Reflections of My First Safari

Reflections of My First Safari

Safari Travel Made Easy

The prospect of taking my first safari was little less than daunting.

Though a thrilling experience filled with possibility and wonder, logistically it is worlds apart from a prescribed one-stop package holiday to the beaches of Bali or Fiji.

Multi-stage international flights, domestic transfers, numerous camps and lodges, even the possibility of several countries – and the visa requirements that this entails – demand careful consideration in a safari itinerary.

I’m no stranger to travel. I’ve endured the longest of long hauls, migrated to the other side of the planet, skipped through Europe and South-East Asia, even lived in Bali and Thailand for multiple years. Yet while I have developed the kind of familiarity with my passport that has committed its nine characters and numbers to memory, safari travel, and its many convolutions, remains a novel experience.

Though not my first African rodeo, the anticipation of my first safari with The Classic Safari Company loomed with as much excitement as anxious anticipation. As the company’s content creator, there was, of course, the pressure of obligation, capturing imagery and tales to share with a wider audience and the planning thereof. But beneath the commitments I held as an employee, there was the tremor of nerves felt when facing the unknown.

Exiting Brisbane to begin the first leg of a journey that would take me first to Zimbabwe and then on to the depths of Botswana’s Okavango, my first near-error came before I had even left my own home, but came also as my first awakening to the reassurance of being in expert hands. Planning my airport shuttle, I instinctively plotted a route to the international terminal; I was on my way to Africa after all. But no – a buzz from my phone laying on the desk beside me alerted me to my rookie mistake before it was too late. “Ready for your journey?” quizzed the Classic Safari Company app, diligently loaded with all my travel details and documents by my far-more-knowledgeable colleagues. “Your flight departs Brisbane Domestic Airport at 6:10pm on Sunday.” Yes – domestic. The first leg of my trip took me across the country, but not beyond our borders, stopping at Perth before the onward flight to Johannesburg.

It was then that I placed my absolute faith and trust in the team behind my African adventure. Flight times, routes, visa requirements, necessary vaccinations, the climate I should pack for; everything necessary for every stage of my trip lay at my fingertips. No presumption, no supposition, no fool’s guess would be made without first consulting my app.

I arrived at the airport already well aware of departure time, gate and flight number, though a cursory glance at the flickering flight board is always recommended; there’s no accounting for the pranksters in the control tower spontaneously changing your flight’s departure gate. I sauntered through the airport without a care, utterly assured that I could take my first steps towards the African continent in complete confidence.

Disembarking in Perth at dinner time there, but well-past bedtime on the East Coast, I was a little bleary-eyed exiting the plane, but two taps and a swipe later and my app informed me exactly where I needed to guide my weary stumble, and I was soon aboard and snoozing, bound for Africa with dreams of waterways, wildlife and that impossible African sky filling my mind.

This would be a four-stop flight: Brisbane – Perth – Johannesburg – Livingstone, depositing me in Zimbabwe for the first three days of the sojourn I would laughingly call an obligatory work trip. Connecting these multiple dots ushered in a nervous and involuntary clenching of my jaw, but with my PA in my pocket, I knew I had all the information I would need in the palm of my hand, it’s helpful alerts kept only to the necessary, but keeping me perfectly on track through every transfer. I could almost feel its self-satisfied smile as I emerged at Livingstone Airport – a stone’s throw from Mosi-Oa-Tunya – into the the friendly waiting hands of a driver brandishing a board clearly bearing my name. “Told you I’d get you here safely”, it seemed to say. But this was only the beginning of our relationship, and my discovery of the absolute expertise of The Classic Safari Company’s travel designers.

My first days would be filled with work commitments, liaising with innumerable operator representatives at an annual trade show, but even this was expertly orchestrated by my wonderful team. They knew where I’d be, what I’d require, where I’d go and how I’d get there without a single questioning text or frown of confusion from me. I could have been suffering a catastrophic bout of narcolepsy and I would still have been delivered to every location in comfort and ease, thanks to the sublime planning behind my trip. I often liaise with the curators of our journeys, but my job is to paint a pretty picture for our existing and prospective clients; this level of acute bespoke organisation simply baffled me. Even my inconvenient dietary requirements were accounted for, three square meals a day without the slightest utterance from me, a plate silently placed before me catering impeccably to my gastronomic fickleness.

The tight schedule of my trip meant that, despite seeing the mist rising in the distance, I would be unable to visit Mosi-oa-Tunya, the very reason quite literally everyone visits Victoria Falls. My team, however, would quite simply not let this stand. Through intricate machinations and conversations behind the scenes, I was greeted at 5:45 a.m. for a spontaneous visit to the magnificent falls, the first to walk through the gates at 6 a.m. and fortunate to be able to witness this spectacular natural wonder in almost complete solitude. The intricate cogs and gears of my journey continued to tick without my slightest effort, and I was collected and returned in time to pack my belongings, enjoy a leisurely breakfast and still meet my transfer at 8:45.

