After the excitement of camels, pyramids, and hustles, I opted for dinner at a restaurant I could trust, McDonald’s. The McArabia is two small kofta (meat) patties in a pita bread with a bit of salad and some type of sauce. I collected my things at the Berlin Hotel and awaited my pick-up from the travel office. Instead of a car, the kid was on foot, but as long as he was the one paying for the taxi to the train station, I was fine with it. Once at the station, I sat and tried a Turkish coffee, which was quite strong. I hinted to the kid that he could let me go at this point, but he complimented me and offered to see me to my train seat. I appreciated his friendliness, but at the same time tried to dissuade him from the horrible habit of chain smoking.

I asked a few questions from time to time but it was otherwise awkward. I would have preferred to have been reading my new book, Paul Theroux’s “Dark Star Safari” about the author’s independent, overland trip from Cairo to Cape Town (at age 60). When the train arrived, and I boarded, with the help of the kid given the information is in Arabic, I didn’t know what to expect of a 1st class seat in Egypt. The berth was a 6-seat, private compartment. It soon filled up with two backpackers each from Japan and Singapore, and an older Egyptian man who clearly would have preferred a different berth. The seats did not recline, so after some conversation, we propped our feet up on the backpacks and did our best to nod off as the train rambled its way south, parallel to the Nile River I would soon continue further up by cruise ship.

The morning greeted us with our first views of the Nile River Valley. Greenery around canals stood in stark contrast to the tan mountains and nearby deserts. Unfortunately, the train was running three hours late, so our sightseeing in Luxor was about to be crammed into a single afternoon.

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I slept surprisingly well considering my butt almost hit the floor when I laid down on the bed in my little, high-ceilinged hotel room. Along with the free breakfast of egg, breads and tea, came a phone call from the Manager. When I told him I intended to check out after only one night, a series of questions lead me to reveal my travel plans booked the day before. I didn’t know much, but I knew I was leaving on an overnight train to Luxor for a 3-night cruise on the Nile, ending in Aswan. He then proceeded to explain how much more I probably paid by booking in Cairo rather than Luxor, or through him. I appreciated his advice, though it was a day late to save me any money. He then proceeded to warn me about all the tricks involved in the Pyramids tour which I was about to embark.

I was excited to see the Great Pyramids, the last of the original 7 wonders of the world, and Egypt’s ace in the hole for tourism. I walked over to the travel office where I was met by my driver for the day. We headed to Giza, where the guide (marketed as an Egyptologist), would be picked up. It was the first time I’d ever waited for a guide on the side of a highway, but at least I had my first hazy view of the Pyramids over the distant horizon. Thankfully, the guide was a young Egyptian who spoke good English.

Our next stop was an office which sold camel and horse rides to the Pyramids. I expected to be brought to such a place where I would get ripped off to ensure the tour company earned commission from my overinflated price. Since the wake-up conversation with the hotel manager, I had adopted a defensive mindset. There was still ample time and opportunities to ensure the travel agency didn’t get any more of my money. The camel guy put on his happy-go-lucky sales face, made a dumb joke while I was declining sugar with my tea, and made his pitch. I opted for the long tour, but scoffed at the price (somewhere around $80 for about 2 hours). I got dramatic, consulting my guide book by slowly flipping through the pages. I had learned in Asia the power of delay on my part. Time was on my side, there were plenty of people from which I could hire a camel at a lower price, and we both knew it. Eventually, we agreed on about $40, even though the salesman was still holding out for $5 more while we were shaking hands.

Another surprise in the experience was the need for a local guide to take me to the Pyramids, rather than the man I thought was my guide for the day. He gave me some basic information while I was awaiting the camel, but I would’ve had to pay for his horse too, if he was to join us, so I declined. The local guide didn’t speak English nearly as well, but he managed me and the camel well. Besides, as I was about to find, the Great Pyramids are stunning on their own.

