Safari to City

Jo and the kids complained and I thought I had perhaps booked too many safaris. Too much time bouncing in 4x4s getting lashed across the face by spiny desert trees. Too many elephants and zebras and impalas. But in the end when it was time to leave Moremi Crossing, it seemed too hurried. We said goodbye to Tiny, our gregarious manager who had been to Hyderabad, Sheraan, the nineteen year relief manager who was shy at first, Action, our tracker who can read the desert dirt like an open book, and Four Four who drove the the 4×4 with an unusual gentleness and said sorry every time he hit an unexpected bump. And we said our personal goodbyes quietly to the bush and all that we would miss. The daily rhythm of waking up early and going on drives. Spectacular African sunrises and sunsets. Elephants and hippos seemingly destroying the camp at night. The poor buffalo with the broken front leg who had escaped from the lions and the hyenas and still somehow was alive every morning on the bank of the river. The chance encounters with mongoose ripping the baby python to shreds by the lounge.

A pilot and small plane took us to Maun where we transferred to a larger schedule flight to Cape Town. And then an Uber to a jewel of an AirBnb halfway up Table Mountain. We walked down for dinner to a cozy Italian restaurant in the hip Kloof Street neighborhood and sat at a table in a building with stone walls and glass windows and complete strangers and suddenly the bush is a distant memory, a dream that is slipping away.

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