The Mara - as the locals fondly refer to it - was prematurely billed as the highlight of the holiday before we'd even so much as stepped foot on Kenyan soil. I'd wanted to visit the Mara since third year geography. Aged 13, I'd perch on the edge on my seat as Miss Gilbertson highlighted images of the landscapes, the animals and the Maasai tribes, planting the seed of desire in my head to one day see a wild elephant with my own eyes. Yet I cannot really recall the decision making process that led to us choosing Kenya as a holiday destination. We were all set for a two week city and safari tour of South Africa, extending the footsteps of our honeymoon, and all of a sudden I found myself at the travel agents handing over my hard earned bonus, desperate to secure flights to Nairobi. The spontaneous decision was by no means ill thought, but there was something almost rebellious and definitely unlike us in the decision to do it and actually doing it straight away, the only regrets were that, at the time of booking, we had 8 months to wait until departure and, due to work commitments, we could not coincide the visit with the Great Migration.
The wait was more than worth it. In terms of Kenya's national parks, the Mara is the biggest and shiniest jewel in the crown. An area covering 7.5% of the nation's land area, the Mara is world renown for its promise of untamed species of every shape and size. It is truly vast; every which way you look the horizon seemingly stretches on forever. It's the archetypical African landscape: the yellow earth meets the largest, bluest sky; wispy crisp white clouds are sparse, serving to filter the sun's rays into individual shafts of light penetrating the horizon, falling into the canopy of the occasionally dotted acacia trees in a picture perfect setting. Taking in the setting you more than often fail to notice the numerous elephants greeting you on the horizon as you enter the park and the scores of giraffes ambling across the sand. Even, without my descriptions, it's actually not difficult to imagine yourself there; just think about all the pictures you have ever seen of an African landscape and I can promise you the camera was not lying. However, I urge that the availability of these images and the endless BBC4 documentaries should never be taken as an excuse for complacency nor negate the need to go to Africa, because - to coin a phrase - to see is to believe.
The drive to the lodge re-introduced us to many species, but what I was truly bowled over by, was the amount of babies we saw. Baby everything: from lions; to wildebeests; to cheetahs, to wart hogs; to vultures; to ostriches; to elephants; to giraffes - I could go on. This is one element of the holiday I was not prepared for and nor did we purposely time. But the Mara was full of unexpected surprises.
Early afternoon saw our arrival at Keekorok Lodge; a cold flannel and a large cheesy jacket potato later, we were ready for a brief slumber in preparation for the afternoon's drive. However, the slumber was somewhat short-lived. Upon falling into bed and drawing the mosquito net we were awaken by frantic knocking at the door. As I slowly opened the door and peered around, the Italian guy from our bus barges into the room gesturing wildly to the window as he sped cross the tiled floor shouting "Heeeppo, Heeepo!" As he threw back our curtains and dragged us outside we saw a family of hippos on the horizon, who were - unusually - far from water. As we all stood on top of our 2 foot patio wall - the only boundary between us and the path of the great migration which ran straight through the lodge - more neighbours came to join us. A non verbal agreement was made that very moment to ensure that all fellow travellers are awoken, no matter how inconvenient, to ensure they never miss a thing. A favour I repaid some 30 minutes later when Ali - keeping a vigil on our balcony - spotted lions sunning themselves on a rock. I took this as my cue to leap onto the adjoining balcony communicating the only way I knew how without fluent Italian- making roaring noises and lion faces - to the Italian couple. All thoughts of safety and commonsense simultaneously left the group as we leapt over the patio walls to get a closer look. Meanwhile, I was desperately trying to scale my neighbour's wall, shouting for Alison and John, initially because of the lions but it ended up being a cry for help as I got entangled in the barbed wire protecting them from beasts and pesky, persistent neighbours alike. Regardless, my wild cries worked in keeping the monkeys at bay and awakening Alison who emerged to find me dangling from their patio wall gesturing towards the lions on the horizon. My good deed for the day was done.
As the 6 of us stood together, binoculars were passed back and forward but not a word was exchanged, as it rarely was. That was the great thing about our group - we were blessed that 6 strangers could be brought together to live in such close quarters for a week, and all have similar principles, ethics and thoughts. It was an unwritten and unvoiced agreement that when viewing animals and travelling on the safaris, nobody ever spoke other then to whisper to each other when pointing out animals. The entire experience was very comfortable and it gave us time to get to know each other on the daily drives between parks and over dinner.
