My sister is a traveller and lives in England. I am a travel writer based in Vancouver. We are to cross paths in Nairobi, Kenya. She is attractive, charming and firmly parsimonious. Ideal attributes for organizing our adventure. I arrive in the bar of The Aero Club of East Africa, a fine colonial throwback from 1927. The place has a musty smell, perhaps a lingering reminder of port and cigars from another era? Model Tiger Moths hang from the ceiling. Moustachioed pilots and their motley flying machines decorate the walls.
She is already settled into a comfortable chair with a tall vodka and tonic. Nairobi's notoriously unpredictable traffic jams have prompted a decision to stay near Wilson airport, the hub for small planes serving the Maasai Mara.
Somehow it all fits. A colonial start to a decidedly colonial experience. The little airport is packed with tripods and lenses the size of rocket-launchers - and their khaki-clad owners.
The Maasai Mara Reserve is 1,500 square kilometres and contains one of the biggest lion densities in the world.
The atmosphere in our little plane is electric. We pass over Maasai herders keeping a tight rein on their cattle. Cameras click. Animals scatter, scared of our moving shadow. There are thought to be 800 elephants in the reserve but despite increased patrols, poaching is still a major problem.
Tiny airstrips - each with a windsock - pepper the land below. We put down a couple of times to drop passengers off, before reaching our destination. The pricier the camp, the grander the welcome. At our second landing, a bar has been set up behind the waiting jeep. Champagne corks pop. Snacks are laid out on silver salvers.
My sister gives me a "don't expect anything like this where we are going..." look! At the next stop, we are the only people to disembark. Josephat, who will be our guide and driver for the next few days, is waiting in full Maasai regalia with a welcoming grin from ear to ear.
We climb into the Toyota Land Cruiser and head off. It is hard to get a handle on the number of camps in "The Mara." Trip Advisor comes up with 93. Piers Winkworth, the charming young owner of "Offbeat Mara," claims the real count is around 200 and growing like mushrooms on a soggy log. We will be the only guests during our four-day stay, with a staff of 24 to focus on our needs. Nice going, sis.
We settle into one of six deluxe wooden-platformed tents (even at full capacity the place only holds 12). An en-suite bathroom is just behind the zippered canvas wall. Flush toilets for goodness sake.
Want a shower after a long game drive? No problem. Josephat will radio ahead. The system will go into overdrive.
A chap will magically appear with buckets of hot water, haul them up the pole and wait until they have drained through the showerhead inside. How brilliant is that? Our first jaunt is a huge success: leopard, cheetah, a large herd of elephants hacking at the few remaining trees around. We are stunned, (as a man, I am actually humbled but won't admit it) by the stamina of a male lion that returns every 10 minutes to service his exhausted mate.
Whether we are admiring crocs, buffalo, giraffes or hippos, we always seem to be ahead of the game, which is a credit to our wonderful guide.
The sun is beginning to set. Josephat pulls up under an acacia tree and hauls out a circular leather bag. The silver capped bottles contain our sundowners. Now then...what's for dinner? Travel Writers' Tales is an independent travel article syndicate.
