed with him, without even allowing me seconds.

Between Arusha and the Serengeti lie three other parks: Ngorongoro Crater, Tarangire, and Manyara. The first are two of my favorite places, but it now appears that I will leave Tanzania without seeing the last; it is said to be a good place for bird watching, at least in the appropriate seasons of the year. The Crater is an outstanding geologic feature, surely one of the scenic natural wonders of the modern world. Although in some ways it is true that its resident population is contained in a natural zoo, I have been exhilarated on each of the three days spent on the crater floor among them. The big detraction to the Crater, regrettably, is the increasing encroachment of the Maasai in ways that have no place in their traditional culture. Still, Ngorongoro must be visited, and I have no reason to alter my previous recommendation of the Crater Lodge as the hostel of choice.

Tarangire can also be an exciting place, but only if visited under rather dry conditions so the game is easily found. It also provides a nice alternative to Kenya's Samburu if one wants a tented-camp experience a bit closer to the Serengeti. I've not visited that section of the park, but there is a swampy area in the southern part of the Tarangire in which one can find rock pythons; a new camp just opened south of the boundary a few months ago provides easy access to this region and also night game drives. These are prohibited inside parks, fortunately, and I have mixed feelings about joining them even on private reserves. On this safari we were not visiting any of these parks, although we did stop to look down on the Crater floor; it's not humanly possible to resist that view.

And so it was on to the Serengeti for my second visit. The natural conditions were totally different this time; everywhere there were grass and flowers, and the plains teemed with game. Lesser predators, like jackals and hyenas, were abundant, almost boringly so–once we saw fourteen of the latter lying along a stream in a single pack–but lions, leopards, and cheetahs were not so easy to find. It was not a totally successful visit–the second time around is often disappointing–partly because the rainy weather restricted our driving options, and partly because the Ndutu Safari Lodge had so obviously declined since September. Whether the latter's malaise could fairly be attributed to the fact that many tourist groups were now being served, or to the temporary absence of top management, I do not know, but the Lodge can no longer be recommended. The government-operated lodge at Lobo must certainly be visited, and one can stay dry there, especially when wanting a shower, but it cannot be recommended either. I'm certain the similarly run lodge at Seronera also would be found wanting. My closest PCV colleague, a young man with limited experience in these matters, recently returned from the Serengeti with glowing comments about a new lodge outside Seronera, the Sopa Serengeti; I treat his report with skepticism, however, since he was traveling in the company of a beautiful, young, Swedish Volunteer. (I hope readers appreciate the precautions I take to keep my judgment unimpaired and my reported opinions unbiased.) The remaining options are two: arrange a camping safari, which will add considerably to already ridiculously high prices in Tanzania compared to the rest of East and Southern Africa; or instead visit Kenya's Masai Mara, where fine lodges exist both inside and outside the park, game is still to be seen in fair quantity, and the word “service” is part of the everyday vocabulary. I rather fancy going back there myself if only to stay in Little Governor's Camp and do a balloon safari.

Perhaps I've been in Tanzania a bit too long and have become overly critical. But no matter, the Serengeti is unique, and to bypass it is to miss an important part of East Africa. It was exciting to switch off the Range Rover engine and then to sit in the midst of a herd of wildebeests and listen to them grunt. “I think there are about a thousand right here, Peter.” “No,” he replied, “but maybe five hundred.” Then he did the same silent partial count and extrapolation I had already done and commented, “It is a thousand.” And when I raised my eyes to the horizon in all directions and saw similar herds everywhere, I had little trouble believing that there are more than a million of these animals here during the peak of the migration.