The rest of the afternoon was spent on our patio watching the local primates playing with refuse from the lodge. A rummage through the bins produced a tomato tin which was swiftly cleaned by curious paws. This left a shiny, metallic surface within the tin which enabled the monkeys to consider that further playmates were hiding within. One monkey won the brawl to declare the tin his and he sat proud upon a discarded set of ladders, peering into the tin, communicating with the monkeys seemingly within. Somewhat confused, his little paws would swipe in and out of the tin to make contact - this failing time and time again; he decided the best course of action would be to place the tin on his head. An amusing half hour followed as other monkeys took this as their cue to bang upon the tin and steal it from his very head - actions intolerable to such a proud primate so close to a discovery. Hilarious squabbles followed that had Ali and I in stitches, trying not to laugh too loudly as to distract and deter the monkeys. There was no real victor, one play thing gave way to another and soon the monkeys discovered the joys of hanging from ladders, reclining on swinging wooden pendulum signs and causing havoc for the lodge chef who was trying to gather herbs and spices from the surrounding foliage. Time ran away and we had to tear ourselves away for the afternoon game drive - our first in the Mara.
What strikes you immediately about the Mara is the heat, it's on a par with Samburu, but is degrees above the other parks due to the sheer immensity of its barren landmass. It is also covered in flies - from every angle you are attacked, in the ears, eyes and mouth. You soon learn to don a hat, wear sunglasses regardless of the time of day and shut up; Et voila - problems solved.
As we leave the lodge and enter the sandy hills within the Mara - a surprise in themselves - we begin to spot dots on the horizon. Too numerous and small to be trees, raised eyebrows are exchanged, neither person in the vehicle daring to speculate what they may be for fear of assigning a lion to a mere bush. It's another hour before we found ourselves approaching the mass of dots, and I found myself asking the question I dared not hear the answer to - animals, so numerous and so widespread, covering every aspect of the horizon in their millions, it could be only one thing: the great migration! Could it be, some 50 days late? It was at that moment my dreams came true - John confirmed in his placid voice that it was indeed the great migration. The wildebeest had reached the Serengeti some one month hence and found it too dry, so they simply turned around and came back to the Mara. It was an ecological miracle as damaging as it was spectacular. As John went on to explain, the presence of these animals so late in October meant that they would remain until January/ February the following year, destroying the ecosystem and the Mara's embedded circle of life. It was a wonder to behold, for as far as my little eyes could see there were wildebeests of every shape and size, seemingly confused about the change in direction. The bulk heading right across the horizon, there were the occasional few who would persist in heading towards the Serengeti - seemingly not having picked up the voicemail that there had been a change of direction. Bashed repeatedly on the nose by their fellow travellers, the beests would be forced to follow the herd once again. In the midst of this marvel, it got me thinking - who was the first wildebeest to arrive in Tanzania and decide it was too dry - and how did he/ she avoid the rumour mill that is Chinese whispers when communicating to the following millions of beests that the plan had been changed.
If driving through them was not enough, we were fortunate enough to stumble across the herds of animals that travel within the wildebeest for protection, namely zebras. Three males were deeply involved in a show of pride, rising on their hind legs to fight any willing contender. Front legs slapping each other across the face and sharp teeth biting, we could hear the impact from the comfort of our vehicle. As the zebras ran away, in close pursuit of the leading male, they were swiftly replaced by a mother of two young cheetahs. Ambling slowly by the vehicle, it was Alison who spotted her - with a nervous voice asking for reassurance that cheetahs couldn't jump so high as to mount the bonnet and enter the vehicle. None of us had the heart to lie, and we daren't not let a breath pass our lips until the mother, stealthily regarding us, paraded past the bus into the depth of the migration. We were close enough to see the blood red paws and teeth of the young following closely behind their mother, still hungry after their recently consumed hours d'oeuvre, eager for the next course; a lame young wildebeest. Tail in the air, stopping only to gather the pride and teach the young to stalk, the mother acted as if we were not even there and licking her lips, proceeded to enter the herd, immediately disappearing out of view. You could only tell where she was by the sporadic and swift movements of the Wildebeest as she attacked their young. Unable to see much more we proceeded on our journey.
Night was falling over the plains as the depth of blue sky turned ever darker and more hypnotizing, with bands of luminous orange seeping through the scattered clouds to form a dramatic backdrop to our next sighting;
Travelling over the crest of the next hill we found ourselves thrown violently to the right as John swerved to avoid a lioness preening herself in the middle of the road. Slamming the brakes on and pulling to one side John offered commentary on the behaviour of lions, commenting that to see a lioness so close to a male - who was to our right, picking his nails by the roadside - means only one thing: mating season.
