Goldhawk in Africa: Day Nine

Zoomer | September 10th, 2010

This is the nineth in a series of travel columns by journalist, author and broadcaster Dale Goldhawk. Dale hosts Goldhawk Fights Back For You, on AM 740 or at AM740 ZoomerRadio, Monday through Friday from 11 am to 1 pm, in the eastern time zone. Visit his website at www.goldhawk.com.

Before we left for Africa, we read all we could find about our destinations in both Kenya and Tanzania. But nothing beats on the ground experience. The printed word is a mere introduction.

We put a lot of time into Canadian preparation. First we alerted our trusty travel agent, Ellen Gryfe at Vision 2000; she booked our flights and found what we were looking for through the adventure travel choices at My Escapades; then we were connected to Kenya Wildlife Trails, a local company in Nairobi; eventually Jill and I would team up with David Nganga, our guide in Kenya and after that, Boniface Mahemba, our guide in Tanzania.

We went to our travel clinic to get all the shots and medication we would need and then applied for visas for both Kenya and Tanzania, through their high commission offices in Ottawa. That took several weeks but it saved us time in Kenya, when we first landed in Africa.

We had always been told we could buy our visas when we landed but we were glad we already had them. The lineup for visa purchases at Jomo Kenyatta Airport was three times as long as the lineup for passports with visas already attached.

We packed light — only three or four changes of clothes (I think Jill sneaked in a few extra) and put everything in canvas bags. In the safari wagons, there is not much room in the back for luggage. Those big-city square roller suitcases don’t fit and besides, they look pretty silly being lugged over all the rocks and ruts and dragged up and down countless flights of narrow stairs at hotels and lodges deep in the bush.

thorns On the road, we had our laundry done at the hotels where we had a two-night stay. At the one- nighters, we washed our stuff in the bathroom sink. It was mainly dry by morning. It dried later on the trail. We brought shorts and t-shirts but didn’t wear them. Long pants and long sleeves are the best protection against the intense sun, the thorns and thistles and the insects.

Jill We brought insect repellent with a 25 percent DEET content but we never seemed to have it with us when the bugs and mosquitoes came calling. The insect visits happened only here and there—all-in-all not as bad as battling the deer flies and black flies of Canada’s north. We also brought sun screen. Jill used it but while we were out on game drives, we were protected from the sun by the safari wagon roof and, of course, we wore the ubiquitous Tilley hats. Jill brought one additional, protective and practical fashion item, a long scarf, a la Katharine Hepburn in The African Queen. Charlie Allnut would have been impressed.

We each brought a warm sweater for our time in the mountains. Even at the Equator, the temperature can drop to near freezing when it gets dark and if the altitude is high enough. We wore regular running shoes and were careful never to wear sandals in the bush. The guides were always warning us about ticks and snakes, although we never saw or felt either.

One of the guides told us a story of a professor from Chicago who came with his camera to take pictures of snakes. He found a green mamba, a deadly poisonous snake and was told by the guides, more than once, to keep his distance because the snake could kill. The professor professed to know more than the guides, insisting that only the bite of the black mamba was fatal, not the green mamba.

The professor got too close and was bitten by the green mamba. He died a few hours later, far from the medical help that might have saved his life. As the guides explained to us, the bite of the green mamba is just as lethal as the black mamba. The only difference is that the black mamba is more aggressive than the green mamba. But the green mamba will still attack if it feels threatened. Jill and I always listened to our guides but we saw no pythons hanging from trees as you might have seen in some of those old Marlin Perkins TV shows.

The hotels and lodges where we stayed were mainly part of the Serena hotel chain in Africa. Almost all were top-notch hotels where the food was good, the Tusker beer was cold and the service was superb. When we arrived at the hotels — hot, dusty and sweaty — we were usually met by staff who offered us large, white, warm, wet towels, some lightly-scented with eucalyptus, to wipe off the day’s dirt. Then we were routinely offered a glass of passion fruit juice, or in a few cases, champagne. Other hotels aspiring to treat their customers better, please take note.

We stayed two nights in a tented camp, referred to in the guide books as permanently-tented. But this was no pup ten you might pitch at a campground. This was a tent with mahogany floors and a king-sized bed. It was elegantly furnished with early British army campaign furniture. At night, through the walls of the tent, you could hear the lions roar and the cape buffalo and other creatures snuffling around the tent. No worries, though. The tent was pitched on a solid stone foundation. We were safe inside. But when the wind blew, you still knew you were in a tent. Magical.

We drank a lot of water in Africa but all of it was from bottles where we had checked that the seals were unbroken. All of the hotel room beds were equipped with mosquito netting. However, in the rooms, we seldom saw or heard mosquitoes. Every morning, we thanked the resident geckos that climbed around on the walls, spending the night eating whatever mosquitoes they could find.

tents

On our safari, we felt safe and secure. Our guides became our friends, filling us in on African culture advising us on where to go, what to touch, what not to touch. Giving us as much information on the animals and the environment as we could ever want.

We were surrounded by travellers from around the world. Many were from the Netherlands, Germany, the United Kingdom, a few Americans here and there but no Canadians.

washout Then one day out on the trail, several guides got together to try and fill up part of a muddy washout so our vehicles could make some progress to a particular part of the savanna. Safari wagons were lined up behind us. The passengers in the nearest vehicle had their heads stuck out the top when one yelled: “Hey, Goldhawk. Is that you?”

That voice, we found out later after proper introductions at dinner, was retired Toronto Police Superintendent David Dicks, with his wife Kay and 20 of their closest Canuck friends. No matter how far away you get, you’re never that far from home.