I'm sitting on our tent's deck, a long ago memory drifting into focus. I'm remembering riding on Disneyland's Jungle Cruise, meandering down a river populated with animatronic hippos and elephants and various caricatures of safari life.
I hadn't thought about the Jungle Cruise ride in years. My current setting is far from a Disneyland attraction. I'm at a safari camp in South Africa, the real deal. A Go Away bird cries its call, hardly a song and more the wail made by an upset human baby. Playful Vervet monkeys overhead in the trees jabber as I watch a herd of elephants across the dry river bed, lumber toward tasty green trees. It is winter in South Africa, the dry, brown season and we're enjoying, really basking in our first visit to the continent.
I feel like I'm in the land where time stood still, primitive, wild, leafy vistas dotted with bobbing giraffe heads as they nibble on tree top leaves. Though we are in a private tented camp reserve, it is far from primitive or camping as I'd recognize it. Our tent has a cement floor, inside plumbing, a heated bed, a stocked bar and the camp itself offers a full staff, accommodating service, excellent food, game viewing drives several times a day, champagne breaks overlooking a pond where animals take in a drink while the humans enjoy a warming morning sun. Afternoon viewing drives end with cocktails while guests drink in a blazing, chilly South African sunset.
Is it clear how we are spending at least some of our retirement dollars?
Travel.
We'll be setting off from Tanda Tula to another camp, but first a few highlights.