As we pull up and settle ourselves down for the spectacle, our eyes and camera lens are fixed on the couple. The female rises on her hind legs to approach the mate and begins to circle him, offering herself to him. It's another few minutes before the gallant male rises to the bait and mounts the female. Courtship is brief and is ended by the roar of the lioness as her paws swipe across the male's face. Seemingly caught by surprise, with a toss of his mane, the male is forced to dismount and retires. It's another few minutes before anyone dares make a sound, and only then it is to mouth "Wow."
I live in hope that, at that very moment, I witnessed the creation of a baby lion, which in 3 months time, would enter the world as a curious and cute cub. How totally amazing would that be - to know that you have seen evolution first hand - the full circle of life in one holiday, from birth (warthogs) to curious young (cheetahs): to boisterous teens (elephants): to young parents (ostriches): right to the old and infirm (and no, I am not comparing the Cresta clientele against the saga groupies).
But with this comes a painful reminder of human intervention and the need for ethical tourism. These animals are not in a zoo - they are not there for our entertainment and amusement - yet the foreign bus tour alongside ours would whoop and holler as the Cheetahs we chanced upon the next day rolled onto their backs; they'd cheer and gesture wildly towards the defenceless two month old cubs as they bravely ventured out from the undergrowth. Most upsettingly, many tour guides had no respect for the rules and regulations of the reserve, and would have no qualms about crowding around an animal to barricade it in the middle of a circle of vehicles, with little regard to the exhaust fumes drowning the animal who, confused, would try to find a safe exit point. The crowding and harassment of the wildlife was not commonplace, but the few exceptions let down the conscious majority and questioned the dignity of the corporations responsible for making our holidays of a lifetime a reality.
Our group - and John - agreed to stay and observe the cheetahs (from a distance) for as long as was possible without causing undue stress and confusion to the animals. A respect duly rewarded, for just 5 minutes later the mother cheetah mounted a small rock to the side of the vehicle and seemingly posed - stretched outright, back arched, chin high and eyes firmly fixed on the horizon for perchance of food. It was too quick to register - or capture on camera - but all of a sudden a rabbit ambled into the centre of the triangle formed by mother and cubs and no sooner did it realize its peril, it was attacked by the mother and the stronger of the two cubs for a "pouncing" and "chasing" lesson.
From standing, cheetahs are capable of speeds of up to 60 miles an hour in just 2 seconds - it's difficult to encapsulate what this is like to view in real time except to say that the cliché of a cloud of dust has never been more apparent. The chase lasted no more than 1-2 minutes at most and circled the bush 360 degrees around our vehicle. As heads spun 180 and cameras whirred it was so quick it was difficult to keep track of the cheetahs' progress and the rabbit's movements. Darting and sprinting, sharp left and right turns, the rabbit put up a dignified fight for its life and, somewhat remarkably, emerged unscathed. I sense the mother cheetah, proud of her reactionary young, would rate this particular chase a "could do better" - but nevertheless a promising start.
Our last sighting of them was of the mother sprinting across the plains, her cubs bounding over and under each other as if seemingly trying to mimic the previous chase. As the sun began to set and the cubs faded into the distance our eyes filled with tears, as this picturesque setting was disrupted as the bus to our right, filled with youths pre-occupied with digital cameras and personal stereos, chased in pursuit of the young: strictly forbidden, and intensely unsettling behavior.
Somewhat understandably, the tour drivers are often driven to this behavior by their need for tips to supplement their mediocre wages. To ensure this additional income they will, more than often, respond to tourist demands of "faster: closer: further." This is irresponsible and abhorrent behavior from both parties and thankfully is recognised as such by the reserve rangers who maintain a close vigil on any tour guides - frequently dishing out on the spot fines for irresponsible behavior. But those fines to you and I, and the tour companies, are little more than the price of an Extra Large Extra Value Big MacMeal and do little to quash this behavior.
I would urge all tour companies to offer adequate training to turn drivers into 'qualified guides:' to help to raise awareness of the impact that their actions are having on the environment and its beautiful inhabitants - and to urge tourists to consider the very same by heeding to the practice of the ethical and responsible operators. No matter how big or small, wild or seemingly tame an animal, we have an unwritten responsibility to leave the scene without making an impact, taking nothing other than our memories.
