2 Game Drive (6 page)

Jay’s attention was elsewhere. “Well, the penguins are odd birds, for sure, but the oddest bird of all just climbed back over the fence. Here he comes
. He’s headed back toward the bus. Maybe that means he won’t keep us all waiting this time.”

“Well, he better not keep us waiting again today, or Connie’s going to be on him like white on rice.”

Jay laughed at that as we left the boardwalk, “Come on, Scarlett, let’s go. You’ve got enough penguin shots. I want to check out the penguin gift shop. I might find something else to add to my collection.”

“T
his is just a little ol’ bitty baby airport,” said Connie the following afternoon, as our small plane landed and we taxied into Hoedspruit.

She was right. The terminal was tiny, a group of small buildings, some of them open-air. It was not anything like the kind of normal, security-strict giant airport that we all knew so well.

We deplaned, passed by the souvenir shops, identified our bags for the safari lodge staff, and headed for the exit.

The driveway outside the toy terminal was crowded with
safari jeeps, vans, and trucks. David and a representative from our game lodge directed us to a group of Land Rovers parked under the thin shade of a thorn tree.

“Oh my goodness, look at th
ose enormous safari cars, Tilda! Isn’t this exciting!”

“Heavens, yes, Wendy! It’s quite wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Group up, group up, keep moving, walk, walk, walk,” George said in a low voice, and Rich, Chris, Fernando, Connie, Jay, and I moved quickly through the crowd to the line of waiting Land Rovers.

These were not your typical soccer-mom-with-a-lot-of-cash Land Rovers. These vehicles were big, hulking, and rugged. They were built to take a lot of abuse over rough terrain and resembled army vehicles. I wondered if they were also built to withstand
animal attacks. I didn’t want to find out.

Burly drivers with the Leopard Dance Lodge logo on their shirts took our hand luggage before helping us climb up into the dark green, open-air Land Rovers.

The lodge logo was a snarling leopard lying on the branch of a stylized tree that formed the words “Leopard Dance.” It was painted on the doors of all the lodge’s vehicles. Our luggage was loaded into a big open truck and covered with a tarp.

Yet again, everyone had to wait on Dennis, who finally emerged from the men’s room. He was trying unsuccessfully to yuck it up with a clearly annoyed driver who had been sent to find him. What was with this guy?

Dennis climbed into the Land Rover behind us, taking the only empty seat, which happened to be next to dreadful old Mabel. She jammed her safari hat down on her stick-straight red hair and pulled the cord tight under her chin. She began spraying insect repellent on her bony arms while staring with disdain at the peddlers who milled about the parked vehicles, hawking their wares. Mabel glared at the brightly clad women and children as if she would like to spray them, too.

“I think Dennis has found a buddy,” said Connie.

“Yeah,” George said. “What a pair! Wouldn’t you just love to spray them both? Maybe some magic spray, so we could make them both disappear.”

Jay, seated next to me on the back row of the three-row, open-top vehicle, whispered in my ear. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Sidney, but our drivers are not exactly smiling staffers. They look pretty tough, like prison guards at Rikers.”

He was right. The men from the other lodges were all smiling, laughing, joking, and just generally chatting up their new guests and each other. Ours were all very muscular and mostly silent, speaking only when necessary, looking grim and all business. I felt a sudden chill, despite the heat. Who knew what this adventure would bring? It was supposedly perfectly safe, but then so is a cruise, and it would be hard to imagine a situation more dangerous than my last one. Not for the first time, I wondered whether danger was following me—if I was under some kind of big jinx. Maybe a voodoo spell. After all, this was Africa. What a bad thought that was. I forced my mind away from it, trying to rekindle the excitement of the safari.

The lead
jeep, with Wendy and Tilda bending David’s ear in the front seat, pulled away from the parking area and drove through the gate onto the main road.

