Kenya, therefore, was a bit of a stroll in the national park in comparison. But three hours is three hours, and if you're trying to get ready for 8 o'clock, the fact that your body is wrong to think that it's 5 o'clock is only useful for people who like to say 'I told you so' to their own corporeal form.
As it was, being a few minutes late for Nickson and his driver would turn out to be so astonishingly insignificant it makes me laugh to recall that I was bothered by it.
Adventure Panorama Safaris
What follows is an account, not a review. If, however, by reading it you get a decent idea of what Kenyan budget safaris are like, I may have done you a favour - either way.
Nickson's punctuality was impressive. I'd nipped to the local Nakumatt supermarket for drinking water, expecting lateness (Nairobi traffic being what it is) but he was waiting for me when I returned. I apologised, without realising that this was the last time anything would happen, or anyone would turn up, on time in Kenya for the next two weeks. He introduced me to Moses, my driver, who - suspiciously - had "Jocky Tours" written on the rear windscreen of his Safari minibus.
Although I had booked a three days in the Masai Mara followed by one day in Lake Nakuru, and because of this had planned to be dropped off in Lake Naivasha in order to go to Hell's Gate, the first volte face of the day was Nickson's arbitrary decision to swap the days round and suggest starting with Nakuru. It turned out that two other travellers had booked a reverse trip, and I was being shoe-honed into their schedule. Moses, who would turn out to be something of a genial nutter, cottoned on quite quickly that if I was the only guest who wasn't returning to Nairobi, it made sense to order the trip around me getting dropped off, and the attempted coup was rejected.
Nickson looked dejected.
It didn't matter, but then at this stage there weren't any other travellers. Having boarded the bus at 8:05am, but 8:30 I had gone precisely 150 metres as Moses moved to pick up food supplies for the journey. As he went inside to collect materials for dinner, he left me listening to Kenya Classics 105 FM, where a cheesy voiced DJ was inviting anecdotes from his listeners about evil In Laws.
"Why is it we only hear about the women? Don't men struggle with the in-laws? It is always the women. Perhaps they cannot help it. Come on men, if you have suffered at the hands of your wife's father or mother, call and tell us."It would then flip to a recording of his previous phone called, endlessly repeating phrases like "she would not even greet me" (love the way she said greet) and "I tried so hard to be nice to her, but she was just nasty".... I never discovered if Kenya men have a problem with in-laws or not.
We'd gone such a short way that Nickson, although we'd left him behind, had caught up and was hovering about during the loading process. As the laden minivan pulled away, this was the last time I would see or hear from him.
We slowly gathered a crew. Lauro and Mario, Australian Italians from Adelaide, joined us next. It was past 9:00am at this point, and they were surrounded by the their own Kenya crew who seemed to have nothing to do with Nickson's mob. They'd been expecting to go to Nakuru first, of course, but didn't seem too bothered by the alteration. Lauro was a fund-raiser for an organisation helping refugees in Kenyan camps and had come - on his own money - to see how the cash was being spent. He'd brought his dad with him, who couldn't communicate much with his son as Lauro had chosen to learn Spanish over Italian. It was a little tragic, but they seemed to have a perfectly amiable relationship.
Having waited around for some time, as soon as Moses had three passengers he headed straight for the petrol station.This marked him out as different from most other Kenyans, who like to wait until a vehicle is entirely full before they make everyone wait at the refuelling stop. Moses made up for that accidental courtesy, however, by making us wait at the pumps for another hour.
We were, apparently, waiting for another traveller. Moses' phone, which (amusingly at first, less so after a while) had an elephant-call ring tone, was in constant action as communications between him and representatives of Safari-goer Number 3 continued.
"5 minutes", we were told. Unfortunately we were told this several times, and it didn't get any more true. At 10:30, 145 minutes after my trip-of-a-lifetime* began, we finally started to drive out of Nairobi. Our extra passenger was still nowhere to be seen. Moses mumbled something about oversleeping, but who this applied to was not clear. The Australians suggested a plan to throw the person in a crocodile pit, assuming they ever turned up.
And they did. A car chase ensued, with us speeding down the western highway and a taxi screaming after us. Another trunk call on the elephant phone and Moses was persuaded to stop. A few minutes later another car pulled up. Sally, a woman from Lebanon studying in Nairobi, was our latest gang-member, and we agreed not to throw her in a crocodile pit when we found that she had been just as much a victim of the Keyna laissez-faire approach to time keeping as we'd been.
