An early morning start with a seasoned driver and well-worn Toyota Safari Van, we were soon crossing the Rift Valley towards Masai Mara National Reserve. At this point, the bad roads got worse. Before for long, I left the pot-hole avoidance to the driver and watched for an occasion zebra. The edges of the twenty-year-old asphalt had eroded away to a dangerous single lane road for two way traffic. It was safer when the blacktop was gone, where washboards became moguls. Stomach crunches with each contusion.
Isaac had been driving this route for twenty years. He had to know the limitations of the van’s suspension in combination with the road to get maximum speed. I had some concern over breaking down the fluid membrane that keeps the brain suspended in the skull. Two hundred and fifty kilometers one way in four hours was quite a feat. Isaac said it was seven hours before they fixed the road. There was some new construction going on. Of which, twenty kilometers was completed in pieces. About fifty kilometers under construction was an ever-changing hazard.
Upon our arrival at the park, we went to a remote lodge for the overnight stay and found my reservation to be bumped. I was so ready to rinse off the dirt and allow the vibrations to stop. Isaac was able to get through to another place, and off we went. I endured ten more miles of bad roads pouting all the way. We finally got to Sarovo Masai Game Lodge at noon. I quit moping when I realized what a first-class place it was. For sure, Lucy will be sulking at this upgrade as the site was near full, and I got a Club Tent. Branson, the founder of Virgin Airlines, had stayed there amidst a promotion bit for British tourists. Sir Richard also sponsored the construction of Masai school rooms as a likely extension of his ego, but that’s okay.
After a good meal and shower, at three, Isaac and I were off for a game drive. Most other trips were starting at four, and we could avoid the crowds. Several years ago, I was at Ruaha in Tanzania, where you were restricted to the main road, a
nd the game was always at a distance. Here driving across the savanna was better than most of the streets. Isaac was good at getting into the midst of the game. While stopped within six feet of a pride of lions, he said, smiling, “You want a good picture?” Then proceed to put the van in the center of a group of seven. Later near a herd of elephants, he smiled and repeated himself. Even he knew better than to drive in their midst but tantalized the old bull into a couple threatening stances.
The drivers chatted amongst themselves by old radios to alert one another to the presents of the game. Others would often stop alongside and chatter Swahili. Isaac seems to be a senior member in good standing with a respectable following. Most other lorries were filled with four to twelve people. There was one huge bus that may have held thirty European tourists but very little esteem. We stopped next to another lone rider like me. He appeared to be on his last hurrah. Most likely over eighty with very limited mobility and thick glasses, he probably waited a little too long to experience this dream.
Back at the lodge, there was a splendid buffet then a Cat Stevens style singer in the lounge. Sleep came early.
We were off at sunrise for another game drive, exciting but much the same. I asked to concentrate on some big birds. There were storks, plenty of vultures, and a remarkable secretary bird. We returned to the lodge for a quick breakfast
then headed for Nairobi where our planned exit was closed due to yesterday’s rain. The alternate route was arduous but by then it didn’t seem to matter anymore.
Isaac had been driving this route for twenty years. He had to know the limitations of the van’s suspension in combination with the road to get maximum speed. I had some concern over breaking down the fluid membrane that keeps the brain suspended in the skull. Two hundred and fifty kilometers one way in four hours was quite a feat. Isaac said it was seven hours before they fixed the road. There was some new construction going on. Of which, twenty kilometers was completed in pieces. About fifty kilometers under construction was an ever-changing hazard.
Upon our arrival at the park, we went to a remote lodge for the overnight stay and found my reservation to be bumped. I was so ready to rinse off the dirt and allow the vibrations to stop. Isaac was able to get through to another place, and off we went. I endured ten more miles of bad roads pouting all the way. We finally got to Sarovo Masai Game Lodge at noon. I quit moping when I realized what a first-class place it was. For sure, Lucy will be sulking at this upgrade as the site was near full, and I got a Club Tent. Branson, the founder of Virgin Airlines, had stayed there amidst a promotion bit for British tourists. Sir Richard also sponsored the construction of Masai school rooms as a likely extension of his ego, but that’s okay.After a good meal and shower, at three, Isaac and I were off for a game drive. Most other trips were starting at four, and we could avoid the crowds. Several years ago, I was at Ruaha in Tanzania, where you were restricted to the main road, a
nd the game was always at a distance. Here driving across the savanna was better than most of the streets. Isaac was good at getting into the midst of the game. While stopped within six feet of a pride of lions, he said, smiling, “You want a good picture?” Then proceed to put the van in the center of a group of seven. Later near a herd of elephants, he smiled and repeated himself. Even he knew better than to drive in their midst but tantalized the old bull into a couple threatening stances.The drivers chatted amongst themselves by old radios to alert one another to the presents of the game. Others would often stop alongside and chatter Swahili. Isaac seems to be a senior member in good standing with a respectable following. Most other lorries were filled with four to twelve people. There was one huge bus that may have held thirty European tourists but very little esteem. We stopped next to another lone rider like me. He appeared to be on his last hurrah. Most likely over eighty with very limited mobility and thick glasses, he probably waited a little too long to experience this dream.
Back at the lodge, there was a splendid buffet then a Cat Stevens style singer in the lounge. Sleep came early.
We were off at sunrise for another game drive, exciting but much the same. I asked to concentrate on some big birds. There were storks, plenty of vultures, and a remarkable secretary bird. We returned to the lodge for a quick breakfast
then headed for Nairobi where our planned exit was closed due to yesterday’s rain. The alternate route was arduous but by then it didn’t seem to matter anymore.
To fulfill the deal we stopped at a Masai village where the chief’s son took me through after greasing his palm. The village had 20 families, 160 people, 250 cows, and as many goats. It was authentic and all that but after putting the ‘bum’s rush’ on me for more donations I felt the need to get on with my journey.
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