Kanondo Tree Camp

It’s time for another Kodak-era retrospective post. Here’s a look back at the first time I went on a safari in Africa. At the time, I was en route to Europe for my brother Hamish’s wedding in October 1996. I decided to make the most of my time abroad by booking my first-ever round-the-world ticket. My route flew me from Sydney to Johannesburg, onto Frankfurt, then across the Atlantic to LA and Honolulu before returning to Sydney.

On the way to Europe, I spent seven days in southern Africa, packing in plenty of once-in-a-lifetime experiences. First up was a flight to Victoria Falls where I spent two nights exploring this breathtaking wonder of the natural world. I then transferred to Hwange National Park for three nights on safari, before finally stopping for a night in Johannesburg.

My inaugural African safari adventure kicked off on 10 October. After three days in Victoria Falls, a safari guide collected me from my hotel for transfer to Hwange. My travel agent had booked me into the cosy, but rustic, Kanondo Tree Camp, about two hours east of Victoria Falls. I’d asked the agent to book a venue that offered an authentic safari experience, rather than a plush hotel that would distance me from the surrounding environment. He certainly delivered on the brief.

The camp was in a private game reserve bordering Hwange National Park. It offered treetop accommodation in private treehouse chalets built on stilts near the Kanondo Pan waterhole. The grounds were open to the surrounding bush. The chalets were also windowless open-fronted rooms with nothing more than a curtain shielding guests from the African wildlife. 

However, despite its remote location, the camp was surprisingly well-appointed. My chalet included an ensuite on the ground floor, with hot water, heated by a log fire, available for a couple of hours each day. Our meals, including a three course dinner each night, were cooked and served in a central thatched roof “Boma” pavilion.

The camp is ideally situated. Its namesake waterhole, less than 100 metres away, is popular with the local wildlife. Just how popular became evident on our second night in camp. In the dark of night we heard an antelope let out a brief blood curdling screech. The following morning within minutes of venturing out on safari we came upon a leopard up a tree. It had a freshly killed antelope wedged securely alongside it in the tree boughs.

Our guides took us on safari twice a day. Once in the morning and again in the late afternoon once the heat of the day had subsided. The wildlife was abundant and easy to find. Thanks to the dry season, the animals were heavily concentrated around the area’s few remaining waterholes. 

The Kanondo waterhole just outside our camp was also situated in the heart of the home range of the famous Presidential Elephants of Zimbabwe. This is a three-hundred-strong herd protected by presidential decree. It’s often seen drinking at Kanondo or feeding in the forest around the camp. During my safari we saw plenty of them at the waterhole each day.

I'm delighted to report that, while on safari, our group successfully spotted four "Big Five" game animals. The Rhino was the only one we never saw. However, it wasn’t resident in the area, so we really hadn’t missed it. The leopards were out in abundance. We saw more than a dozen over three days, including one during a special night safari. Our guide later told us how rare it was to see so many in one location.

The elephants loved our local waterhole. They were the first of the Big Five we saw within minutes of leaving camp for the first time. We stopped to watch their antics, including several babies, more than once, including an awesome safari drive after dark. As you can imagine, I took roll upon roll of film while in Hwange. The images published here are just a few of almost one hundred photos I took.

While in Hwange, a group of us took a half tour into a local village. Our itinerary included visiting the village primary school where its Principal escorted us around the grounds. He showed us the school's undercover open-air classroom space plus its enclosed indoor "Winter" rooms. At one point, we entered a classroom to watch the children receive a lesson. We introduced ourselves and told where we'd come from. A couple on my tour had come prepared. They’d brought boxes of pencils especially to gift to the children. As for me, I recall donating most of the local currency left in my wallet.

Our guide also invited us into a local resident’s thatched hut where we found the occupants cooking indoors over an open firepit. Then, finally, as we were leaving the village we saw the children leaving school for the day on the local school bus aka a horse-drawn cart. I still recall how stunned I was by this first exposure to the primitive nature of life in Africa. An insight that was subsequently reinforced when I visited Soweto a few days later.

