Salon Wanderlust | Afoot in the South African bush

[Salon Wanderlust: Travel with a passion]

T A B L E_T A L K
Winter in Prague? Share the pluses and minuses in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk

R E C E N T L Y
The Khan men of Agra
By Pamela Michael
In India, a moment of trust opens the door to a traveler's richest reward
(11/25/98)
The rabbis of Bangkok, Part Two
By Douglas A. Konecky
A live sex show reveals more than flesh to an American musician in Thailand
(11/24/98)
The rabbis of Bangkok
By Douglas A. Konecky
A traveling Jewish band from California meets a trio of Hasidic Jews in the teeming city of Live Sex Shows and Thai Full Body Massage
(11/23/98)
This week in travel
A new U.S. passport, a fictitious country in the South Pacific and a buyout of Reno Air
(11/20/98)
Body talk
By Dawn MacKeen
Sometimes what our gestures say is not what we mean. International business traveler Roger Axtell has learned that the hard way
(11/19/98)

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AFOOT IN THE SOUTH AFRICAN BUSH | PAGE 1, 2, 3
- - - - - - - - - -
But it is the animals themselves, of course, that are the main attraction of any nature walk, and the most prized sightings are, in the vernacular of the safari business, the Big 5. The so-called Big 5 -- lion, leopard, buffalo, rhino and elephant -- are so named because they are the five most dangerous animals to encounter on foot. On our second night, when we first arrived in the Timbavati, we had our first Big 5 sighting in an open-air jeep -- a herd of about 400 Cape buffalo. We would learn later just how dangerous these can be: A lone male buffalo is also known as a "dagga" bull, dagga also being South African slang for a potent home-grown marijuana. If a dagga bull sees you on foot, we are told, he will chase you and kill you. But on our second night, still rookies and more interested in big cats, elephants and rhinos, we didn't appreciate the rarity of the moment. Besides which, the buffalo is by far the least cool of the Big 5. It's like getting excited to see a member of the Rat Pack in concert and then getting Joey Bishop.
The next morning, our first on-foot animal sighting gives us students a short scare: The dagga bull we think we see skirting back and forth across the plain, trumpeting a warning sign to his companions, turns out to be a wildebeest. As the wildebeest scampers away and we breathe a sigh of relief, Les gives us instructions on what to do in case we actually do encounter any of the Big 5 on foot. "If you see a lion," Les instructs us, "lock arms with each other and hold perfectly still -- don't crouch, and certainly don't run." Running, we are told, will only trigger the lion's predatory instincts, and get us killed.
"If, however, we see an elephant, rhino or buffalo," Les goes on, "and they should charge us, then run like hell and climb up a tree." In my neurotic New York mind-set, I ask, with Oliver Stone-like skepticism, "What if you start running from the rhino or elephant, and then a lion sees you and starts chasing you?" Dismissing the possibility that the animals could be in any kind of Big 5 conspiracy plot with a snort and a roll of his eyes, Les repeats his emergency contingency plans. Of course, when the contingency plan involves running and climbing, I wish I was back in the friendly confines of, say, the South Bronx.
Moving forward after the wildebeest incident, Alastair spots a black object just up ahead of us on the trail. It turns out to be a half-eaten black and white Converse trainer. Les explains that the shoe almost certainly belonged to a Mozambican refugee, eaten by a lion. Mozambique, just now recovering from a ruinous two-decade civil war, borders South Africa to the east. Thus, Les explains, it is not uncommon for refugees from Mozambique to avoid customs and attempt to cross into South Africa through Kruger National Park and the Timbavati. There are no statistics kept on this, but Les estimates that seven Mozambicans are killed by lions every month.
