“You know you are truly alive when you’re living among lions.”
― Karen Blixen, Out of Africa
I awoke Friday morning, which was Thursday night here in Seattle, and packed for the trip home. On the way to the airstrip, on the edge of the Kalahari desert, we stopped at a rural village's small school Some fifteen or so boys and girls, ages 10 and 11, performed, in costume, native songs and dances -- dazzling me by both the kids' techical proficiency and their ability to engage self-confidently with their audience. They were charming and personable, and I'll remember their show every bit as well as I will the thrill of my first leopard sighting.
We then packed ourselves into a couple of small planes and flew for an hour to Maun. From Maun, we flew to Johannesburg. And from Johannesburg, I flew to Paris, and then on to San Francisco -- where, at 4 p.m. Saturday afternoon in the Presidio, I joined my family for a nephew's fairly traditional wedding. Different tribes; different rituals.
I flew home the next day, and here I am. More "alive," I like to think, for having lived for two weeks, among-- to some extent -- the lions of Botswana.
Needless to say -- but I will say it -- it was a great trip.
As I discussed in a pre-trip post, on arrival in Johannesburg, we began our visit with a biking tour of Soweto. I guess I had a sense of foreboding -- a feeling that we would be intruding, as if we were jauntily visiting South Central Los Angeles in 1992, or Harlem during decades past. Instead we were welcomed cheerfully and humorously by people of all ages out on the streets, in situations where there was no danger of a rehearsed reception. We visited areas where the infrastructure was third world, such as one would find in rural India, for example, but where -- whatever their problems -- the inhabitants seemed to feel no resentment toward us, either as whites or as relatively wealthy tourists. It was an eye-opening experience, topped off by a visit to the Nelson Mandela memorial, and to early homes of both Mandela and Desmond Tutu.
We flew to Victoria Falls the following day. Still magnificent, it was less easy to observe in its entirety than it had been during my visit with Doug, years ago. The heavy flow of the Zambezi at this time of year creates a heavy, obscuring mist. Also, I sense that the views from the Zambia side of the river are less dramatic than those from Zimbabwe. But we enjoyed meeting our first baboons on the trail, and being drenched beyond all expectation by fall-out from the cataract as we struggled across the Knife's Edge bridge.
After one night at Vic Falls, we drove into Botswana for the main portion of the trip.
The portions of Botswana that we visited are all associated, to greater or lesser extent, with the Okavango Delta. The delta is, in effect, an enormous marsh or shallow lake, formed by run-off from seasonal rains during January and February in the Angola highlands. The water level was increasing while we were there and will reach its maximum by June. There's no outlet; the water begins falling after June -- mainly by evaporation, but partially by absorption into the sands of the Kalahari. For reasons not understood, the Angola rainfall has been heavier the past four or five years, and the delta has been increasing in both geographical extent southward and in its depth of water.
From our touristic point of view, the delta is important because of its support of animal life. The animals we went to see -- big game and small -- tend to wander away from the river during the wet season -- including May -- and return as water becomes unavailable except within the delta. This means that we missed the period when the density of wildlife becomes greatest.
But it was dense enough for our purposes. Huge herds of elephants. Giraffes ande zebras, banded together for mutual protection. Antelope of all persuasions -- especially impala and kudu. Lions, male and female. And -- a personal first for myself -- one sighting of a leopard, at rest during daylight hours in some brush. Only tigers and bears were missing, oh my!
We stayed at five separate resorts, from the Chobe River, to the heart of the delta, to the edge of the vast Kalahari -- using each resort as a base for exploration by vehicles and by boats. We jumped from resort to resort by small bush planes. The resorts themselves were very nicely designed, both environmentally and esthetically, but one never felt that he was "roughing it." This was a safari more like something Robert Redford and Meryl Streep might have experienced, rather than an exploration in the "Ma and Pa take the kids camping" mode. Having now experienced both kinds of safaris, all I can say is they're both great and each has its advantages.
Our group of twelve was diverse in background and experience, but united in sharing a strong sense of humor and imbued with loads of curiosity. We bonded easily.
Karen Blixen (aka Isak Dinesen) left her beloved Africa behind in 1931, never to return. In this, at least, I don't intend to emulate her.
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