Safari Journal (Part 1: Getting to Know You)

Safari journal (part 1: getting to know you)-

The big wildcard for my safari would be the group dynamic. I was concerned about this because it’s 21 days in intimate settings with total strangers and I had no wingman or wingwoman to confide in. I was not looking for a college booze cruise, nor retirement home escapees. The happy medium suited me perfectly in this case. Before booking the trip I raised these concerns to the sales rep who effectively sold me on the idea that most universities were back in session and retirees tend to book the fully accommodated trips. The camping option that I was choosing swung more toward the (relatively) young and adventurous travelers. Or such is the trend anyway. My first order of business upon arriving at the departure point would be sizing up the group. The first few people were younger couples and I went around broad smiled and introducing myself. The couples started to get a bit older. A few silver domes sprinkled among them. Then more new arrivals a bit older. And finally a group of 7 French arrived who may have been around during the invasion of Normandy. All in all the count was: 7 French, 6 Germans, 2 Dutch, 2 Austrian, 2 Australian and 1 solo American dude with a sweet beard.

Never fishing for sympathy from being a lone wolf and on the contrary I usually revel in it. Depending on the demands of the situation I’m both outgoing enough to make friends easily and reserved enough to enjoy moments of quiet introspection. Although for such a large group I found it odd to be the only solo traveler, I wasn’t concerned by it. I made friends with those in my age demographic and the oldies seemed to warm to me as well. My earlier concerns were turning out to be unfounded. At lunch on day 1, one of the guides and I were talking and he quietly leaned over and said “damn man this is an ‘interesting’ group of people. You must be kinda disappointed?”. He had no knowledge of my conversation with the sales rep and volunteered this sentiment based solely on what the group NORMALLY looks like. I let him know I was expecting something a little different, but was cool with what it was.

The French group has made the habit of separating themselves from the rest of the group, but took an early interest in me. After dinner the first night everyone was to go around the circle introducing themselves. Most took 5-10 seconds, but when my turn came a few of the French started firing out questions to me. Where have you traveled to, how old are you, what’s Vegas like? I went a few minutes before insisting on force feeding the baton to the next person. When the French group came around it was revealed that about half of them spoke no English at all (or at least didn’t care to)… This is an interesting (generalized) fact about the French, and I’ve been told several stories during my travels to support it. That is, many simply refuse to learn English. The ones that do know it will many times refuse to speak It. If pride is a sin the devil serves Brie and croissants in hell. At one point during the intros the cheery guide says she’ll help teach them some English during the 3 weeks. The guy she is addressing responds in French with an aggravated tone which gets translated to the guide “he says HE will teach YOU French!”… She responds without skipping a best – “merci!”

The French group have proven challenging thus far. There have been countless occasions of waiting for them and they are consistently last on the truck. You can witness the guides patience with the group slowly waning who, since departure, has echoed the mantra: “this is not a holiday, it’s an adventure”… Trying to get the group on board to head for the next camp she sarcastically comments referring to the French group “well SOME OF US might be on holiday”… One of the guys replies “we take our time”. Still though I can’t help but like the group. I think they are funny. Box wine at both lunch and dinner and folk songs among themselves at night. There can be no disputing that the French know how to have a good time, and I’m down with that always.

On day 3 we leave behind South Africa along with it’s mild weather and cross into Namibia’s scorched desert. On day 4 with my window open, because there is no AC on the truck, one of the French guys gets up from his seat, walks over to MY seat, reaches across me and closes MY window. The line has been crosses and gauntlet been thrown! I am quickly reminded of the universal truth that oldies like it hot. I ask him what he’s doing and he gives me a dumb “I can’t understand English” look. I reopen my window and let him go back to his seat upset and loudly speaking French with his buddies. We’ll see how it goes from here. Like my boy Daffy Duck would say- thith means war.

On the 4th night the backpacker God’s sent a solo traveling sidekick. A few of the Germans in the group booked through an agency that promised a German translator. Although there seemed to be no apparent communication problem with them one of them complained which forced the safari company to scramble and find a translator. They basically started cold calling hostels and in their search found the new homey, 20 year old Martina. She joined the young guns (which is to say not old farts) that consisted of the Australian couple, one of the German couples, the South African driver/assistant guide and me. This appears to be the wolf pack going into day 5. The other youngish couple from Austria are cool, but stay pretty much to themselves. The French groups cold shoulder from the window incident wore off. There’s nothing quite like sharing some box wine to act as the olive branch of peace to a Frenchman.

To this point the highlight has been a canoe trip down the Orange River. We’ve stopped for a few decent photo ops, visited a lame Sun People flora exhibition, watched sunset over the Fish River Canyon (Africa’s largest), hiked a gorge that resembled a miniature version of Utah’s Paria Canyon (pretty cool) and we’ve driven a shitload. The meals have been surprisingly good considering it’s usually a single pot over a single fire. The wildlife has included springbok gazelle, gemsbok oryx, ostrich, cape baboons a zeal of zebra and a pair of extremely rare white jackals that cruised through our campsite one night.

On day 5 we reach one of the destinations I circled on the itinerary, the Sossusvlei Sand Dunes. The day involved our earliest morning departure time of 5:30 in order to catch the sunrise at the popular Dune 45. Bright (still dark) & early and crusty eyed we board the truck and don’t get out of the campground before getting stuck in soft sand. “Well so much for the sunrise” I accurately predict. 30 minutes later we dig and push ourselves free and head to the dunes, arriving 15 minutes after the sun. The night before I came across the printed area guide that says a dune nearby Dune 45, called Big Daddy, is the largest sand dune in the world. Wait, what? I confirm this with our guide and ask if it’s climbable. She says it is, but it’s high and hard and few people do it. In 5 years she’s had only 1 other person ask. Much like climbing cape Towns Table Mountain (or getting Randy Jackson’s autograph on a samurai sword) I’m not going to NOT climb the worlds largest sand dune if it’s physically possible to do so and I’m given the option. I voiced the concern of it taking too long and forcing people to wait for us, but the guides assured me if I wanted to do it there wouldn’t be a problem. I recruited the Australian’s Leroy and Jade, but after Dune 45 Jade dropped out. Leroy and I hustled to the top and made it in an impressive 1 hour 15 minutes. Even more miraculously we RAN down it Bear Grylls style and made it to the bottom in THREE MINUTES! Jade, the German translator homey Martina and driver Norman waited for us at the base. Including transit time to an from Big Daddy we did it in about 2 hours total.

When we got back the French fries were heated. As we pulled up one of the ladies gives us a “hello”, but not the good to see you type hello, the I can’t believe you made us wait for you while you went sand dune climbing, I want to gouge out your eyes with a spoon type “heeeeello”. I replied “hi”. As much poetic justice it was to have them wait for us for a change I still gave my apologies to the group, but they didn’t seem to want to hear it. After we get back in the truck I see one of the French toasts laying into the driver Norman. I felt bad, but only for Normans sake. The irony was that we were still on schedule and didn’t technically slowed down the group at all. We head back to camp to tear down our tents and have lunch. A dust storm wrecked havoc on our campsite and our tents were everywhere except in place when we got back. Unfortunately mine took the worst of it and my tent pole snapped rendering it out if commission. When we were driving out of the campground we got stuck, again, in the soft sand. By now we all knew what to do and assumed the positions. We pull up to the next nights camp and everyone scrambled to set up their tents. I set up shop on top of the truck and enjoyed my night sleeping out under the stars.

To be continued…

Bob