Once atop my trusty camel, the guide lead it by the reins and we walked slowly through the back alleys filled with stables. Some of the horses had sores on their backs from saddles, and looked thin and sad. Once we passed through a ticket checkpoint, we hit the sandy desert and the camel ride became a more pleasant experience. We slowly made our way up and over a hill to view the Great Pyramids. Along the way, the guide was patient in allowing me to stop whenever I wanted. He also took great photos, and knew all the silly poses to suggest, making good use of the various perspectives.

I forgot about all the negotiating, and potential overpayments I had made to get to that point, and simply enjoyed the view. Polluted Cairo felt a long ways off, even though it was visible the whole time. I had the opportunity to run up and touch the middle Pyramid, and my guide took me into the tomb of one of the laborers, which was suppose to be “top secret” experience.

We then made our way over to The Sphinx which was much smaller than I expected. Everyone was taking photos pretending to kiss it, but I opted for a standard pose, though I think the gentleman watching me (and possibly waiting his own turn) makes it funny.

On the way back to the camel office, my guide picked up some food from a street stall, and offered me a snack which I gladly accepted. I thoroughly enjoyed the bean-filled pita. At the office, the manager clearly wasn’t happy my tour lasted 2.5 hours, even though he had said timing wouldn’t matter as I had paid for the “long” tour. I still overpaid, but the extra half hour meant it was within reason.

My guide for the whole day, and driver, then wanted to take me to perfume, alabaster, and papyrus shops but I declined all three, and decided to skip the $10 buffet lunch at a restaurant of their choosing as well. I wanted more street food, but the guide said he avoided it due to stomach problems. Yeah right!  They clearly weren’t happy with my minimalist approach to the tour.

So we motored toward the Saqquara Pyramids, which until the past few months, were thought to be the oldest in existence.  Once there, my guide walked in with me and gave a short talk about the complex, thus earning his keep for the day. I walked around them but they weren’t as impressive as the Great Pyramids.  I decided to skip the ruins of Memphis, which both the guide and my guidebook described in an unexciting manner.

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Egypt Air flight 840 set down at Cairo’s airport just before dawn. I managed a few hours of sleep, despite the nudging left elbow of the tall man to my right. I was near the front of the immigration line which did little good once it was my turn as I failed to buy the $15 Visa at the little bank kiosk. Thirty minutes later, I picked up my bag, withdrew my first Egyptian Pounds, and took a taxi to the Rough Guide-listed Berlin Hotel in central Cairo.

The streets were empty at 6:30am. It was colder than I expected. About 55 degrees Fahrenheit. My driver was weaving through the little traffic on the roads at high speeds. There was a smoggy haze over the city. The profile of satellite dishes topped off the low rise buildings. My driver walked up to the 4^th floor hotel with me so I could make sure a room was available. Once the owner was contacted, I confirmed a room, though it would not be ready until 12pm. I left my bag behind reception and headed west for my first view of the Nile River.

I felt free to walk like a clueless tourist again after being a few shades shy of paranoid in South Africa. Walking through the quiet streets at dawn, I felt echoes of my experiences in India and Hong Kong. When I reached the Nile, the sun was further up in the sky, though it wasn’t much warmer. It was a dreary first impression. Choking on the fumes from cars and buses, I was doubly taken aback when leaning over a railing, I caught whiff of the garbage lining the river’s edge.

Walking back from the riverfront, I bought a ticket for the Egyptian Antiquities Museum and queued up. In the courtyard, there were tourist groups galore, reminiscent of The Royal Palace in Bangkok. The fashion sense of some of the women was out of this world. I’m attributing them to eastern Europe or Russia. Once the gates opened, I again had to go through a line twice, this time because I forgot to check my camera at the main gate. Inside, it was overwhelming. I visited King Tut’s coffin and treasures, meandered through the main corridors, and skipped the $20-extra mummy room in favor of the mummified animals (at no extra cost). I was keenly aware of all the tourist groups – I’ve never seen so many in a museum. Guides were speaking all sorts of languages, yet I knew if I was on a tour, 99% of the info would go in one ear and out the other so I let curiosity be my guide. My curiosity was satisfied after a little over an hour.