As we approach a small watering hole, the overcast skies open up and we take shelter under a jackalberry tree. Large golden orb spiders patiently await their next insect meal on webs that are 17 times as strong as steel. Already thoroughly soaked, we decide not to wait out the rain any longer and we push ahead. The trail turns muddy as our walk takes us remarkably close to seven jackals, some zebras, wildebeests and giraffes. The rain finally lets up as we pause on Jackal Plain for a brief lunch of cheese, crackers and apples. We are careful not to let fall any apple seeds, which could introduce an exotic tree to the area and wreak havoc with the present ecosystem. Even though it's winter in Africa, the sun is still strong enough to quickly dry the wet clothes on our backs.
We start our return journey back to camp. Les stops suddenly and pulls his rifle off his shoulders. "We've got a problem," he says. About 150 yards in front of us is a lone Cape buffalo -- a dagga bull. "If he sees us," Les says gravely, "Kevin will lead you out the way we just came. And you'll run. I'll stay here and try to distract him."
Fortunately, Mr. Dagga is too engrossed in grazing to bother with a bunch of tourists, but his presence forces us to take a different route back to camp. We proceed without any further incidents. Home in the dining hall, with fruit bats sleeping upside down above us and a family of dwarf mongooses darting about our feet, the property manager, Happy, serves us a leftover lunch of impala roast.
Happy is a character too clichéd even for central casting. A lithe, loopy soul with a quick laugh and a Zen spirit, the guy never speaks unless he is asked a question directly, and even then he is likely to answer back in the form of a question. Happy has no TV or radio and doesn't get any newspapers, and he's been managing the camp for nine years. Where "camp" ends and the bush begins is actually a debatable point -- animals certainly act as if they didn't get the memo, as they wander through the camp with impunity. Last night at dinner, Stephen and Alastair reported excitedly that a giraffe came thrillingly close to their cabin's terrace. The bungalows are built on stilts, making them more difficult for predators to access -- still, each terrace is adorned with a giraffe femur, useful to smack a hyena on the noggin if he gets uppity.
Our cabins are situated along a riverbed, one that flows full in the wet season and becomes an animal highway in the dry season. There is no plumbing in the camp; the adjacent shower operates on a rope-pulley-bucket system. We are each rationed a bucket of hot water in the morning; we lower the shower bucket and fill it with hot water, then hoist it back up. Farther down the road is the loo, which, like an experimental drama, has broken down the fourth wall, allowing one to sightsee wildlife while one takes care of other business. But going to the bathroom suddenly takes on a Clint Eastwood quality: Do you feel lucky, punk? Each trip to the loo has to be weighed against a potential predator encounter, one in which you could be fatally caught with your pants down.
By our fourth evening, we are ready for the biggest challenge of our course -- the overnight camp-out. Our safaris have been relatively fruitful up to this point: We have seen impala, hippos, warthogs, waterbucks, duikers, bush babies, genet cats, chameleons and scores of bird and insect species. But aside from the two separate Cape buffalo sightings, the closest we have come to Big 5 has been the spoor of a lion and the dung of elephants and rhinos. Tonight we are going to see if our dangerous animal hosts are as elusive at night as they are from 9 to 5.
N E X T+P A G E | Calling all predators ...


