Читать книгу Your Kruger National Park Guide - With Stories - Frans Rautenbach - Страница 7

“I am five years old. The black sand of Letaba is hot under my bare feet. Bugs are screeching in the trees, and not one leaf moves. Somewhere a bird makes a noise: cawk-cawk-cawk-cawk, louder and louder.

I am wearing khaki shorts and a summer shirt, because in the game reserve it is always summer, even in July.

I stroll slowly along the footpath beneath the broad-leafed trees, and feel the bliss of the hot sand between my toes, and the sun on my face. I do not want to walk fast, because I want the feeling to last. The bush smells like Simba chips, and the camp of the smoke of a fire.

The grownups are asleep in their hut. Number 67, in a large circle of rondavels. The thatched roof rests on thick stoep pillars made of dry logs. On the stoep there is a food cupboard made of thin wood with air holes and a latch to protect it against the monkeys.

I close the screen door softly behind me so it doesn’t bang and everything is different at once. Inside it is cool and smells of tarred poles, soap and paraffin. After the sharp light outside, it is dark, and I stand still for a minute to get my bearings, my feet warm on the smooth green cement floor.

The drawn curtains are yellow, with pictures of monkeys, a mother and father lion with three cubs, and a huge elephant bull with long tusks and a ripped ear. There is also a kudu with three twists in its horns, a sable antelope and a buffalo that looks sad because it is standing downhill.

The animals are grey and black and white.”

I have been going to the game reserve for more than 50 years. That explains why I speak of “the game reserve”, rather than its official name, the “Kruger National Park”, or – as many people now call it – “the Kruger”.

I grew up at a time when there was only one place known as the game reserve – as essential a part of the culture of our people as braaivleis, rugby and strife. In this book I will still refer to the game reserve, although I will interchange that with “the park” from time to time.

In 50 years even the most dim-witted person can learn something. I reckon I have learnt something during the decades I’ve spent in the game reserve. Not only the scientific things – the names of trees, the habits of the game and the birds. No, also simply how to enjoy it.

I know it is everyone’s indaba how they choose to enjoy things. But I’d like to help.

There are many reasons to enjoy the park, and not all of them can be realised at the same time. This book strives to put everything on the table so that you can make informed decisions.

It’s designed for the visitor who hasn’t been to the park, or a relative newcomer. I think here of many South Africans who have not had the privilege of going to the park, especially many Capetonians and Durbanites, and also many foreigners. From experience I know that a holiday with the benefit of the information in this book can be simply life-altering. The alternative is that you as visitors will make mistakes: arrange accommodation that does not enable you to imbibe the atmosphere and natural beauty of the place, or not see what you would like to see, or worse still: become stranded somewhere without accommodation, food or fuel.

The advice I give is aimed at a holiday in self-catering park accommodation: huts and guest houses, rather than luxury safari camps and restaurants. A trip for the ordinary guy on holiday.

Many veteran game reserve-goers will swear there is no other way to do it than to camp. They may have a point, but this book is first and foremost meant to provide practical guidance to newcomers. For that reason I concentrate on a holiday in ordinary camp accommodation – but one where you can spend time outside in the bush every hour of the day with your people, and our animals, on the earth that belongs to all of us.

Skukuza, late 1960s