Returning to the hotel, I used their dial-up internet access, and finally got a key. There was an old-world charm to my room, the hotel, and the whole building. Its mustiness reminded me of places I stayed in India. My bed was a basic cot but I’ve slept on worse. The good thing about my short stay in Egypt is the discomforts of a cheap room are more bearable (though $15 per night is not cheap in my book).

After a nap, I bit the bullet and booked a 3-night Nile cruise, including 1^st class night train to Luxor, extra night in Aswan, and return night train, through what I hope was a reputable Egyptian travel agency I happened across on the street. After the details were wrapped up, one of the guys walked me to a nearby restaurant where I devoured falafel and a tasty chicken shawarma sandwich. I continued to walk around the streets which were much busier now that the sun had set. I took a small table at a sidewalk cafe and ordered mango juice and a sheesha (waterpipe) with apple-flavored tobacco. I considered the experience to be a social one, but like me, there were many guys huffing and puffing alone. I smoked and smoked because it didn’t seem harsh like cigarettes. I then proceeded to cough up my left lung for the remainder of the night.

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Thanks to everyone who voted in my poll about where I should go in South America as it’ll be my last opportunity to spend a few weeks in a foreign country for a long time!

Brazil edged out Peru with 40% of the votes, and while I had my heart set on the beaches of Rio too, I couldn’t ignore the higher cost of airfare from Europe, the higher cost of living there, and the massive size of the place.

Instead, I booked a flight with Iberia from Madrid to Bogota!

Yes, Colombia is the dark horse garnering only 3% of the votes, but perhaps that is all the more reason for me to go explore the country most people are still too afraid to consider.  The truth is I want to visit a country yet to hit the global tourism scene.

And to recap a few other trouble spots from 2008:  I had my pocket picked in Bali, was about to visit Tibet when riots broke out in China, trekked in Nepal when Maoists won free elections, was present in India during bombings, enjoyed Thailand as government protests gained energy, and was almost robbed in Cape Town.

But first, I have to catch you up on a whirlwind tour of Egypt and my attempt to couchsurf through pricey Europe.

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Highlights -

• meeting up with Warren at the airport
• wine tasting tour
• Cape of Good Hope/Cape Point tour
• District Six Museum and visiting the townships
• Visiting Robben Island
• couchsurfing with Hannes for 3 nights
• couchsurfing with Christal for 5 nights
• climbing Lion’s Head at sunrise and walking around atop Table Mountain
• people watching at cafes
• lunch in Camp’s Bay
• whale watching in Hermanus
• cage diving with Great White sharks in Gansbaii
• riding an ostrich in Outdshorn
• petting cheetahs
• Rasta homestay with Brother Paul in Knysna
• horseback riding in Storms River
• sandboarding, partying, and shopping in Jeffrey’s Bay
• Addo Elephant National Park safari
• wineball and hanging out at Buccaneers hostel in Chiantsa
• Xhosa village tour at Bulungula
• dinner and dancing at a Xhosa village in Coffee Bay
• hiking to rock art in the southern Drankensberg Mountains
• riding in a Land Rover up the Sani Pass, hiking and exploring the Kingdom of Lesotho (including a beer at the highest pub in Africa)
• 5-day safari to Kruger Park (seeing all the animals, especially the lions, and buffalo during the game walk)
• staying at Bob’s Bunkhouse
• touring Soweto township near Johannesburg
• Apartheid Museum
• eating a smiley (sheep’s head) to complete a dare
• 7-day camping trip to Botswana’s Okavango Delta (mokoro rides, seeing lots of elephants, hanging out with Dion (guide), and getting to know Ingrid, Richard, and Peter)
• Johannesburg city tour

Lowlights -

• being forced to buy an onward ticket upon arrival at the Cape Town airport in order to enter the country.
• almost having my pocket picked while waiting for a bus on the sidewalk in Cape Town
• not seeing a leopard in Kruger Park (to complete the Big 5 sightings!)
• my first night camping in the Delta - little sleep, cold and wet

Eating -

South African wines, capuccinos, kudu, eland, ostrich (eggs and meat), malva pudding, bobotie, smiley (sheep’s head), pap, sausage, Jungle (granola) bars, braii (BBQ) foods, avocados, salads w/chicken.

