In the bush there’s not much to do, as it were, save eat, drink, sleep, and go off on game drives in search of wildlife. (Though to be honest, you could happily remain at camp and let the wildlife come to you, too) All of which conspires to make the entire enterprise intensely relaxing.Â As you fall into the rhythm of a life which revolves around the rising and setting of the sun, something happens on a cellular level:Â you let go. Sleep is more satisfying, appetites become borderline ravenous, and because you suddenly find yourself a few notches lower in the natural pecking order, you are humbled in a way you’d never imagined possible.
Nothing quite compares to your first sighting of an untamed animal oblivious to your presence.Â (Or if not exactly oblivious, completely unconcerned.) We were lucky this afternoon to come upon a herd of elephants feasting on the thorny Acacia shrubs that litter the plains of the Masai Mara. As the herd munched, they paid us absolutely no heed and we were able to come in close enough to see this baby nuzzle in to its mother.
On the Kenyan border with Tanzania, at the confluence of the Sand and Kebololet Rivers, I’m in the Masai Mara; a large game reserve in Southwestern Kenya named after the Masai people who have traditionally inhabited the area. It’s almost 600 square miles of wildlife sanctuary, so the game viewing – and the Great Migration, in particular – should be spectacular.