Border crossings can often be somewhat of a headache, but taken in your stride, and with the right guide, they can be both entertaining and interesting. The border into Botswana is a stone’s throw away from the meeting of four nations: Zimbabwe and Botswana, of course, as well as Namibia and Zambia. Unfortunately, the exact point of intersection lies in the middle of the Zambezi River, but it is rewarding enough to know that you can see four different countries from the one spot.

With foot-and-mouth disease a constant threat to the beef-producing nation of Botswana, this checkpoint required me to disinfect all my footwear, in addition to adding a fresh visa smudge to my dog-eared passport, but this too was handled with absolute ease, thanks to my attentive guide.

Reaching Kasane Airport, I checked my app for departure details – boarding time, flight number and so on – but as I was peering at my glowing screen, my guide announced that he had weighed and checked my bags, and I would now be escorted to a private lounge to await departure. Waving a fond farewell to this good friend I had made in the space of two short hours, I made my way airside to board the 14-seater ‘caravan’ airplane that would take me over and into the Okavango Delta.

Barely a moment transpires on a bespoke safari when you don’t feel utterly cared for. Stepping onto the dirt runway of Vumbura airstrip, I was escorted to the helicopter landing zone and informed that I could wash up and relieve myself behind a nearby bush. I private patch of dirt or porta-potty were the most I was expecting, but as I rounded the thicket, my jar dropped. Plush, pristine timber facilities with flushing porcelain toilets, mirrors, glistening white basins, organic hand wash and moisturiser greeted me… in the middle of nowhere in the African bush. They even had cotton hand towels neatly rolled in a small basket next to the sink and not a single used one in sight. I have never, ever been more impressed by a toilet in my entire life!

As the thrum of a helicopter approached, my attendant took my bag and led the way to the landing pad, where I would board and be whisked away to Karangoma, the first bush camp of my adventure. Needless to say, the flight was breathtaking, but I digress.

And so it would continue. I would be transferred from one pair of attentive hands to another like some precious cargo, not a bead of sweat raising on my brow to wonder how point B would be reached from point A. So too with my lodgings. Laundry was deposited in a basket to miraculously appear the following morning, fresh, pressed and folded; a gentle rap at the door would wake me from my slumber at an appointed hour to usher me to breakfast and the morning’s game drive; every meal had unwanted ingredients eliminated without my slightest reminder; and I was graciously informed of my transfer arrangements, all executed without my slightest input.

In fact, such was the seamlessness of my itinerary that it was as if I was magically teleported from one location to another, transit time more a wonderful scenic experience than an arduous journey.
But time is the one thing that none can control, and soon my adventure would come to an end; though not the superior service and attention to detail of my colleagues.

At Botswana’s Maun Airport, I was assisted through check-in and boarded the plane with plenty of time to spare and not the slightest concern rising in my mind, my app pinging comfortingly in my pocket to inform me of upcoming flight details and departure times. However, at Johannesburg, my journey would hit a hurdle. Changing from one airline service to another, and with no continuing transit partnership between the companies, I would be required to collect my baggage on arrival and check in again for my new flight. While this would generally be avoided for clients, we lowly workers must make do with such circumstances.

Though by now I’m sure this comes as little surprise to you, dear reader, I was alarmed when a man brandishing my name on a board approached me: my chaperone in transit. I was escorted to the carousel to collect my bag, which was then carried for me by my new best friend. He took me to the gate, through security, through passport control and onward, all fast-tracked, skipping the usual inordinate queues that afflict the airport bottlenecks.

I settled in for the long flight, with only one thought in my mind: when I finally collected my car that had patiently waited for me at Brisbane airport, who was going to drive me home?! I could get used to this pampered life…

Turns out, the moment I was out of the attentive care of my work fellows, the wheels would fall off. A flat car battery, a two-and-a-half-hour wait for assistance and a very weary drive home came as a stark reminder that my holiday – and all the pampering and service that came with it – was well and truly over.

As I began this recounting, a safari can present a daunting prospect – in its planning, its execution and its undertaking. Multiple destinations, numerous transfers and a convoluted journey through remote areas – these are enough to induce anxiety. But while I am bound to say this or risk my employ at The Classic Safari Company, not a single moment of my incredible Zimbabwe and Botswana adventure transpired that was not expertly planned and perfectly arranged without my slightest concern.

At The Classic Safari Company, you are always in good hands, every step of the way.

With huge thanks to the staff at Wild Expeditions, Karangoma Camp, Beagle Expeditions & Moela.

See you out there.

Thomas

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