# of Days Couchsurfing -

8

Average Cost Per Day -

$77

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I used my last few days in South Africa to tie up loose ends and explore a little of Johannesburg, the city which inspired plenty of fear in me and most people who pass through it. I organized a custom tour with the same guide who took me around Soweto. We visited Constitution Hall, the site of an old prison which held the likes of Nelson Mandela and Ghandi, and currently features the country’s constitutional court (akin to The Supreme Court in the United States).

I wanted to enjoy a great meal as well, so we went to Gramadoelas in the theater district. It has played host to many notable people, including Bill and Hillary Clinton! When the guide first asked the host if there were any tables available, he said no, however we managed a table outside without any sense of being rushed the whole meal. In fact, we were the first to hit the buffet which was a beautiful sight inside the restaurant. At $19, it was costly, but worth it.

In particular, I enjoyed the tandoori chicken, bobotie (traditional Cape Malay dish of mince meat topped with fried egg), potato salad, chocolate mousse cake, and malva pudding (traditional Capetonian dessert). The ox tripe was about as awful as it sounds (but hey, I tried!). Samp (beans and corn), reportedly Mandela’s favorite, was also not my style either.

After lunch, we visited the top of Africa’s highest building at the Carlton Center. Peering up at it, I had trouble believing a 50-story building was the tallest on the continent, but maybe I’d lost sight of how much more developed South Africa is compared with any other country in Africa. The 360-degree views of the metropolitan area were worth the dollar or two admission, though hills obscured Soweto.

I finished the day with souvenir shopping at the Broma Crafts market a few blocks from Bob’s Bunkhouse. There were masks from all over Africa, but some of the ones which looked cool in the shop would probably be an eyesore at home. I opted for a small, black mask with inlayed beadwork from Ghana.

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The drive back to Elephant Sands was over familiar territory, and went fairly quickly.  On the way back, I saw a giraffe along the road, and we saw several elephants up close.  A few even crossed the highway in front of us.  Dion stopped the van, and we watched as a giant elephant tried to gingerly step over a relatively low barbed wire fence.  Apparently its legs weren’t long enough as it gave up and wandered away. 

We set up camp in the same spot as before, and relaxed.  I was a fan of the outdoor showers, which allowed me to wash up as a bunch of Botswana school kids played volleyball nearby at sunset.  Dion told us we had the option of a $20 game drive, though it turned out the guy who would’ve lead it wasn’t going to be back to the lodge in time.  Instead, Dion took us on a gonzo game drive in the company van.  He recruited another overland guide he knew to help push us out of any sandy situations.

The mission was to scope out a watering hole in an area often used by hunters.  The entire region was a hunting concession, privately owned, though by anyone’s account, wilderness.  Once we turned off the highway and down a sandy “road,” we came across our first elephant within the first minute or two, happily splashing himself with mud to keep cool.  Clearly displeased by the interruption, he trundled away. 

Dion continued to navigate the difficult terrain in our van, and we continued to encounter and scare away tons of elephants, until we reached the watering hole where the road ended.  It was sometime around this point that he mentioned the illegality of his gonzo game drive.  We returned to the highway, with barely an elephant siting after having driven them away.

In the evening, four new arrivals joined us for dinner.  They would accompany Ingrid, Richard, and Peter for the remainder of the trip, while I faced a 12-hour drive back to Johannesburg in the morning.  I felt a bit bummed to be leaving the trip while the others still had adventures ahead of them, but I reminded myself about visiting Egypt in a matter of days.

