| Into Africa |
| Forget Sean Penn’s Crappy Film, Here is the Real Adventure |
I hate birds but never realized how much until going on a safari and
listening to our guide talk ad nauseum about these annoying creatures, which
are more like rats with wings if you ask me. There I sat, baking in the South
African bush land and listening to a bunch of crap about bird color, wing-span,
eating habits, party affiliation, Mac vs. PC preference.
Now I’m a peaceful person despite what my TiVo suggests (how do you
confuse “Mixed Martial Arts” with “Make Me a Super Model”?). And yet just a
moment (okay, all morning) I kept wishing for a lion, elephant, heck even Nathan
Lane to come roaring out of its den and spread these feathered friends on a
cracker already.
So add birds to the list of things The Travel Snob doesn’t like, along with
British Airways, which stuck me in row 53E on a flight to Johannesburg.
And that begs the obvious question (aside from why I was in row 53): Where the
hell is Naomi when you really need her? If you ask me, and you didn’t but I’m
going to say it anyway, bitch had every right to lose her shit on this airline
because misplacing a Louis Vuitton suitcase is tragic under any circumstance,
and don’t think I’m not lighting a candle for you. Be strong, Nomi!
But still, it’s not like they tried to put her in coach or anything.
What’s that?
You heard right. British Airways attempted – no, succeeded! – in sticking
The Travel Snob in coach.
Altogether now … “Oh no they did’int!”
Oooooooh, but they did. And I have the rash to prove it.
Obviously they didn’t get my memo, which clearly bans all things synthetic,
including polyester-adorned flight attendants. Because, you know, allergies and
stuff. Congrats, btw, to Dr. Boxer for penning such a rebuke, not that it helped or
anything. I should probably fire him.
And triple snaps to Ambien for crafting quite the little tranquilizer. One pill
rendered me near catatonic during the 12-hour flight, although Johnny Walker
might have played a wee bit part. He’s a real slut, but I’m easy. Three Blue
Labels and I’m all yours.
What’s scarier than that, you ask? Me in nature, on a week-long safari in the
heart of the Ngala Private Game Reserve, which is part of South Africa’s world
famous Kruger National Park. You know it better as the setting for untold animal
kills on YouTube, like the one of the young buffalo who gets chased into the
water by a pack of hungry lions, then nearly eaten by alligators before
miraculously escaping and selling his story to Dateline.
I still say my British Airways encounter was more dangerous, but whatever.
Anyway, I suppose I should explain how this adventure began because it’s
not every day (or millennium) the Travel Snob willingly packs up his $3,000
Giorgio Armani laser-cut leather weekend bag to go see a bunch of smelly
animals. Those are calls I tend to avoid, like American Express’ recent invitation
to pay off my remaining balance from college.
But I’m nothing if not an adventurer, and when the fine folks at & Beyond
(the travel company, not the bath products store) proposed said trip I accepted
with glee, eager to put this misperception of me as a prissy traveler to bed …
under its 500-thread count Frette linens and satin duvet, and not that one-ply
mattress I had thrown overboard in Patagonia. That particular stunt earned me
“guest with special needs” distinction, a status not achieved since Ralph Fiennes
banged that flight attendant in the lavatory on a Qantas flight.
And so for a week I participated in an authentic South African safari
experience, complete with guide, tracker, Land Rover and animals that would eat
you if you left the vehicle, which totally explains the bottle of Xanax that also
accompanied me on the trip.
Toxicology notwithstanding, it turned out to be one of my most memorable
experiences, each new day offering the most incredible sightings, whether it was
buffalos and lions fighting, baby elephants wrestling, monkeys stealing our food
or hyena devouring the bones of an unfortunate zebra. One of my favorite
animals turned out to be the giraffe, which I’m convinced is the super-model of
the African bush. They’re tall and skinny, walk with a bit of an attitude and spend
their day eating leaves. They also have the most beautiful eyelashes, which they
use to judge and look down on you.
Seeing the animals in their natural setting was one thing; hearing the
guides talk about their behavior added a fascinating dimension to the
experience. With one sniff of a Kudu’s poo they could calculate their exact
whereabouts, last night’s dinner and length of subscription to National
Geographic, then hurriedly lead us across the landscape in their industrial-
strength Land Rover, capable of getting even Jack Bauer through the bushland
between commercial breaks, with enough time and bandwidth for a call from
Chloe.
Each day on the safari included two game drives – one at the crack of
dawn, which included most of the best sightings, and another in the evening that
featured cocktails. You can guess which one was my favorite.
On one particular afternoon, as I was attempting to work a needlessly
complicated satellite phone my long-abused assistant had rented for me (“Make
sure it looks cool, like it’s from the future,” was my only direction), I raised my
head to find a pack of 20 or so elephants just 30 feet from the porch of my room
– the 645-sq ft. “Safari Suite” which features two full bathrooms, canopy bed, wet
bar, air conditioning and its own private pool. Seeing the elephants that close
was pretty unnerving but they’re pretty chill, just as long as you don’t get too
close. In that case, they do the cutest thing, which starts with the flailing of their
big floppy ears and ends with you dying.
But fear not, it’s not all cloak and dagger. The Ngala Safari Lodge, where
we stayed for most of the trip, is luxury personified, befitting even Meryl Streep
and her spot-on Danish accent. Guest accommodations are all Four Seasons
quality, with luxurious bedding, Italian-tiled bathrooms, giant soaking tubs and all
the modern conveniences you don’t expect to find on a safari in South Africa. My
favorite anecdote involved one particular morning on a game drive, when my
Blackberry started buzzing. It suddenly came to life deep in the African bush land
when I can barely get it working in Jersey. Fortunately, I didn’t need it because
Newark is way more dangerous.
listening to our guide talk ad nauseum about these annoying creatures, which
are more like rats with wings if you ask me. There I sat, baking in the South
African bush land and listening to a bunch of crap about bird color, wing-span,
eating habits, party affiliation, Mac vs. PC preference.