	T A B L E_T A L K Winter in Prague? Share the pluses and minuses in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk R E C E N T L Y The Khan men of Agra By Pamela Michael In India, a moment of trust opens the door to a traveler's richest reward (11/25/98) The rabbis of Bangkok, Part Two By Douglas A. Konecky A live sex show reveals more than flesh to an American musician in Thailand (11/24/98) The rabbis of Bangkok By Douglas A. Konecky A traveling Jewish band from California meets a trio of Hasidic Jews in the teeming city of Live Sex Shows and Thai Full Body Massage (11/23/98) This week in travel A new U.S. passport, a fictitious country in the South Pacific and a buyout of Reno Air (11/20/98) Body talk By Dawn MacKeen Sometimes what our gestures say is not what we mean. International business traveler Roger Axtell has learned that the hard way (11/19/98) Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner S A L O N E M P O R I U M FREE! 12-ounce bag of Salon Blend with a purchase of $30 or more. While supplies last.		AFOOT IN THE SOUTH AFRICAN BUSH \| PAGE 1, 2, 3 - - - - - - - - - - But it is the animals themselves, of course, that are the main attraction of any nature walk, and the most prized sightings are, in the vernacular of the safari business, the Big 5. The so-called Big 5 -- lion, leopard, buffalo, rhino and elephant -- are so named because they are the five most dangerous animals to encounter on foot. On our second night, when we first arrived in the Timbavati, we had our first Big 5 sighting in an open-air jeep -- a herd of about 400 Cape buffalo. We would learn later just how dangerous these can be: A lone male buffalo is also known as a "dagga" bull, dagga also being South African slang for a potent home-grown marijuana. If a dagga bull sees you on foot, we are told, he will chase you and kill you. But on our second night, still rookies and more interested in big cats, elephants and rhinos, we didn't appreciate the rarity of the moment. Besides which, the buffalo is by far the least cool of the Big 5. It's like getting excited to see a member of the Rat Pack in concert and then getting Joey Bishop. The next morning, our first on-foot animal sighting gives us students a short scare: The dagga bull we think we see skirting back and forth across the plain, trumpeting a warning sign to his companions, turns out to be a wildebeest. As the wildebeest scampers away and we breathe a sigh of relief, Les gives us instructions on what to do in case we actually do encounter any of the Big 5 on foot. "If you see a lion," Les instructs us, "lock arms with each other and hold perfectly still -- don't crouch, and certainly don't run." Running, we are told, will only trigger the lion's predatory instincts, and get us killed. "If, however, we see an elephant, rhino or buffalo," Les goes on, "and they should charge us, then run like hell and climb up a tree." In my neurotic New York mind-set, I ask, with Oliver Stone-like skepticism, "What if you start running from the rhino or elephant, and then a lion sees you and starts chasing you?" Dismissing the possibility that the animals could be in any kind of Big 5 conspiracy plot with a snort and a roll of his eyes, Les repeats his emergency contingency plans. Of course, when the contingency plan involves running and climbing, I wish I was back in the friendly confines of, say, the South Bronx. Moving forward after the wildebeest incident, Alastair spots a black object just up ahead of us on the trail. It turns out to be a half-eaten black and white Converse trainer. Les explains that the shoe almost certainly belonged to a Mozambican refugee, eaten by a lion. Mozambique, just now recovering from a ruinous two-decade civil war, borders South Africa to the east. Thus, Les explains, it is not uncommon for refugees from Mozambique to avoid customs and attempt to cross into South Africa through Kruger National Park and the Timbavati. There are no statistics kept on this, but Les estimates that seven Mozambicans are killed by lions every month. As we approach a small watering hole, the overcast skies open up and we take shelter under a jackalberry tree. Large golden orb spiders patiently await their next insect meal on webs that are 17 times as strong as steel. Already thoroughly soaked, we decide not to wait out the rain any longer and we push ahead. The trail turns muddy as our walk takes us remarkably close to seven jackals, some zebras, wildebeests and giraffes. The rain finally lets up as we pause on Jackal Plain for a brief lunch of cheese, crackers and apples. We are careful not to let fall any apple seeds, which could introduce an exotic tree to the area and wreak havoc with the present ecosystem. Even though it's winter in Africa, the sun is still strong enough to quickly dry the wet clothes on our backs. We start our return journey back to camp. Les stops suddenly and pulls his rifle off his shoulders. "We've got a problem," he says. About 150 yards in front of us is a lone Cape buffalo -- a dagga bull. "If he sees us," Les says gravely, "Kevin will lead you out the way we just came. And you'll run. I'll stay here and try to distract him." Fortunately, Mr. Dagga is too engrossed in grazing to bother with a bunch of tourists, but his presence forces us to take a different route back to camp. We proceed without any further incidents. Home in the dining hall, with fruit bats sleeping upside down above us and a family of dwarf mongooses darting about our feet, the property manager, Happy, serves us a leftover lunch of impala roast. Happy is a character too clichéd even for central casting. A lithe, loopy soul with a quick laugh and a Zen spirit, the guy never speaks unless he is asked a question directly, and even then he is likely to answer back in the form of a question. Happy has no TV or radio and doesn't get any newspapers, and he's been managing the camp for nine years. Where "camp" ends and the bush begins is actually a debatable point -- animals certainly act as if they didn't get the memo, as they wander through the camp with impunity. Last night at dinner, Stephen and Alastair reported excitedly that a giraffe came thrillingly close to their cabin's terrace. The bungalows are built on stilts, making them more difficult for predators to access -- still, each terrace is adorned with a giraffe femur, useful to smack a hyena on the noggin if he gets uppity. Our cabins are situated along a riverbed, one that flows full in the wet season and becomes an animal highway in the dry season. There is no plumbing in the camp; the adjacent shower operates on a rope-pulley-bucket system. We are each rationed a bucket of hot water in the morning; we lower the shower bucket and fill it with hot water, then hoist it back up. Farther down the road is the loo, which, like an experimental drama, has broken down the fourth wall, allowing one to sightsee wildlife while one takes care of other business. But going to the bathroom suddenly takes on a Clint Eastwood quality: Do you feel lucky, punk? Each trip to the loo has to be weighed against a potential predator encounter, one in which you could be fatally caught with your pants down. By our fourth evening, we are ready for the biggest challenge of our course -- the overnight camp-out. Our safaris have been relatively fruitful up to this point: We have seen impala, hippos, warthogs, waterbucks, duikers, bush babies, genet cats, chameleons and scores of bird and insect species. But aside from the two separate Cape buffalo sightings, the closest we have come to Big 5 has been the spoor of a lion and the dung of elephants and rhinos. Tonight we are going to see if our dangerous animal hosts are as elusive at night as they are from 9 to 5. N E X T+P A G E \| Calling all predators ...