It was fun to watch a lion lolling on the bank of a small river flowing through a lovely valley above the Lodge, and it became exciting when I realized he had more than a casual eye on the herd of wildebeests mindlessly moving down the hillside toward the river and the lion, while busily munching grass. The zebras among them seemed aware of the potential threat, but not the gnus; one of two nearby giraffes continuously edged nearer and nearer the lion while seemingly being more interested in looking across the river at us. I suspect we watched for an hour. After the giraffe finally got sufficiently close to be warned off by the lion, it wandered away and did some “necking” with its companion; first one and then the other wrapped its neck around its partner's, until they finally wearied of this and left. Meanwhile the oblivious wildebeests were getting near enough the lion to make matters interesting; its rear legs remained tucked under the body in its reclining position. And then a stilt high-stepped past to remind me of the colorful combination they and the flamingos were presenting at nearby Lake Ndutu and of the equally beautiful combination of black swans and flamingos I had seen a year earlier in Argentine Patagonia. A moment later Peter whispered, “A few more steps, and they'll be downwind from the lion.” He was never more correct. A few seconds later there was a snort of alarm, the seemingly inattentive gnus were fifty meters up the slope almost at once, and the hapless lion, rising and moving forward two or three steps as the tension in its leg muscles relaxed, made no effort to attack; it would have been futile. After standing there for a few moments, looking around a bit abashedly I thought, it ambled on up the hill, as did we.

One day out on the open plains we were amazed to see an ostrich chasing a spotted hyena. The race went on for hundreds of meters, with the ostrich steadily gaining on the hyena, until the latter popped into a hole. The ostrich strutted around the den a time or two, apparently in enjoyment of its victory, and then it wandered off slowly in the direction from which the two had come.

Perhaps the most exciting event of all occurred a day or two earlier in the very same area where we had watched the lion's futile ambush. We had been watching a half dozen lions relaxing on the bank of the same river–predators right now seemed very well fed–and after enjoying them for a time, we started on up the road again. Just as we rounded a curve, the tip of the tail of some type of cat disappeared into a bush right beside the road ahead. Both right arms were in the air immediately, pointing, but only I murmured, “I see it.” Peter parked the Rover about five meters away, immediately spotted the cat, and identified it as a serval. It took me some time, even with binoculars, to see it clearly. After we were satisfied with our view from there, he cut our separation in half; still, the serval remained where it was. He then drove us so close that I, literally, could have stroked the cat's back with a meter stick held out my window. And still it remained, almost motionless. We finally decided we were ready to see it in the open, but it took quite a commotion on our part to persuade it to leave. When it did, it practically exploded from the bush and ran across the plain rapidly, though I doubt at panic speed, and when it neared the river, it turned broadside to us and looked back for a minute as if to say, “Well, you've seen more than you deserve, now let me get on with it.” And it loped on across the river and disappeared in the forest. On the first trip to the Serengeti a caracal, and on the second a serval. Even some local guides have not seen both.

I think it was later the same day, but it hardly matters, we were driving further upstream along the same river, very near the spot where we had previously seen fourteen hyenas, when we encountered some other tour groups who had stopped to view a family of bat-eared foxes, a species I had erroneously believed to be strictly nocturnal. The other vehicles had already frightened the youngsters back into their cave, but it was exciting to see their parents.

A lion is a lion is a…. Well there are exceptions, even to me, but a cheetah or a leopard, that remains a rarity over which I get excited. We had been told that a female cheetah and her two cubs were frequenting an area close to the Lodge, but even knowing where to look didn't make them easy to find. After seeing the size of our serval and then returning to look at how small is the bush in which it hid–had we not seen the tip of its tail, we would have driven right by–I'm beginning to realize how hard these animals are to spot. We came across the trio late one afternoon and watched them until nearly dark. The cubs were young enough still to be nursing, and mama would suckle them for awhile, and then she would let them play with her, and then she would get up and stroll leisurely across the plain; it appeared she was training them, because they stayed in place until she stopped and looked back, and then they raced to her side. To watch these great cats is probably the most exciting opportunity of all. Among domestic animals, dogs are my favorites, but out here the canines are not in the same league as the felines.

There are many more great parks and reserves in Tanzania; I've not been to them, nor do I expect to. But somehow I'm convinced that Ngorongoro and the Serengeti are the finest of all. To climb Kilimanjaro–it is in Tanzania despite what Kenyan travel posters suggest–is a thrill, and it's not at all difficult; the secrets are to be in shape and then to take your time. But the majesty of the Crater and the endless panorama of the game-filled Serengeti plain; they are truly special.

East Africa is truly an exciting place, but if you do plan to visit, come soon; it won't get any better.

W. Vance Johnson

03 Mar 93