Now I’m a peaceful person despite what my TiVo suggests (how do you
confuse “Mixed Martial Arts” with “Make Me a Super Model”?). And yet just a
moment (okay, all morning) I kept wishing for a lion, elephant, heck even Nathan
Lane to come roaring out of its den and spread these feathered friends on a
cracker already.
So add birds to the list of things The Travel Snob doesn’t like, along with
British Airways, which stuck me in row 53E on a flight to Johannesburg.
And that begs the obvious question (aside from why I was in row 53): Where the
hell is Naomi when you really need her? If you ask me, and you didn’t but I’m
going to say it anyway, bitch had every right to lose her shit on this airline
because misplacing a Louis Vuitton suitcase is tragic under any circumstance,
and don’t think I’m not lighting a candle for you. Be strong, Nomi!
But still, it’s not like they tried to put her in coach or anything.
What’s that?
You heard right. British Airways attempted – no, succeeded! – in sticking
The Travel Snob in coach.
Altogether now … “Oh no they did’int!”
Oooooooh, but they did. And I have the rash to prove it.
Obviously they didn’t get my memo, which clearly bans all things synthetic,
including polyester-adorned flight attendants. Because, you know, allergies and
stuff. Congrats, btw, to Dr. Boxer for penning such a rebuke, not that it helped or
anything. I should probably fire him.
And triple snaps to Ambien for crafting quite the little tranquilizer. One pill
rendered me near catatonic during the 12-hour flight, although Johnny Walker
might have played a wee bit part. He’s a real slut, but I’m easy. Three Blue
Labels and I’m all yours.
What’s scarier than that, you ask? Me in nature, on a week-long safari in the
heart of the Ngala Private Game Reserve, which is part of South Africa’s world
famous Kruger National Park. You know it better as the setting for untold animal
kills on YouTube, like the one of the young buffalo who gets chased into the
water by a pack of hungry lions, then nearly eaten by alligators before
miraculously escaping and selling his story to Dateline.
I still say my British Airways encounter was more dangerous, but whatever.
Anyway, I suppose I should explain how this adventure began because it’s
not every day (or millennium) the Travel Snob willingly packs up his $3,000
Giorgio Armani laser-cut leather weekend bag to go see a bunch of smelly
animals. Those are calls I tend to avoid, like American Express’ recent invitation
to pay off my remaining balance from college.
But I’m nothing if not an adventurer, and when the fine folks at & Beyond
(the travel company, not the bath products store) proposed said trip I accepted
with glee, eager to put this misperception of me as a prissy traveler to bed …
under its 500-thread count Frette linens and satin duvet, and not that one-ply
mattress I had thrown overboard in Patagonia. That particular stunt earned me
“guest with special needs” distinction, a status not achieved since Ralph Fiennes
banged that flight attendant in the lavatory on a Qantas flight.
And so for a week I participated in an authentic South African safari
experience, complete with guide, tracker, Land Rover and animals that would eat
you if you left the vehicle, which totally explains the bottle of Xanax that also
accompanied me on the trip.
Toxicology notwithstanding, it turned out to be one of my most memorable
experiences, each new day offering the most incredible sightings, whether it was
buffalos and lions fighting, baby elephants wrestling, monkeys stealing our food
or hyena devouring the bones of an unfortunate zebra. One of my favorite
animals turned out to be the giraffe, which I’m convinced is the super-model of
the African bush. They’re tall and skinny, walk with a bit of an attitude and spend
their day eating leaves. They also have the most beautiful eyelashes, which they
use to judge and look down on you.
Seeing the animals in their natural setting was one thing; hearing the
guides talk about their behavior added a fascinating dimension to the
experience. With one sniff of a Kudu’s poo they could calculate their exact
whereabouts, last night’s dinner and length of subscription to National
Geographic, then hurriedly lead us across the landscape in their industrial-
strength Land Rover, capable of getting even Jack Bauer through the bushland
between commercial breaks, with enough time and bandwidth for a call from
Chloe.
Each day on the safari included two game drives – one at the crack of
dawn, which included most of the best sightings, and another in the evening that
featured cocktails. You can guess which one was my favorite.
On one particular afternoon, as I was attempting to work a needlessly
complicated satellite phone my long-abused assistant had rented for me (“Make
sure it looks cool, like it’s from the future,” was my only direction), I raised my
head to find a pack of 20 or so elephants just 30 feet from the porch of my room
– the 645-sq ft. “Safari Suite” which features two full bathrooms, canopy bed, wet
bar, air conditioning and its own private pool. Seeing the elephants that close
was pretty unnerving but they’re pretty chill, just as long as you don’t get too
close. In that case, they do the cutest thing, which starts with the flailing of their
big floppy ears and ends with you dying.
But fear not, it’s not all cloak and dagger. The Ngala Safari Lodge, where
we stayed for most of the trip, is luxury personified, befitting even Meryl Streep
and her spot-on Danish accent. Guest accommodations are all Four Seasons
quality, with luxurious bedding, Italian-tiled bathrooms, giant soaking tubs and all
the modern conveniences you don’t expect to find on a safari in South Africa. My
favorite anecdote involved one particular morning on a game drive, when my
Blackberry started buzzing. It suddenly came to life deep in the African bush land
when I can barely get it working in Jersey. Fortunately, I didn’t need it because
Newark is way more dangerous.