But the destructive impact we, as tourists, are making - either direct or indirect - does not go lithely by without a battle. The animals are fiercely protective of their culture, family and environment and, as proven by our experiences on this holiday, won't give humans a chance to cause too much of a raucous that easily. Take for example the young elephant that had unconsciously wandered a mile or so from the female herd. Upon realization of its blunder the young panicked when, upon looking back, 5 vehicles had blocked the path between itself and its mother. As the vehicles were encroaching further and further towards the herd its mother disappeared from view and the elephant ran even further uphill to try and regain its bearings. The engines of the vehicles were loud, but not loud enough to drown the heart wrenching screams of the young elephant as, panicking, he literally screamed for his life. Watching from a distance, the screams were as distinctive and as uncanny as a human young, immediately signaling danger and desperation. As we drew our breaths and screamed for the other vehicles to retreat, the mother, quite rightly, decided enough is enough. Mirroring as little respect for human life as we were currently showing her young, the mother - and the other 8 or so females - set to charge. The irresponsible vehicles then realized, because they were so tightly packed none could move to get out of the way as 16 tusks sparkling in the midday sun lowered and charged forward to spear them. Having experienced so much irresponsible tourism already that holiday - John and our traveling companions and good friends, were decidedly supportive of the herd and silenced our warning cries as we watched in morbid fascination the spectacle unraveled before our very eyes.
With the cries of the youngster ringing in our ears, the herd advanced, for some reason sparing the lives of 30 tourists. Instead they pushed their way through the vehicles and upon an emotional renunion with the young, turned to the spectators and raised upon their hind legs to sound a last deafening warning cry, roughly translated to "get the hell out of here that was your last and only chance." Everyone was only too happy to comply. Hopefully they are happy to learn from this sadly necessary lesson.
But without casting too much of a negative upon our experiences, I am hopeful that the untamed few tourists we stumbled across are in the minority, as just that morning we had come across fellow travellers in Keekorok with similar concerns and ethics.
After our early morning game drive in the Mara, we'd settled down on the veranda outside the lodge's lounge. With no boundaries, fences or weapons of any kind, we are offered a cocktail - regardless of the time of day - and are free to sit directly within the path of the great migration, maintaining a vigil for any animals that may happen upon us. It wasn't long before we were joined by an elderly woman whose husband was enjoying one too many siestas for her liking. Eager to hear what we had seen that morning and indeed the rest of the holiday, we shared tales and travels around the "campfire" and Ali and I were privy to one of the most inspiring life stories I have heard for a long time.
Currently in her mid 70's, the woman had traveled more extensively in her pensioner years that I could hope to have in a lifetime. Not unusual you may think given that she's retired and reasonably well off…the twist was that her husband is refusing to retire from the family business and as a result she accompanies him on worldwide business trips for a day or two, and then more than often she'd remain in the country they happen upon - alone - for months at a time whilst he left to tend to UK business. In the last 15 years she'd set up her own home amongst the locals in Barbados, travelled extensively throughout Africa in vehicles less comfortable than ours, "roughed it" under the stars in the wildest of bush and enjoyed everything that life had thrown at her.
A frequent visitor to Africa, her intense passion for the country and the people was fascinating, especially considering that last time she was in the country she'd suffered a heart attack and was rushed into the kind of hospital we - in our closeted NHS system - would send aid to. But these were not her concerns; upon her first resuscitated breath she'd lovingly scolded her husband - called back from the UK - that he'd misplaced her camera and therefore her precious memories, so she'd have to come back to relive them.
Three cocktails and two hours later, forgetting we were practically holding the 'grandma' ransom from her husband and her fellow travellers, she continued to inspire us to travel more and further than we had ever imagined. It may seem like a cliché - but that day, the three of us debated world poverty, world peace, conservation of the Maasi culture and tribe against encroaching commercialism and responsible tourism - all before lunch had even been called.
That's the great - but some would say the downside - of travelling holidays. You meet and spend time with people you'd never imagine, be inspired by things you never knew existed or were possible, and have time for things that, on any other strictly itinerated holiday, you simply "could not fit in." The reality of taking each day as it comes, having no idea what to expect, no boxes to tick or regime to conform to, is as unusual as it is enjoyable.
