There were a lot of things that I loved about South Africa, and the lack of
jet lag was one of them. Usually after 11 hours on a plane you have a mouth
like a used commode and a body that doesn't know if it should be tucking
into Corn Flakes or climbing into bed with a cup of Horlicks and a Maeve
Binchey.
My travelling partner, Cleo Rocos, and I turned up in Cape Town surprisingly
bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, however. One of the hotels we stayed in, the
Mont Rochelle, sounded promising - it was slap bang in the middle of one of
the country's best vineyards.
The hotel was just outside Franschhoek, a twee, white-picket-fence town that
looked so eerily like Wisteria Lane that you half expected to bump into Bree
Van de Kamp delivering cookies. Thankfully, we found a bar, Reuben's, and
after several bottles of Boschendal, a local rosé, we found ourselves
stranded in the town, surrounded by pensioners.
We started hitch-hiking in vain. I know all the guidebooks say not to
hitch-hike in South Africa, but we had more chance of getting mown down by a
shopmobility scooter than getting shot.
After five minutes of desperate waving, a man pulled over and an English voice
shouted: “Alan, do you want a lift?” I don't know what emotion came first,
relief at getting a lift, or pride at being recognised 11 hours away from
home. South Africa was amazing, but all through the trip I was just aching
to get to the safari.
That has always been high on my “to do” list - up there with kayaking the
Amazon, but slightly below appearing in a West End musical. But my
excitement turned to anxiety as we pulled up at Shamwari Lodge, and the
large iron gates slid slowly open, reminding me of the Jurassic Park
tagline, “where the hunter becomes the hunted”.
Things didn't get any better when we arrived at the Eagles Crag lodge, and
were taken to our room by a ranger with a gun, “just in case an animal jumps
out and attacks you”. We really were in the thick of it here; in fact, the
lodge had been built on an old elephant route and elephants could often be
seen passing by, wondering what was going on.
Our lodge, though, was luxurious, blending effortlessly into the surrounding
valley. Inside were large comfy beds, a lovely deep bath, and a lavatory.
Yes, a lavatory - the thought of squatting next to a watering hole had
terrified me ever since we touched down.
Beyond the glass patio doors were a sundeck, dipping pool and, of course, lush
vegetation that (worryingly) could be home to anything from a crocodile to a
black mamba. We had already been warned about the monkeys and baboons that
come into the rooms, riffle through your mini-bar and take clothes and shoes
out of your luggage. Needless to say, the patio doors remained shut. I don't
mind monkeys stealing my clothes - it's just the thought that they might
look better in them than me.
The first of the two safaris was at 5am The four-wheel drive headed into the
darkness with a jolt, and with every roar and screech, I clutched my blanket
tighter. The park was huge, 61,000 acres (25,000ha), a great swath of land
that in England would have Tesco Extras everywhere. Driving through it was
not unlike driving through Wales, but don't let that put you off.
I learnt quickly that the key is patience. As soon as the sun set I was like
some deranged paparazzo clicking away at every rustle in the bushes and
every squawk up a tree. After an hour's frantic snapping, I noticed that all
the photos were of animals' arses disappearing into the undergrowth.
No, you have to wait, be calm and, lo and behold, the animals will appear.
Searching for clues is much of the fun, and after four outings I became an
expert on dung- its texture, freshness and size. A big fresh pile would mean
that an elephant was near, individual fresh lumps would be a rhino: I was
turning into a proper Daktari, I can tell you.
My eyes were becoming more vigilant by the hour, unlike Brenda, a
Northumberland woman who forgot to bring her glasses with her. At one point
she shouted: “Look, a giraffe!”, then took a photo of a telegraph pole.
However, it wasn't long before the genuine article appeared, along with a
black rhino, then a white rhino with its young, then an elephant. We were
lucky enough to see a cheetah striding menacingly towards its lunch in the
distance. For some reason, Brenda started making “puss, puss” noises. Why?
Why would we want a hungry cheetah coming towards us?
What I really wanted to see was a lion. I had been cautioned that, like me,
they were shy and elusive creatures. Nevertheless I crossed my fingers and
hoped that one would make a cameo appearance at some point. It was our final
safari so we stopped for sundowners. Our driver, Franz, pulled out a picnic
table and we surveyed the valley below, sipping our gins and tonic and
eating nibbles in the warmth of the setting sun.
Mid-sip, Franz caught our attention through his binoculars. He had spied
something on the plains below. Could it be? Yes, it was a lion. Oh, my God!
I quickly downed my drink and we all excitedly piled in to the four-wheel
drive and drove down into the valley to get a closer look.
When we pulled up, the lion was nowhere to be seen. Then, out of nowhere, it
charged from the bushes in pursuit of a warthog, which miraculously shook
off the attack. The lion stopped, exasperated, turned around, gave us a
dirty look, then disappeared.
We celebrated seeing the king of the jungle with Franz, comparing photos,
exchanging anecdotes, oblivious to the fact that the sky had turned black
and mist was beginning to envelop us. Then the thunder started. We had to
get back to the lodge and quick. I felt like Indiana Jones as we hurtled
through the park, torrential rain hitting our faces, and thunder and mist
closing in on us with every lightning strike. Visibility was poor, but I
didn't want to see any more animals. I didn't care if Franz had spotted
Nessie - just get us home. I was soaked.
On our return to Cape Town we stayed at Ellerman House, overlooking Clifton
Bay. I was exhausted and looking forward to just getting into bed without
the fear of finding a snake between the sheets or a monkey ransacking the
room. But then it dawned on me - I couldn't blame the empty mini-bar on a
baboon this time. Damn. Where's a monkey when you need one?
NEED TO KNOW
The Couture Travel Company (0845 6039815, www.couturetravelcompany.com)
offers a seven-night package, including flights, stays, private transfers
and game drives, from £1,985pp. Alan Carr's auto- biography, Look Who It Is!
(Harper Collins, £18.99), is published on October 1
Cape safaris
Mount Camdeboo, Western Cape
Stay in one of three restored homesteads, with open fires and full-length
pools looking across the veld to the Sneeuberg Mountains. From £90 with
Rainbow Tours (020-7226 1004, www.rainbowtours.co.uk)
Marataba, Limpopo
A luxury tented camp with suites overlooking the Limpopo River and the
Waterberg Mountains. Watch the sunset from a beanbag chair on the deck. From
£189 with Migration Safaris (01488 71140, www.migrationsafaris.com)
Singita Lodges, Sabi Sands
The five lodges include the contemporary Boulders Lodge, with walkways through
the bush, and the colonial-style Ebony Lodge, with secluded thatched suites,
each with private plunge pool. From £598 with Kirker Holidays (020-7593
2283, www.kirkerholidays.com )
Londolozi, Sabi Sands
The Tree Camp's six suites have contemplation decks, Ralph Lauren wallpaper
and private pools. From £565 with Abercrombie & Kent (0845 6182212, www.abercrombiekent.co.uk).
All prices per person, per night, including full board and activities.
Caroline Hendrie
I can't help wondering why he went on safari at Shamwari if he wanted to see lion.
Judith De Witt, London, UK