The Travel Essay

If there is a notion that a safari is a trying experience then let that thought be laid to rest. Safaris are now five-star affairs. Tented camps have luxurious beds, proper toilets and hot showers. In some camps, the tented mobile ones, it takes some getting used to. The showers may have to be short and the washing bowls made of galvanized tin. But the food, the service and the attention to detail would put most five-star hotels to shame. In a mobile tented camp in the Chobe Reserve six staff manage eight accommodation tents, the hot water system, the toilet system, the laundry, the food and the game drives. They work hard at these sites. Every four days the rules of the Reserve insist that the camp be moved to another location. It takes this crew of six around twelve hours to dismantle the camp and have it ready at the next site to receive another set of travellers. In the permanent tented camps, the luxury is permanent; there is no need to move and the showers are to one’s desires.

The food is exceptional while on safari. Somehow every camp has a unique signature in how the food is prepared. But the real stamp is on the quality of the food and the freshness. Camp chefs take delight in experimenting with bush cooking and the results are simply outstanding. I particularly like the rangers omelette served in Chobe. It had everything, carrots, onions, beef sausages, raisins, and what not, except the kitchen sink, in a huge omelette. It was served as brunch with freshly baked bread and coffee. It is a wonder that animals have not discovered what the chefs can do. Thankfully, there is no Yogi bear and no Boo Boo. The higher than average protein content and a low carbohydrate diet does wonders to one’s waistline while on safari. Despite the vast amounts of food, the sedentary game drives and the occasional adrenalin rush in pressing the camera button, one actually loses weight.

I first met Robson when he and his team broke into song in Setswana as we arrived at the tented camp on the brow of a hill. He is short and tubby, with a rounded face, full of laughter and mirth. I soon discovered that his team consisted of men with a similar disposition; men with names such as Arthur, Prince, Meier, Gerard and so on. But Robson is the camp chief. He delegates the work and takes on jobs when others are not around. He is also the assistant to Prince, the chef.

The camp routine was designed around what the guests wanted. If you wanted a hot shower at eight at night, then that was organised so that the canvas shower in your tent was filled with hot water by that time. If it was a shower that you wanted at six in the morning then that was what would be arranged. In general, the routine was a wake up call with hot water for the wash bowls, shower and the water jar at around a quarter past six, just as the African dawn was breaking. In the chilly morning, we would race through our ablutions and gather under a Zambezi teak tree where hot coffee and biscuits would be waiting. Having warmed ourselves we would clamber aboard a four-wheel drive and for the next few hours be on the dirt tracks looking for game.

Chobe is unusual: there is game everywhere. So by the time the sun is up and the day has brightened we would have already seen a lion kill, elephants in the thicket, kudu feeding on bushes, giraffes gently floating by, a fish eagle soaring above the river, baboons in the dozens, and large numbers of impala and cape buffalo. At around ten in the morning we would pull up at a site where we could see the surrounding plains and have a picnic of coffee and more biscuits. Before twelve we would be back in camp where brunch would have been laid out by Arthur, Prince and Robson.

Brunch under a tall flamboyant or teak tree is an unusual experience. The atmosphere is laid back; there are no telephones, no mobile coverage , no television and no newspapers. Its just you, other travellers, and nature. You learn to deal with others, you learn the art of conversation and you learn to be accommodating. Sometimes you make lasting friendships but more often, fleeting acquaintances. But all can be forgiven with Robson’s omelette, the hot bread and the steaming coffee. After brunch we move off to the tents for a siesta.

At three in afternoon, there is more coffee, tea and some cake. Having replenished ourselves, we are ready for a sunset game drive. By now the elephants, hundreds of them, have arrived at the river for their daily rituals. There is a genial agreement as to which herd has right of way. So a constant stream of elephants comes and goes from the river bank right through to sunset: baby elephants attempting to keep pace with the rest, juveniles playing with one another and the adult females keeping an eye on the whole family.

We board a boat stocked with enough snacks, wine, beer and champagne to feed an army to watch animals from the river. There are languid crocodiles lazing in the sun, hippos by the dozens lying half submerged along the bank, and there are buffalo herds standing by the water. With a whooping cry and a glancing dash, a couple of fish eagles do a dance in the afternoon sky, diving into the water, looking for that elusive fish. In the distance a crowd of vultures has settled on the bank, waiting for another death in the bush. Zoroastrians have nothing to worry in this part of Africa; there are enough vultures to take them to the other world.

As the evening sun dips, we pull ashore to get aboard our four-wheeled drive and set out to catch the last of the sun’s rays before they are extinguished in one last gasp. Standing on the banks of the river, and on top of a mount, we catch the last of the light with beer and wine in our hands. A slight chill descends as the red ball of the sun disappears into the African plains and we find our way back to camp.

Hurricane lamps have been lit around the campsite and the moon is already bright in the night sky. The tables have been set and dinner is about to be served. We amble to the tents to wash up and return soon after. Robson gives a speech on the food that we are about to eat, ending with a flourish, “It is wunderbar!”. The Germans, obviously, have been regulars here. We dine on the finest and freshest food, done with a delicate eye on the preparations and wash it down with wine. It is a three course dinner with a splendid cream of mushroom soup, beef fillet and finished off with an orange cake for dessert: a sort of Robson’s choice.

After dinner we sit around the huge boma, the bush fire, and warm ourselves as the moon shines brightly in the night sky and the evening turns chilly. There is a therapy in sitting in front of the fire, looking at the licking flames and hearing the sounds of the crackling wood. Thoughts wander and then, in a moment, come back with a clarity that the modern world would not permit. It is meditation of a sorts. There is no need for conversation: just a sense of having lived the day.

By around ten, we are ready to roll into our tents and slip into the luxurious beds that have been turned down. As we gently drift off to sleep, the bush around the camp crackles with elephants tearing branches and chewing on the leaves. There is an occasional hyena bark. In the early hours of the morning a lion has come around the camp and left, and in the distance its roar can be heard as I turn around and sink into deep slumber.

Sree Kumar