The Mara. The word evokes a myriad of imagery and emotions - unbelievable sunsets, vast swathes of savannah dotted with migrating wildebeest, fleeting glimpses of hunting cats, and the undeniable feeling of being immersed in a completely alien, exhilaratingly real, and staggeringly fragile world. Fans think of the Maasai Mara as the real deal, the park which stands tall over the other pretenders; the stories, the pictures, the movies, all stem at least from the idea of the Mara and its inhabitants. At the edge of Kenya, effectively an extension of the Serengeti to the south, in Tanzania, this reserve consumes 1,812 square kilometres (around 5 times larger than Samburu) - the Maasai Mara blows your mind.
From the moment we entered park boundaries and instantly came across a group of lion brothers and sisters, dozing underneath a bush no more than two metres from the roadside, there was no going back. This is a part of the world so awesome in its scale, in its variety of landscapes and fauna, teeming with wildlife and complex ecosystems, that infects your soul and will never leave. Driving towards Keekorok Lodge where we were to stay for two nights, we were overwhelmed by the beauty of our surroundings. With the mid-afternoon warm air blowing in our faces, clumps of greenery appearing and disappearing like an oasis in the sea of straw, the sun slowly descending through the wisps of cloud, the mind stops working. It gets stuck, unable to comprehend what is happening. The experience is so foreign and yet feels so natural, so 'back to roots', and so important. Africa is a life changing place, so long as you can pull your own barriers down and allow yourself to be consumed.
Out in the park, we travelled through scorched earth with lonely hyenas prowling, came across an ostrich couple with their nine babies in tow, spotted an elusive serval cat, watched vultures feeding on a carcass, elephants fighting in the river, groups of giraffe clustered and flexing in the open, and saw the African sun descend in an explosion of colour. Every new occurrence is as exciting as the last, merits discussion and contemplation, and each hammers home the fortune that we have in being able to do this, here and now. Some safaris are lucky, some are not; some are considerate, some are not. In the future there may not be safaris, and there may be no animals. We are not powerless to prevent this, and we should try. It is an incredible experience to awake in the middle of the night, not in a safe fortress of a home, but in the wilderness, where there is danger and where there is fear, but also where there is joy and beauty. Safety is relative. You could die being hit by an SUV on the way back from work, or you could die being mauled by a lion in the middle of Africa. There is nothing heroic, or poetic, about choosing the latter. It is about purpose and meaning, about exploring both yourself and your world, and it is about making the big decisions.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
One of these roads led us near a riverbank, where two tiny lion cubs had been left to themselves. We were just one van, slowly creeping toward them - at a certain distance, they grew fearful and retreated back into the brush. So we reversed a few metres, and sure enough they trundled back out again. Barely a foot tall, they seemed so vulnerable and unready for the world. They toyed with each other and with the surroundings, seemingly unphased by our presence. That they were lions, one of the most fearsome of animals, was irrelevant - two babies abandoned in a cruel and demanding world seemed far too familiar. The mother had to find food to support the family, the father could be long gone. The children have no choice but to sit and await the future, to try to learn how to defend themselves and be like their mother, but life in Africa is harrowingly short.
Alas, we had to move on, and left the lions to await their fate, much to the objection of the awestruck women still gazing at the little balls of fluff. Undoubtedly, there would be more of this sort of thing.
Keekorok was a pleasant lodge, with terraced bungalows and a typically quaint lounge and terrace area for the ubiquitous sundowners to be taken on. It also has no boundary fence, meaning that anything which wishes to visit can. As it turns out, this wasn't just a folklorish marketing strategy - relaxing with a mid-afternoon siesta on arrival, we were awoken by our neighbouring Italian friend from the drive, with an indisputable cry - "Hippo! Hippo!" - as he barged through our room to the balcony. And sure enough, a group of hippo were basking 100 metres or so from the room. This was binocular requiring stuff, and even then not the most startling of sightings - but that wasn't the point; here we were, sleeping in animal's land. We were the intruders, the nuisance, and they had allowed us in. Thirty minutes later, three lion cubs plus mother gave us the same privilege, scattered across a rock a little west from the hippo. We returned the favour, with Marie mounting the balcony, deftly slipping round the partition and - suddenly stumped as to how to explain the phenomenon to non-English speakers - raised her hands to the sides of her head said, "RAAAAAARRR!!!" Point well made.