A few minutes after retiring to my tent for the night, I heard some sloshing around.  I knew it was an elephant, and thinking it was down by the watering hole, I got out and walked toward the patio.  To my left, just a few meters away, was a big elephant shaking its head by the pool.  Wow!  I was a bit dumbfounded at my proximity to it, and stepped over to the patio quickly to be next to the people who had been watching it for the last ten minutes. 

I then went back to the tents to alert Richard and Ingrid in case they were interested.  Both came out to get a look but the elephant had already wandered back into the brush.  A few minutes later, it started interacting with another elephant by the watering hole.  The sound of their tusks rubbing against each other was audible, and head to head, they slowly moved farther away and eventually out of sight.  It was a great way to end my trip into the wilds of Botswana.

Gideon, the Livingstone Trails driver, and I hit the road at 5:30am the next morning, before the rest of the group were awake.  We were back to Bob’s Bunkhouse in 12 hours, including stops for gas, food, toilet, the border, and a Lianie May CD I wanted to buy.  Dion played a few of her songs over and over again until it drove everyone nuts, but one song in particular was worthy of the purchase.  It was in Afrikaans so we didn’t know what she was saying, except Peter if he concentrated (Afrikaans being a derivative of Dutch).

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On our final morning in the Okavango Delta, we set off on a two hour game walk around the same island we walked across the first night. This time, we saw our one and only hippo of the trip. It was alone, and staying well hidden in the water. It should’ve been exciting but it wasn’t.

Back at camp, we ate breakfast, packed our gear in the mokoros, and set off in the same arrangement we used to enter the Delta. I resisted any urge to take photos. Instead, I leaned back (they created seats from our sleeping mats) and enjoyed the peaceful nature intrinsic to riding through the water in a mokoro. Drifting silently through the reeds, the occasional bird taking flight from around us, and the occasional spider web to duck, I knew it was just the sort of escapism I would desire after a few months back in the working world.

I gave the lead guide our collective tip for a job well done, and we said goodbye to them all as their family members came from the village to greet their return. Meanwhile, our truck puttered back toward the Delta Rain campsite and my attention turned to the odds I would be able to fly over such a wonderful landscape – the world’s largest inland delta. I had already broached the topic with Carmelita, offering to split the cost of a plane 50-50. She wanted to wait until we were back in Maun to decide.

Once the truck dropped us of at Delta Rain, Richard and I set up our tents while Peter and Ingrid accompanied Dion to town so they could use the internet. While they were gone, I confirmed Carmelita’s support, set up a flight through the campground’s office, and paid a King’s ransom for the privilege of a scenic flight.

I rejoined Richard at the bug-filled pool for a beer. He had been plucking the unique, but dead, buggers out and arranging them in a little showcase.

Dion recruited Peter to keep him company at a bar across from the airport while Carmelita and I took to the skies with Chris, a young bush pilot, in a 5-seater Cessna. We walked up to the plane on the tarmac and it was even smaller than I expected. I asked for the front seat, and Carmelita in her good nature (or perhaps sleepiness), obliged.

We taxied to the top of the runway and took off for 45 minutes of animal-hunting from above. The adrenaline rush during take off was the missing ingredient in my Botswana trip. The flight deck (as they say in “Top Gun”) was 300-feet, and Chris’ response to my concern about the dark and foreboding storm clouds (and lightning) in the vicinity was the simple response that we’d go around it.

Three minutes into the flight and we were flying over the river channel we used to reach camp in the mokoros. There were some bumps from turbulence, though I got accustomed to it quickly.

A few minutes later, we started spotting animals – buffalo and warthog, elephant, giraffe, antelope, my first wild hippo out of the water. We saw large families of elephant moving together. Seeing such big animals seem so small in comparison to the surrounding landscape was fantastic. They were difficult to photograph as we passed them quickly.

At one point, I turned around to find Carmelita snoozing. It occurred to me that she was on the flight more for my benefit then her own, though it didn’t matter at the end of the day. We both enjoyed the seeing the bigger perspective.

I was satisfied with my Botswana trip after the flight.