Our driver, a giant black man named Vincent, followed.
Vincent carried a heavy, deadly-looking rifle in a special holster mounted on the jeep at his right side, available at a moment’s notice. The steel of the barrel was as blue-black and smooth as his skin and the similarity between man and gun did not end there. Both were powerful, silent and efficient. Vincent was a giant of a man, with broad shoulders straining the fabric of his safari tan shirt and a wide, flat face with small, alert eyes. Those eyes missed little. Even behind the dark aviator glasses, those eyes were always watching. A bill cap embroidered with the Leopard Dance logo was jammed down tight over close-cropped dark hair. He wore a knife on his belt, and I imagined that there might be a handgun hidden somewhere close by. Vincent was clearly accustomed to danger and seemed fully capable of handling it.

An equally imposing and muscular armed man named Anthony rode in the game spotter’s seat, which is mounted on the front left fender of the vehicle. Like Vincent, Anthony had a perennially wary air about him
. He clearly didn’t miss much, either, but his rounder face and chubby belly made him seem somewhat more accessible. He was dressed like Vincent, armed with a long knife in a scabbard on his belt, and he had a pair of powerful binoculars hanging from his burly neck. Before clambering into his seat he had stowed a machete next to Vincent. Neither was a man you would willingly antagonize.

Each safari vehicle has one driver and one game spotter. I was told that the driver does not usually change, but the spotter
sometimes does.

The other vehicles from our game lodge were behind us, with the luggage truck bringing up the rear, stirring up a thick cloud of dust. The drivers were careful not to follow too close. It was almost October—the end of winter and the beginning of the South African spring. Though the nights were cold, the days were delightful. That was a special treat for us, for in New York, winter was fast approaching. It was extremely dry, too. The rains had not yet begun.

Near the airport the land along the main paved road was fenced for the most part. Then, as we sped along the tarmac, the chain-link ended and the road was bordered instead with a dense scrub, thorn thickets, and leafless trees. The landscape was stark and dramatic. It was not a very pretty time of year, but great for a safari because the animals are easier to spot in the early spring before the leaves emerge on the vegetation to hide them.

Before long we turned off the paved road and bumped over a shallow ditch to the left, onto a dry, dirt track. The vehicles spread out even farther because of the increased dust.

Vincent was driving slowly, silently communicating with Anthony through looks and nods. Anthony’s head moved constantly from left to right, scanning the bush. In just a few minutes, the lead jeep was no longer in sight. When I turned to look behind us, the other vehicles seemed to have vanished as well.

We lurched across a shallow ditch, wheels spinning in the dry, sandy soil of the empty creek-bed. Then we turned left again, going deeper into the scrub, bumping over rocks. Branches scraped the sides of the vehicle. I grabbed at the side of the Rover, trying to brace myself.

“Please keep your hands inside the vehicle and mind your heads,” Vincent warned.

Everyone was chattering away, heads swiveling, watching for animals. Small wooden signposts at a crossroads in the track pointed the way to our lodge and also to other game camps. Because of the bumpy trail, Vincent drove at a crawl, pausing occasionally, sometimes almost stopping. Then, apparently in response to some silent signal from Anthony, he turned off the engine and we rolled to a stop.

Everyone abruptly stopped talking and the only sound you could hear was the ticking of the cooling engine and the lone cry of a bird.

“Just there,” Anthony said in a low voice, pointing to our right, “giraffe.”

“Oh, my goodness, y’all, look at that,” Connie whispered.

We sat staring, camera shutters clicking, as a pair of giraffes moved gracefully through the bush, pausing now and then to pluck leaves with their long, blue-black tongues from the tops of the acacia trees. Finally, majestically, they moved on, striding smoothly out of sight.

“Welcome to Africa,” Vincent said as he started the engine. He turned right at another crossroads, drove about a mile along a smaller track bordered by tall dry grass, and then passed under a large rustic sign carved with the snarling leopard logo. The heavy sign was supported by massive carved poles planted on either side of the road.

There appeared to be no gates, no fences. We were in a private game reserve, one of many clustered along the edges of Kruger National Park. Apparently the owners and staff of each lodge just knew where their property ended and another’s began, for no boundaries were apparent. To the visitor, except for the gateposts, it was impossible to tell. It all looked the same.