On 13 October, after a final early morning safari, I returned to Johannesburg via Lake Karbi and Harare. I flew domestically with Air Zimbabwe before transferring onto a South African Airways flight in Harare. The domestic flight’s brief stop in Lake Karbi was unexpected as it wasn’t listed on my ticket.

However, the detour was a real highlight. Lake Karbi is considered one of Zimbabwe’s premier tourist spots. I still recall the experience of coming to land, flying low over the lake, as thousands of flamingoes scattered in the distance. Score one for the window seat I’d managed to bag! In contrast, Harare airport was a shock. The terminal proved to be little more than a retrofitted tin shed.

My flight to Frankfurt departed late evening the following day. I made the most of my time in Johannesburg with a full-day tour that took me through the heart of Soweto and then onto Pretoria via the iconic Volktrekker Monument. The tour of Soweto was particularly memorable. Its highlights included lunch at Wandie’s Place (an iconic local watering hole), plus stops at Nelson Mandela’s early home, a local swatter camp and the site of the infamous Soweto uprising. I still recall how stark the contrast between Soweto and the wealthy northern suburb of Sandton.

Once again the poverty was eye-opening, as were signs reminding visitors to leave their weapons outside. Our tour was invited inside one of the squatter huts to meet "Grandma" a local doyan. She was warm and inviting. Her simple home was heated by a wood-burning stove that doubled as her kitchen. However, I must admit that I cringe now at the photo I took inside her hut. It reeks of unsavoury voyeur tourism, even though each of us visiting gave her a small donation.

The tour of Pretoria was rather truncated. We briefly stopped to tour Paul Kruger House and experience a view over the city from Parliament Hill. Although to be honest, the city's most memorable aspect was its Jacaranda trees. They were in full bloom everywhere you looked.

Chaos was reigning when I arrived at the airport that night. I was scheduled to fly with South African Airways. However, all of its flights were grounded thanks to industrial action. Momentary panic set in as I’d left myself one day to get to Kitzbuhel for my brother’s wedding on 16 October. I was scheduled to land in Frankfurt on 15 October, then catch a train to Wörgl where my brother had offered to collect me. Fortunately, the airline transferred me onto a Lufthansa flight. As a result, I flew out only a few hours later than originally scheduled.

I recall two things about this flight. First, I flew a 747 Combi. This unique 747 configuration has its front half decked out for passengers while the rear is configured to carry freight. A false wall separates the two zones, making for a relatively compact passenger cabin. Furthermore, there wasn’t an empty seat onboard my flight courtesy of the strike.

The second recollection involves our takeoff from Johannesburg. Thanks to the airport’s relatively high altitude, our fully laden aircraft used the full length of the airport’s extended runway to climb into the air. OR Tambo International Airport sits 1700 metres above sea level. As a result, the air is thinner,  often made more so by the unrelenting heat of the day. To overcome this issue, its runways are longer than most other airports. The longest is an astonishing 4400 metres long.

One final memory to close this post. Shortly before flying out of Sydney, my hairdresser had talked me into bleaching my hair. As a result, I flew out as a bottle blonde. However, the unrelenting African sun played havoc with its colour. By the time I arrived in Kitzbuhel, my hair had morphed into an oddly orange hue. It would be fair to say my hair was the talk of my brother’s wedding.

Mosi-oa-Tunya

I first visited Victoria Falls in October 1996. At the time I was enroute to Europe for my brother Hamish’s wedding in Kitzbuhel. Leading up to the main event, I stopped for a week in Africa with Victoria Falls as my first destination. I transferred there directly from Johannesburg after flying overnight from Sydney via Perth. I stayed two nights from 8-10 October at the now-defunct Makasa Sun Hotel, a few doors down from the iconic Victoria Falls Hotel.

The Falls are known to the Batonga people as Mosi-oa-Tunya which broadly translates as “The smoke that thunders”. It’s an apt name. The Falls are perpetually shrouded in mist that forms as the Zambezi River plunges into a craggy 1.7-kilometre ravine along the Zimbabwean and Zambian border. Their modern name was anointed by Scottish missionary and explorer Dr. David Livingstone who named them after his Queen in 1855.