We ate dinner and played a card game (Black Jack) Richard had taught us previously. Aside from us, the rest of the bar seemed to be populated with the eccentric tour guides from various overland companies, enjoying themselves while their customers ere camping in the Delta. Ingrid liked to comment “they all look the same” which was an observation I made too. Common characteristics included big bellies and custom made t-shirts bearing the overland route they were guiding.

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Dion was all too happy to wake us up at 4:30am for the long, four hour game walk at sunrise, even though the guides had said we would not leave camp until 5:30am. I’m sure they had their reasons, roving hippos being tops on my list. We spent ten minutes in the mokoros to reach a big, new island. Hopefully, it would be filled with animals.

The birds were out in force, delighting Carmelita. I had already gained a new appreciation for them, and was looking out for the beautifully colored national bird of Botswana. It wasn’t to be found, but we did spot a small group of wildebeests which we observed in a clearing for a bit. They preferred to graze in open fields so as to spot predators more easily.

Long periods of silence would occur as we walked eagerly in search of more exciting wildlife. Lion prints were found twice, suspected to be from the previous night. The others were clearly hoping for more action, though I found the knowledge gained by a paw print to be enough to keep me interested. Other highlights included Stenbock (think Bambi), zebra prints, 3-day old giraffe poo, an elephant skull, and a hippo skull on our way back to the boats (and probably propped up by the trail in case the tourists don’t see the living ones on their walks. “Where were the animals?” was the refrain of the day, and entire trip to the Okavango Delta.

Back at camp, Dion would ask about the animals we saw, and in response to our pawltry reports, encourage the group that lions and crocodiles would about in Chobe Park. I was able to appreciate the beauty of the Delta minus the animals, though they would’ve made it more exciting. I was also glad I’d already been to Kruger Park and seen lions up close. Four hours is a long time to be walking and it made me appreciate the game drives in South Africa.

The afternoon was spent in the shade of camp. I enjoyed it as much as the walks. I took my mp3 player out and sat near Broc, who almost immediately wanted to share my headphones. I played some Bob Marley which he knew, and other stuff like Ben Harper, RHCP, and Bedouin Soundclash. It made for quality bonding time. Ingrid was reading nearby, and Carmelita was bird watching. Actually, we all enjoyed some birding as several colorful species frequented the fig tree in camp. Specifically, a bluish-chested parrot and a green pigeon-sized bird. Peter slept the whole time, while Richard read Bob Dylan’s “Chronicles” in the sun.

Richard and I went swimming for a bit, and tried to be mokoro polers.

Later, Peter bet Richard a few beers if he could start a fire with two sticks. Ten minutes later, to everyone’s amazement, a flame developed, and Richard received accolades from us all.

Our second evening in the Delta featured a sunset mokoro ride. The guides were up front in setting our expectations – the hippos were not in the lagoon near our island, so we were going out for the scenery and the sound of frogs. If four hours makes for a long game walk, than two hours makes for a time to be sitting motionless in a mokoro getting whacked in the face with reeds. The sunset over the lagoon was worth the effort.

Back at camp, Dion had prepared beef stroganoff, and a bigger fire was built than the night before. Peter spotted a baboon spider running wildly around the area where we were seated. We followed it around with lights for the ten seconds the poisonous arachnid was visible. I slept much better the second night, my t-shirt and sleeping bag having dried quickly in the day’s heat.

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Between Kruger Park and my first few mornings in Botswana, I was getting use to the early wake-up calls. The birds were often noisy enough to do the trick. After breaking down the tents, we stuffed our daypacks with the limited personal possessions we wanted to take into the Delta, as the rest would remain in the locked van at the Maun campground. Breakfast was cold and bland – corn flakes with milk.

We shared a large, old, open-air Mercedes truck with a group of Belgians touring southern Africa. The prior afternoon, they had descended upon the the little barside pool in mass, playing a game where they tried to keep a volleyball aloft. There was no attempt to socialize between our two groups. Clearly, and to my surprise, everyone was more comfortable with the familiar personalities within their own tribe.

