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One Afternoon To Prepare …
By Linda Shenton
One afternoon
to prepare, provision and pack for a ten-day journey for five! The
success of this trip has to be a new record for me, as the one
responsible for food planning, clothes packing, medical box
preparing (for which I am infamous – a traveling dispensary) etc,
all for which I am usually in the dog box for bringing enough kit
for two years instead of two weeks. Not this time … (OK it took
eighteen years of holidays and dog boxes, but don’t mention that
anymore).
Instead of
flying our two girls up to South Luangwa for a miserably short
three-day visit, and us being green with envy at the luxury of
school holidays, we decided to invite ourselves to join in their
holiday – and all go!
With the car
all packed up and the sandwiches made for the journey; the kids
ready to go, we then decided that we couldn’t possibly miss the
football match slated for that evening, and eventually drove out of
the city limits at 23h15. Which probably isn’t your usual self
drive departure time, but is usually ours!
The three
girls settled down on mattresses and across seats in the back of the
car, and Rolf put Dylan in the CD and twangs of guitar strings and
yawling oozed out of the front dashboard. Not my ideal roadside
accompaniment, but anyone who is prepared to (and claims to be happy
about) driving eleven odd hours to the South Luangwa, has full
rights over choice of musician.
The
traditional “midnight” feast stop at about 2 am was held on a
lovely, quiet and desolate place in the hills just past Luangwa
bridge. We reached the Petauke turnoff just before sunrise and
stopped a few kilometres down the Mfuwe road for Rolf to have a few
well-deserved hours of shut-eye on his cardboard mat with pillow and
duvet under a shady tree. The rest of us located the “toilets”, ate
more food, played with Barbies in the dirt road, exchanged
pleasantries with passing travelers, read books and photographed the
lovely hills and scenery. A most pleasant few hours eased on by, as
we slipped into holiday mode.
Then the road
got bad. One has to admire the views, observe cotton fields, spot
and attempt to identify birds, keep a keen eye out for animals, wave
at small children in villages to try and not notice the appalling
state of the road, the abject poverty of the local villagers, and
the other associated issues that could easily spring to mind and
seriously spoil the journey.
That evening,
enjoying a welcome dust chasing gin and tonic at the bar of the
Wildlife Camp, a group of five elephants arrived on the front lawn.
Watching them, moving around feeding like silent giants in the
moonlight, we could feel the bone-jarring tensions of the long
journey melting away like a remote full body massage.
Chalet Number
Five is my favourite at Wildlife Camp, although Patsy always says
its one of the older ones. I suppose it is a bit run down compared
to the sparkly smart new ones, but for a perfect family chalet –
well laid out, spacious, comfortable and practical, there is little
to match Number Five. Early tea the next morning on the verandah
watching a mother and child bush buck carefully picking their way
through the undergrowth – what could be a better way to start the
day!
Quick visits
to friends in the morning, and then onwards to Kaingo. Owned by
Rolf’s brother Derek and his wife Jules, it is one of the more posh
camps, situated far inside the National Park, away from the crowds
and vehicles near the entrance of the park. We realise that we are
incredibly privileged to be able to stay at a camp like this, and
try to behave appropriately. As always, the game viewing along the
30 or so kilometre drive through the park doesn’t disappoint and
includes a big herd of buffalo. It was good to be back in the area
where Rolf and I first met each other, and I had a moment
reminiscing as we passed the turn off to our old home (Kakuli Camp,
now operated by Norman Carr Safaris). Rolf spent the moment
reminding us of what a most excellent guide he still is, by
spectacularly identifying a small brown insipid bird in the middle
of a large leafy bush that the rest of us hadn’t even noticed. Well
I suppose that could be called a romantic memory …
Romantic
opportunities were revived as Jules took us to our special chalet –
the newly refurbished honeymoon suite at Kaingo. A monstrous bed
took centre place inside, whilst outside, the fabulously appointed
and very private bath surrounded with tiny candles and overlooking a
river stuffed with hippo families, birds and crocs, got the
imagination going. I can’t really remember what else was in the
chalet, other than the usual bathroom with shower, huge towels,
flush toilet and so on - and other non-essential items (such as the
lovely dark wood furniture and cupboard and curtains with Kuba cloth
matching the copious number of cushions soon to be strewn around the
room and the innovative mozzie-proofed sky light opening in the
roof) – it was the bed – a four poster with draped mosquito net and
inside-net bedside light switch (very important item), that I
remember most.
Several days
passed by in the usual tradition at camps such as Kaingo and
included game viewing, eating and drinking. One unforgettable
morning, we were out with Patrick Njovu, one of Kaingo’s most
experienced and long-standing guides, and he had already impressed
us by calling up a pearl-spotted owl out of nowhere. His talents
were still to be fully revealed, as he quietly mentioned something
about a nearby hyena den. My ears pricked up with excitement.
Unlike, it seems, most people, I really like hyenas. Maybe it’s the
underdog thing (like supporting the most unlikely team to win the
football), but I also really like things like marabou storks. How
many people realise it’s the less fortunate-looking creatures of the
animal kingdom that have the best personalities? We got to the
hyena den and could see their warren-like holes all over the place.