It was now 11am. I'd been in the van for almost 3 hours and we were on the outskirts of the City.
I'd love to report that from that moment forth we sailed along through decent country roads, occasionally espying a Thomson's Gazelle frolicking amongst the goats and enjoying the greenery as we sailed past it, catching up time as we dashed along. Unfortunately, only the Gazelle bit would be true.
There are a lot of road blocks in Kenya. The average tourist ought to be quite grateful for that, as I'm told it's greatly reduced instances of car-jacking. And, most of the time, a mini-bus like ours just gets waved through.
Most of the time.
We'd been driving for another hour or so when the Kenyan policemen (dressed in exactly the same yellow bibs as you'd get on officers by the side of the M4) finally decided we looked suspicious enough to stop. There ensued a frustrating and bewildering 30 minutes during which we had no idea what was going on, and had to piece together the situation from snippets of overheard comments and remarks from taciturn coppers.
Amid the various layers of bureaucracy the Kenyan Government trowels onto day-to-day life is one protecting musicians' royalties. If you are driving any kind of mass transit (bigger than a private car, that is) you must have a license to have a radio. It doesn't matter if the radio works (our driver had tried disabling our speakers several miles previously, clearly anticipating this turn of events), or if it is off. Have radio, get license. In a country rife with petty crime, the police then enforce this fastidiously. I say fastidiously - how fastidious they are about making sure the appropriate money is collected I'm not sure. The entire process is dealt with there at the roadside, with the police entirely in charge of how much money changes hand, like judge, jury and bailiff - Judge Bredd, perhaps. Apparently the fine could have been as much as 30,000 Ksh, which would probably have wiped out all of Moses' wages in one swoop. But after half an hour's haggling he clearly reached an acceptable compromise and returned to the van with his song sticker.
Pity the final member of the party, Magnus, who had been waiting patiently at the world's least interesting service station cafe for two hours. At least when we arrived the cafe got considerably more interesting after their attempt to supply red wine to Magnus and the Aussies. I had a fairly bad feeling about it, and part of me thinks they should have had one too, but with them having pointed quite clearly at a bottle of Merlot on the drinks menu, even I was shocked to see three glasses of luminous, slightly effervescent chemical effluent being brought out and presented to them. Bravely tasting it, we discovered that if this was to be described as wine, then aubergine is a kind of chocolate. Its flavour was mostly indescribable, but I shall try by suggesting that it seemed to be a sort of alcopop, but one which would be avoided by all but the most desperately dipsomaniac teenager. Thanks to 'communication difficulties' the attempt by the Aussies and the Swede to exercise their consumer rights failed, and they ended up paying 100Ksh each for the privilege of a few scant horrified sips.
But onwards! Our company now complete we set off from the Narok services, many miles still ahead of us and the day slowly ebbing away. We were scheduled to reach our camp at 3, to drop our bags, and then head park-wards for an "introductory wildlife drive". We reached the 89km-long access road to the Masai Mara at 2pm. It was, we considered, theoretically possible that we would be on time.
The optimism did not last long. The Masai Mara road differs only from the surrounding countryside in that it is denuded of vegetation. It cannot be relied upon to be any more level, smooth, dry or basically drivable than the rest of the landscape. It is rutted, pot-holed, ditch-strewn, flooded, rock-infested and feels endless. It was almost 4pm when we reached the national park.Our schedule was in tatters. What would happen?
I needn't have worried. After all the trials of the journey, we got what we came for. Moses had driven us to the far gate from our camp - we were going home via the Masai Mara, and would get the coveted wildlife drive. And wildlife there was in abundance. It doesn't take long to see Zebra and Gazelle - we'd seen those before we even reached the camp - but within minutes we were ticking off the Big Five.
Our first friend was a buffalo. Several, in fact, who stopped to glare at us with unbovine hostility. We were told that Buffalo make the Big 5 list simply because they like beating the crap out of people. I hadn't realised that violence was the primary criteria for the list, though it does explain why giraffes - infinitely more exciting than these impressive but cow-like creatures - don't cut it. But I needn't have worried about the giraffes, since they don't know they're not on the list and like to strut around and get their share of the glory. A trio of them, including mother and baby, wandered contentedly past the van, giving us all a good goggle.
