We leave the town of Maun, in Botswana, and flew to Johannesburg in South Africa. As soon as all the formalities of arriving in a different country were finished, we walk down a long hallway that is adjacent to the parking garage. Then, we take the elevator up to the floor where City Lodge has its reception desk, and check in for one night.
The next morning, at the appointed time, we gather in the parking garage to meet the shuttle service that will take us to a smaller airport about an hour away, where our charter flight back to Botswana awaits.
The shuttle van arrives, but there’s a problem. There are ten of us with baggage and heavy camera bags. The van is a ten-passenger van, but the driver needs one of those ten seats. Then ensues some long telephone discussions, assurances to the poor driver that we know it isn’t his fault.
Eventually, a taxi arrives and Randy gets in it while the rest of us go in the van.
Giraffe at Mashatu.
Man, in hindsight, I should have realized what was happening. I’d already had some clues. Murphy’s Law was ever so slowly sneaking up on me and inveigling its way into my trip.
We’d already dealt with a 24-hour delay just getting to Amsterdam because the KLM flight to Edmonton was late. Then, the substitute flight from Amsterdam to Johannesburg had to go through Switzerland.
Already, I’d lost my visor and had to buy another in Maun. The neck pillow I’d purchased at the Anchorage airport because I neglected to bring one from home? Lost that, too. I will have to buy another before the long eight and ten-hour flights home.
Now the 10-passenger van that needed to carry 11 people.
Yep. Should have recognized the clues.
However, we get to the smaller airport and are greeted with friendly and efficient personnel who lead us through the terminal and out to the waiting charter. On each seat are box lunches.
In addition, there is a large basket with wrapped snacks—chips, candy bars, etc.And all the cold water we want.
In what seems like no time at all, we land. The sign on the terminal reads Limpopo Valley Airfield. This is the Mashatu Game Reserve, a 90,000 privately-held area of savannah, open plains, marshland, riverine forests, and scenic sandstone cliffs. It also has, we soon learn, the majestic mashatu trees, hence the reserve's name, and the very impressive baobab trees.
We prefer to handle the precious camera bags ourselves. Shelly is handing a bag to Laura as Cory and Sylvia look on.
The terminal. Inside are passport control and customs, where our bags are searched thoroughly. I ask what they're looking for and the response is "maybe making sure we don't have poaching stuff." Speculation, though. I think the agents take their jobs seriously because they don't have many visitors passing through, like at international airports.
Our safari vehicles await.
And, it’s ours to explore for the next seven days!!!
The first animals we see are giraffes. Lots of giraffes. Here are a few:
Three juveniles.
A very young giraffe in an acacia bush. Giraffes love acacia, thorns and all. They have thick, sticky saliva that acts as a lubricant that coats the thorns. The saliva also has antiseptic properties.
Oh, my word. We aren't even to Tuli Camp yet, and we see a leopard lying high on the rich red sandstone rocks. These are cell phone shots.
Some scenery as seen from inside the vehicle.
Tulki Lodge, a tented camp. Tented camps are my favorite, though they continue to get too fancy for me.
Side view of our tent. The steps are at far right.
The main entrance to the tent. Note the yellow flowers on the boardwalk and steps.
Better than a red carpet.
Every day we see this bushbuck bedded down just feet from our tent. The smaller antelope feel safe from predators in most camps.
These twin beds can be moved together to form a king-sized bed, or separated, as the need arises.
Sylvia's side., Note the side room that is seen in the center of the photo.
Note the table. It holds the makings for hot beverages.
Another view. This is so nice, but we rarely have time to use it.
The side room on the other side of the tent.
These are located immediately behind the beds. You are looking straight at the tent entrance.
The shower. The circle must be 5 to 6 feet in diameter. There is a canvas pull-down for privacy.
A desk for computers.
The grounds.
Camp grounds
The deck where we often meet before game drives.
Bashi, Marg's long-time friend. He will become our favorite guide.
This is where our group splits into two groups of five. My group haven't much time to settle in. We are off to a hide where we will spend the night, hoping for animals to come to the waterhole.
NOTE: I took a poll after the trip , and everyone who responded agreed that Tuli Lodge was the best camp for accommodations, followed by Dinaka Lodge.
Mashatu Game Reserve is on the far eastern side, bordered in the south by South Africa and the east by Zimbabwe. Previously, we were in Maun and on the northern edge of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve at Dinaka. Our trip began at the far top of the map at Pangolin Photo Safaris in Kasane, and the Chobe National Park in green.
NOTE: This post is a filler for your entertainment while I work on some computer problems. An iOS update on my Mac happened last night, and now I cannot access my photos to upload.
My colleagues have been scheming.