Later that afternoon, a group of monkeys wandered up to our set of lodges for playtime. A ladder had been left onto which they clambered and fell from; one particularly inquisitive one had found an empty tin of tomatoes, which provided it - and us - with hours of fun as he inspected his reflection at the bottom, licked the tomato sauce from the sides, and ended up putting the whole tin over his head. Just as the human male would…
Keekorok was as high quality as the other lodges; the staff are immaculate and kind, the rooms furnished just well enough to feel luxurious while at the same time not making you regretful for spending so little time in there; at the end of the day, the reason for safari is not to dwell in home-comforts but to be brought face to face with the animals that have ruled this place for millennia. The game drives, walks, and simply sitting there and thinking, are what we came for. There are three things that happened in the Mara that need to be expressed.
The wildebeest migration route encompasses the Mara and Serengeti; we had tried to plan for their migration in our booking of the holiday, but various factors acted against this and we'd assumed we'd missed it, eventually travelling mid-October to early November. We had imagined the wildebeest would be long gone, but they'd changed their mind. The Serengeti was too dry for their liking, so they had started to come back to the Mara. Incredible - out of the millions of them, who decides? How do you pass the message back through the masses? In any case, we ended up surrounded by them, dotting the horizon and slowly marching forward. Zebra were interspersed, with two engaged in a particularly violent fight - being kicked in the face by a set of rear zebra feet cannot be pleasurable.
This experience was apparently not to the same scale as in the midst of the migration, but it was certainly enough to peak an interest - a particular highlight was when two cheetah discovered something they fancied among the crowd, (likely a baby wildebeest) and started stalking. After 15 minutes or so of slow, contemplated movement, it looked like the mother was just testing the kids and they weren't actually hungry, so we moved on - but the sight of these two cats slowly making their way into the herd, with whatever conclusion, was damaging. This isn't Tesco or Sainsbury's - this is life; as carnivores, as hunters, this is their nature and their existence. If it doesn't work one day, if they're ill or can't be bothered going to work, then that's it. Game over.
Along with death, there is birth. In the Mara we saw fantastically groomed lions, and some more distraught lionesses - both close to the road, or wandering in the path of our vehicle. They are majestic and surprisingly frequent: again in comparison with South Africa, where we were lucky to see a lioness with cubs running away from us, lions were just a part of the landscape in Kenya. On our early morning drive from Keekorok, we chanced upon a lion and lioness next to each other - rare, because the lion will typically sleep for around 20 hours per day while the lioness hunts and collects the kills. As with humans, this can only mean one thing: sex.
The lioness begins by circling the male, allowing the lion to distinguish her scent, and then it's all very quick! Our attempts at photography failed - the lion moves into position and leaves in a matter of seconds, job done. The female then swats the lion and both growl, seemingly annoyed at the requirement on their time. For us, it was enchanting - a lion which was actually doing something and being active is an unusual occurrence, and to be so close was magnificent.
Our morning drive had been extended because we took a journey out to see the hippos and crocodiles, who inhabit that famous part of the Mara river where the wildebeest have to cross and are often destroyed. This was right at the edge of the country; Marie and her fellow traveller crossed into Tanzania to relieve themselves in the Serengeti, while we waited anxiously for their return. No toilets here; no buildings. We had jumped out in the bush in a seemingly safe place and allowed our partners to wander off out of sight. Interesting, in psychological terms if nothing else.
At the river, we again left the van and had a brief walking safari - armed guards took us along the riverbanks to view the hippo and crocodile. It is always a strange experience, no matter how many times you've done it: you spend hours of each days cooped up in a protective metal cabin, separated from the environment and unable to freely move around and explore, and then when you're released and vulnerable, you recoil and become fearful and nervous. It's highly unlikely that anything would happen, particularly with the basking hippos and the huge crocodiles completely zonked out on the banks, both as active as another, but uncertainty and unfamiliarity overrule logical thought - similar to walking into an unknown city centre for the first time, only with less people to call on for help.
We wandered along the bank to the famous photo shot where the wildebeest have to cross the river and evade the waiting crocodiles; no such action today, but it reminded me that this annual occurrence is nature's equivalent to the Super Bowl or another such event - it is reliable in terms of its timing and location, and its deadliness.
There is too much to try and describe in the Mara. Every turn, every sparkle of light, every shift in the darkness, all breathes life and activity. I haven't even started to explain, and I have too far to go, and I've probably forgotten half of it already. That's what the other column is for. But that's also what you are for: explore, observe, disseminate. Be an eco-tourist above all, and consider everything you are doing on your journey toward enlightenment, but remember that perhaps the most important message you can send is back home, to those who know nothing more than what is, to give life and hope to the locked-in, which then offers enlivenment and hope to those in Africa and in other third-world countries; only when we join together and begin to understand one another, can we begin to make something better. Go.