The Big 5 frittered down the Big 3 a short time later, as a herd of elephants were found eviscerating a shrubbery. The baby was shy, keeping its head in the bush, but the adults seemed fairly relaxed about our presence - all very reassuring since I wasn't quite clear how the slightly flimsy mini-bus was supposed to protect us if Dumbo's mum got twitchy.
Then we were privileged to find 'slightly lions', as Terry Pratchett once wrote. A little while into the drive we got a close up of a lioness. Or at least some of her. One of the downsides of the moist weather (of which more later) was the lushness of the landscape and therefore the length of the grass. Our lazy lioness, utterly unfazed by us, was determined to stay camera shy. The best view we could get was four furry paws stuck up in the air and she rammed her face further into a tussock. But still, down to the Big 2, and only on our first drive.
The last candidates were leopards and rhinos, much harder to spot than the others and -according to the books - the ones that most disappoint avid animal appreciators with their absence. But the good men of the minibus driving community have their ways. Moses was spending half the journey on the CB, and the other half on his elephant phone. At one point he heard an excited crackle on the radio, whisked us off on a detour and we were headed to a side road where several other jeeps and minibuses had congregated.
"Leopard", said Moses.
Leopards are hard to spot because they hang out in trees. But if you know which trees they hang out in the whole proposition becomes pleasingly possible. I didn't quite get the shots I was after, as Leopold the Leopard decided to run down the far side of the trunk, but he or she posed on the the ground for a bit, before going Garbo and slinking off spottily to be alone.
Big One.
It was getting dark now, and the minivans had formed a convoy to head to the exit. The constant presence of white vans did detract a little from the sense of wilderness. Along with the lush green grass and glowering grey skies all these vehicles did tend to give me the unshakeable sense that I was in Windsor Safari Park. I yearned for a bit of solitude and for an azure sky. But it's reassuring to know the most top-end of the top-end safari splash out couldn't have guaranteed me the latter.
As we rounded the last set of hills, one of the convoy ahead stopped, and its population popped out of the roof, meerkat-style. Up on the hill, barely visible in the gathering gloom, were two rhinos, conveniently picked out against the darkening sky. They stopped, posed for long-range photos, then decided that the other side of the hill would be more private and trotted off.
Finally, as we trundled out of the park, three cheetahs - a mother and two adolescents - stalked across the red earth road, their eyes fixed on some impalas out on the plains to the right. They gave up shortly afterwards, and instead stopped at the roadside, eyeing gazelles hungrily and conveniently showing themselves off to the goggling minivan occupants. Eventually we left them to it and headed 'home' to our acceptable tented accommodation outside the park to enjoy the wonders of lentils and beer-drinking moths.
So there you are - from the ridiculous to the sublime. Make up your own mind if you'd rather pay more.
Leopards are hard to spot because they hang out in trees. But if you know which trees they hang out in the whole proposition becomes pleasingly possible. I didn't quite get the shots I was after, as Leopold the Leopard decided to run down the far side of the trunk, but he or she posed on the the ground for a bit, before going Garbo and slinking off spottily to be alone.
Big One.
It was getting dark now, and the minivans had formed a convoy to head to the exit. The constant presence of white vans did detract a little from the sense of wilderness. Along with the lush green grass and glowering grey skies all these vehicles did tend to give me the unshakeable sense that I was in Windsor Safari Park. I yearned for a bit of solitude and for an azure sky. But it's reassuring to know the most top-end of the top-end safari splash out couldn't have guaranteed me the latter.
As we rounded the last set of hills, one of the convoy ahead stopped, and its population popped out of the roof, meerkat-style. Up on the hill, barely visible in the gathering gloom, were two rhinos, conveniently picked out against the darkening sky. They stopped, posed for long-range photos, then decided that the other side of the hill would be more private and trotted off.
Finally, as we trundled out of the park, three cheetahs - a mother and two adolescents - stalked across the red earth road, their eyes fixed on some impalas out on the plains to the right. They gave up shortly afterwards, and instead stopped at the roadside, eyeing gazelles hungrily and conveniently showing themselves off to the goggling minivan occupants. Eventually we left them to it and headed 'home' to our acceptable tented accommodation outside the park to enjoy the wonders of lentils and beer-drinking moths.
So there you are - from the ridiculous to the sublime. Make up your own mind if you'd rather pay more.
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