I want no part of it, so I stay quiet and just listen to their schemes.
I use “scheme” in the British sense of the word, probably because I’ve read dozens of British novels and watched dozens of British TV programs over the last few years.
They are agreed on the WHAT, the WHERE, and the WHY.
The HOW is the conundrum. They cannot work out the logistics because some knowledge of how to accomplish the WHAT is missing.
The WHAT is souvenir shopping.
The WHERE is in the city of Maun on the morning before we fly to Johannesburg.
The WHY is just cuz, I guess, something I cannot understand when you take into account my experiences in shopping in foreign countries.
I was going to say the scheming sessions evoked visions of herding cats, but considering the number of squirrels chasing around the hotel grounds, perhaps herding squirrels is more apropos.
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The HOW is complicated.
Possible solutions include some staying at the lodge with the luggage while the others go shopping. Or, everyone goes at the same time on the included shuttle, and then each drags his/her own luggage around the various shops across the street from the airport. That is not an optimal solution, by far.
There are many such shops.
Our trip includes one shuttle from Thamalakane River Lodge to the Maun airport, not several shuttles. We must all go at the same time, luggage included, or pay for taxi fares.
Finally, I propose an answer for both their dilemma and mine. I suggest we go to the airport mid-morning, check our bags, and go through security to the waiting lounge. Then, I will babysit the precious, irreplaceable camera bags and small carry-ons while they go off to the curio shops.
“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” someone says.
“It’s more fun than shopping,” I reply. They know nothing of my past experiences in shopping in foreign countries. There was a stunned silence.
There’s more discussion.
The mokoro at Thamalakane lodge, not the ones we rode in.
Shelly goes to the reception office to ask how much taxi fares would be, and her info creates more conundrums. It would be $53.00 per person, each way, or $106.00 each if they leave the bags at the lodge and return to fetch them.
Marg suggests at dinner the night before that they take me up on my offer. So, it’s decided. They get to Maun at no additional cost, we check in at the airport, go through security, and they leave their bags with me and exit to spend all the money they want.
I stay inside the airport, safe from hawkers.
Spur wing geese
I am a hawker magnet. I didn’t even know what a hawker was until 2014, when I was planning my first trip to Africa, and a neighbor warned me about the hawkers in Zimbabwe.
I have been besieged by hawkers. I travel without a companion, and hawkers see their opportunity. At a marketplace in Zimbabwe, I lasted about two minutes as I wandered the various stalls. I escaped back to the bus, where I ignored men pounding on the coach window to get my attention.
This is the "craft" market in Victoria City, Zimbabwe. "Craft" evokes homemade, right? All the many stalls have numerous copies of the same things.
There's one man who didn't pester me. He's busy on his cell phone.
Stop the coach to admire a baobab tree near Victoria Falls, and hawkers come out of the bushes.
This man is a member of the tourist police. They are meant to guard tourists from hawkers.
I was chased down a roadway in India when leaving a fort, with hawkers throwing T-shirts and other items into the open windows of a small vehicle, hoping I would decide I couldn’t live without them
In China, as our group got off the coach, we were met with dozens of outstretched hands. That was the only time, though, in China, and I was surprised.
Even in Tibet, two elderly women begged for money.
On leaving a palace in India, I was so besieged by hawkers that I asked a couple in our group to help me. They each grabbed an elbow and ushered me right past the hawkers and the man whistling for a cobra to rise from a basket.
(No photos for many incidents because I was too occupied with escaping._
Even in stores, I can’t escape the clerks who hover. In Fiji, an Indian businessman all but physically yanked into his store, and when I finally got away, I was scolded by a native Fijian for buyng from an Indian. He thereafter led me off on a backstreet adventure to HIS store.
Anyway, I hate shopping
The scheme went as planned. Virginia said she, too, would wait in the airport. I wasn’t sure if she appointed herself my nanny, but after thinking about it, I was really glad she stayed with me. I wondered what I would have done had I needed to use a restroom?
My surgeon said I can never drink carbonated beverages again, so out went the Coke Zero and the occasional gin and tonic. Or beer. I chose this juice as a replacement because it had passion fruit flavor.
Think about it. Ten heavy, precious camera bags and a few assorted other carry-ons, none of which could be left unattended. How could I get them into a bathroom stall?
At the appointed time, the shoppers, sated from their shopping frenzy, came back and off we went to Johannesburg in South Africa. All because we couldn’t get from one place in Botswana to another place in Botswana without returning to South Africa.
Below are two videos I took with my phone while going through Maun. It seems the simple concrete block houses are the norm.
This gets us all caught up on the first 12 days of our Botswana trip. More posts will be telling about the final week, which will turn out to be the best part!