All the food and gear was stowed underneath the two rows of benches, and we drove one and a half hours to the traditional mokoros (dugout canoes) at the eastern edge of the Delta. Along the way, village kids waved, as did some adults. It made me feel welcomed in their country. As Dion warned us, there was a bit of confusion between the unloading of the truck, and loading of the mokoros, but it didn’t last long, and soon I had a front seat for our foray into Botswana’s main attraction. Ingrid was relaxing behind me, while Peter and Richard, along with their gear, were almost heavy enough to sink their vessel.

All of the mokoros were packed and low in the water, but as long as you didn’t move, it was manageable. We set off in a single file line through the various channels, with barely a sound when no one was speaking. Every once and awhile, the buzz of a scenic flight, or someone headed to the more expensive camps deeper in the Delta, could be heard. The sun was intense by mid-morning.

Our campsite was located on a small island, about a kilometer from another campsite on a bigger island which was used by the Belgians that night. The mokoros were unloaded, and since there were only four tents, I shared one with Ingrid while the rest got their own. Dion pointed in one direction and told us not to go there, as it was the direction of a lagoon frequented by hippos. Otherwise, the local Delta guides’ rule was we were not to walk out of sight of the camp, which meant no more than 20 meters in any direction.

Due to the mid-day heat, our game walks were scheduled for the early morning and late afternoon, meaning we had the afternoon to kill around camp. It was too stuffy to sleep in the tent, so some were lying on their mats outside. I was too excited to lay still, and sat around with our guide and a female poler (as the mokoros are pushed along by a wooden pole, so named are the people guiding them), tasting the Delta water which was surprisingly clean and clear, and the Sycamore figs which fell to the ground (aided by hungry birds).

At 5pm, we boarded the mokoros for the quick ride to the larger island nearby. The sunset game walk was lead by a local, Broc, who lived in the village we passed at the edge of the Delta. He was in training, so there was another guide he consulted from time to time who otherwise remained quiet. Botswana is committed to preserving its wildlife, so shooting animals is against the law, and thus the guides do not carry guns. In the preceding days and weeks, the idea of walking around unarmed seemed ludicrous, however once we set off, I felt fairly safe. I already knew how unlikely it would be to see a lion before it saw us (and trotted away), or for a hippo to leave the water before it was dark.

At any rate, the scenery was beautiful. Carmelita was captivated by all the birds, the names of which our guides were easily able to provide from a distance. We saw hippo prints and dung from a prior night, though no hippos in the large pool we passed. Clouds were gathering before we had left camp, and despite the 99% likelihood of rain, I didn’t bring my new rain jacket on the walk. I paid the price when it started to pour 30 minutes from the boats. Wet and cold, we returned to camp where I devoured the lasagna-type dish Dion had cooked up in our absence. I was the only one to take his advice literally, bringing only one shirt, as even he had brought his full kit. Trying to dry myself around the fire, he took pity on me and offered one of his well-worn t-shirts with enough room for me to grow my belly to twice its size.

The rain had let up for dinner, but soon started again so Peter, Richard, Ingrid and I all gathered in my tent to play some cards. Carmelita, as you might imagine, kept to herself much of the time. Crowded in the tent, I realized an hour too late that either condensation or a leak had resulted in a big area of my sleeping bag getting soaked. When it came time for bed, I was cold, wet, uncomfortable, and bothered by my stomach. Eventually, I bit the bullet and donned my jacket, braved the rain and potential encounters with hippos and cobras, and used the non-designated facilities (a patch of leaves a few meters from the tents versus a hole farther in the direction of the perilous lagoon). At night, using just a headlamp, you don’t have to walk more than a few meters from camp to feel a though you’re in the middle of nowhere.

I kept my jacket on when I returned to the tent. I had resolved one problem but being damp, cold, and uncomfortable was unavoidable. I hoped a little music would calm my nerves, and four tunes by the Red Hot Chili Peppers later, I managed a few hours of sleep.

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