In our safari orientation David had explained to us that the western boundary of the Kruger National Park is lined by a crazy quilt of private reserves, most featuring lavish lodges, luxury tented camps or exclusive bush camps. He had shown pictures of some of the camps that were represented by his company.

He told us that a park boundary fence, built in the 1960s between Kruger and the private reserves, blocked the natural migration routes of the animals for many years. Later, by mutual agreement, the fence was removed and the animals now moved freely back and forth across the land. They could even
wander at will throughout our camp.

Driving faster now, headed to the lodge, Vincent pointed to the big thatched roof of a large house off to our right, just visible through the brush.

“Big boss house. The owner of Leopard Dance, Mr. van der Brugge.”

“That is one fabulous house,” Chase said. “It’s amazing. Check out that airstrip behind it! Will we meet Mr. van der Brugge?”

“Not today,” Vincent said.

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. He is a busy man. I do not know.”

We pulled up to the main lodge entrance, where the lead car with David and the others had stopped and was now unloading.

Just past the big boss’s grand house, the dusty one-lane track widened enough to allow two vehicles to pass. The thorny scrub gave way to a small meadow of tall brown grass. On the other side of it, men in Leopard Dance safari clothes and women in bright woven cotton skirts and headdresses lined up to welcome us on the steps of a tall, open-air pavilion.

The buildings were sturdy, built with thick, mud-colored walls, and roofed with strong, hand-hewn beams supporting heavy silver thatch.
The whole camp was stark yet impressive and fit well into the surrounding bush.

Climbing down from the vehicles, we were offered welcome drinks. A slender, smiling girl in native dress invited us to sit and relax in the open-air pavilion while we checked in and awaited the arrival of the entire group.

“This is great,” Rich said, sipping his drink and leaning back in a leather chair. He was watching an African Hornbill preen itself on the branch of a nearby tree, “Just as I pictured it. Fantastic.”

“
Karibu
, ladies and gentlemen,
karibu
! That is Swahili for welcome! May I have your attention, please?”

A tiny woman stood in the center of the room, also wearing a floor-length native dress of bright printed cotton. Her hair was wrapped in a turban of matching fabric, and bracelets encircled her slim brown arms. She stood, smiling, by the circular stone fire-pit, clapping her delicate little hands.

“Welcome to Leopard Dance, my friends. Welcome! We are happy that you have come to be our guests. My name is Rebecca, and if there is anything at all that you need while you are here, you must tell me right away. Life here is very simple, and very relaxing, you will see. Please listen now as I mention our little routines that we hope you will all enjoy.”

She handed each of us a printed brochure, which listed a schedule and descriptions of the safari camp’s facilities.

“Soon you will be shown to your rooms,” she continued, “and you may relax as you wish until the bell rings for the evening game drive. Each day we have two game drives, one in the morning, and one in the evening. This evening, the game drive will depart from this pavilion at six o’clock. When you return, drinks and dinner will be served in the main dining pavilion at approximately eight o’clock.”

“Do we have to go on the game drive?” Chase asked
. “Or can we just stay in the camp?”

Rich groaned.

“You may do as you wish,” said Rebecca, smiling. “It is your vacation.”

Chase smirked back at Rich and ordered another drink.

“In the morning,” Rebecca continued, “and each morning while you are here, you will be awakened by a tap on your door at first light. A guard will be there with your preference of tea or coffee. When you are ready, he will escort you back to this place to depart for the morning game drive. Please dress warmly. At this time of year it is still very cold in the mornings, but we will have blankets for you in the safari vehicles.”

Tilda and Wendy started whispering to each other, no doubt over what they would wear to keep warm. They took great pains to be properly outfitted at all times for any weather.

Mabel shushed them as Rebecca continued her speech. “After viewing the animals, you will be returned to camp for hot drinks and breakfast. During the day it will be warm. You may relax by the pool, visit our spa, and have lunch. In the late afternoon, we will have another game drive, then cocktails, followed by dinner. This is our routine.”