Patrick told us there was a single cub and then explained that he
would attempt to call it out of its burrow. The French tourists on
board the vehicle readied their cameras for that instant fleeting
shot of the small creature. Little did we know …
Patrick did a
rendition of a mother hyena that even fooled its off-spring, and
certainly defies human description in mere words. The small cub
came out and made straight for Patrick who was giggling, hooting,
whining, stopping only when it realised in horror that there were
strange things called people with him. Sniffing the air trying to
work out what we all were and what the strange whirrings and
clickings of the cameras were, the little cub inched closed to Pat’s
leg, as his loud hysteria changed to low, small-hyena-reassuring
growling sounds. His performance should be recorded for posterity
if for no commercial value. My words do not do justice to what we
were lucky enough to witness. Perhaps if I just say Patrick must
surely be one of the very best guides I have ever been lucky enough
to be on a walk or drive with (and I’ve been on loads). Kaingo is
worth every hard earned dollar just for Patrick’s company, and that
bed… The remoteness, tranquility, number of leopard sightings,
elephant platform, hippo hide, carmine bee-eater hide should also be
mentioned in addition to that bed for those who want an impossibly
full day, but that would mean less time in the chalet!
Crossing the
river (yes, that would be the Luangwa - the one that’s full of those
hippos and crocs), to visit the Coppinger’s at their Tafika Camp was
worth the terror of the river crossing! And a most pleasant
afternoon was spent on their vast, green lawns overlooking that
river, catching up on chatter, and swinging in their newly installed
hammock chair thing (that swings right out over that river). Was
impressed to hear that they are now offering game viewing activities
aboard mountain bikes with armed scout also on a bike. As one of
the few persons on earth unable to stay upright on a bicycle, I
could only imagine how wonderful it must be to silently cycle past
animals. If I went, it would be far from silent, and would involve
a large medical box with paramedic on his or her own bike to patch
up my copious injuries. Unable to pass up the invitation for a
flight in John’s microlight after tea and cake, I found myself with
a most unflattering helmet and goggles on, strapped into a seat that
felt big and secure enough whilst on the ground behind John’s neck,
but as we took off, the urge to leap onto his neck and wrap one’s
legs around his throat was one that had to be severely controlled
with previously unknown thigh muscles. The view was like nothing
else, and the highlight was flying low over a saddlebill stork nest
with two chicks in residence.
A rendezvous
with our sons who had a weekend break from their school in Mkushi,
forced us to leave this special place. Heading north towards the
Muchinga Escarpment, we successfully forged the two rivers that are
in the way of the mountain – the Mupamadzi and the Mutinondo. We
camped the night by the Mutinondo and ate basic camp food (bit of a
hardship after the food at Kaingo), but were saved by a decadent
piece of Brie and bread. At least we were now on our own, no
international guests to be concerned with, and could at last break
out in wild and raucous campfire singing. Even I had a fleeting
moment of horror as Rolf cranked up the car CD player and Rolf
Harris’s “Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport” hit the airwaves, but quickly
got into the swing of things with my didgeridoo impersonation
between verses. Much laughter, and with fire-melted marshmallowey
mouths later, (and most of a bottle of Archers Cranberry), we
struggled down to the river to bathe – followed by strains of Bruce
Springsteen.
Next morning
it was the mountain. Breakfast was half way up on a short stretch
of relatively flat dirt road (we still put large rocks behind each
wheel). Steep isn’t really the word, I think the statistics are a
600m climb in 30 minutes or something equally impressive. The view
is of course breathtaking, trees for as far as the eye can see,
interspersed with a few open plains. Makes one wonder what our
forests must have been like if the donor report is correct which
claims that Zambia has lost 26% of forest cover in the last nine
years.
Onwards and
upwards to the summit. And eventually out onto flatter ground, big
trees giving way to farm lands, and suddenly the grey strip of the
tarmac was in sight. We stopped at the Nachikufu Caves, a National
Monument and had the guided tour. Our guide was very knowledgeable
and quite a lot of work has been done to make it more tourist
friendly, although a tad shabby these days. Story of our lives:
maintenance and upkeep. It’s an interesting area historically, lots
of wars, and refuge-taking in the many caves. Bats now inhabit one
of the caves, and there’s some evidence of rock paintings, if you
can pick out the genuine drawings from amongst the modern graffiti.
We scrambled up a seriously high cliff face to the “look out” spot
(with me wondering how on earth I would ever get down with any
dignity). Forced by the ticking clock, we had to press on to Mkushi
to meet up with the boys.
Three days
later we returned home to the big smoke (literally) of Lusaka. A
good weekend in Mkushi, catching up with the boys, hearing of their
trials and tribulations at school (and their triumphs, thankfully
also), visiting friends and playing bridge one whole uninterrupted
afternoon, all perfectly rounded off a wonderful and unexpected ten
day break! It is so good to be reminded of the bountiful things
Zambia has to offer. |
September
2006