I arrived in Victoria Falls towards the end of the dry season. As a result, almost two-thirds of the falls were inactive during my visit. Water was only flowing over the Devil’s Cataract and a short stretch of the main cascade east of Cataract Island. However, the scale and magnitude of this natural wonder was evident thanks to an imposing barren cliff face extending half a kilometre towards the Zambian border. I finally saw the falls in full-flood when I returned with my Mum a decade later. 

Without a doubt, the highlight of my visit was a microlight flight I took over the Falls on my first day in town. On a whim, I walked into the office of a local tour operator late afternoon. After a brief phone call with a local pilot, they booked me on the final flight of the day. I was then driven to the airport where I was duly strapped into the rear of a two-seater microlight.

The experience was simply stunning. Imagine this if you can, the wind in your hair as you fly in lazy circuits above the falls. Below you, the setting sun slowly transforms the fall’s rising mist into iridescent shades of orange and pink. It was absolutely magical. The pilot later admitted that he’d finished for the day when the tour operator called. However, he couldn’t resist the temptation of a final flight at sunset.

The following day, 9 October, I briefly visited Zambia. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was just after another stamp in my passport. My brief visit involved walking over the landmark Victoria Falls bridge, passing through the Zambian border checkpoint about 500 metres up the road, and then on towards what is now the Avani Victoria Falls Resort on the banks of the Zambezi River. An hour or so later, I retraced my steps back across the border to Zimbabwe. In the years since, I’ve often debated whether I can truly count this brief excursion as a visit to Zambia.

I then capped off the evening dining on the outdoor terrace of the landmark Victoria Falls Hotel. The hotel sits on the rim of the Zambezi River gorge, downstream from the falls. Its location is perfectly aligned to give visitors a dramatic view up the gorge, past its equally famous arched bridge, to the falls’ misty haze. Sadly, thanks to the dry season, the mist wasn’t visible during my visit.  

Sinner at Victoria Falls Hotel was definitely better than the meal I'd ordered the previous night at the Makasa Sun. In hindsight, I should have known better. I ordered the Seafood Marinara pasta. It was salty and bland; its signature ingredients had clearly been frozen or tinned. In the years since, I've lived by the mantra, "if you can't see the sea, don't eat the seafood".

On 10 October, I transferred to Hwange for my inaugural African safari experience. However, before setting off, I booked a morning cruise on the Zambezi River. At the time, I was the only confirmed passenger. Therefore, for the tour to proceed, I agreed to pay a minimum booking for two people. While waiting for my ride to the river, I met a young woman backpacking alone in Africa. As I’d already paid for an extra person, I invited her to join me at no extra cost. She gladly accepted.

Our river cruise started uneventfully enough. We passed endless herds of hippopotamuses wading in the distance. As we glided along, our boat driver shared how dangerous they were. He warned that they’d attack the boat if we ventured too close. The guide accompanying us reinforced his warning. He claimed more people were killed by hippos than by any other animal in Africa.

Suddenly, without warning, a hippo surfaced directly in front of our boat. These incredible animals can hold their breath for up to five minutes, then stride fully submerged along the bottom of the river for hundreds of metres. Momentary panic ensued as our driver took evasive action to avoid the massive creature and put some distance between us. For a minute, I wondered if I’d end my days as another hippo attack statistic.

One final memory. Every morning, as I went for breakfast, I’d encounter families of Banded Mongoose frolicking around the hotel grounds. These restless creatures were everywhere, with little ones constantly doing battle on the lawn. They stood in stark contrast to the baboons I passed on the path to the Falls. They were more interested in sitting around, people watching as you strode by.

Time in Tahiti

Here’s a look back at my first time in Tahiti. I spent a cumulative total of 4.5 days in French Polynesia while on my way to and from Easter Island in 1998. I flew out of Sydney to Papeete on 20 November. Thanks to the dateline I arrived in Tahiti earlier the same day. I then spent an afternoon exploring downtown Papeete before transferring to Moorea with the local ferry service.

For the next three nights I camped out in a garden villa at Moorea Village Hotel on the island’s west coast. The hotel had 80 bungalow style villas, each with its own kitchenette and private access to a stunning white sand beach. Sadly, the resort closed in October 2005 and its distinctive beachfront restaurant has been reclaimed by the sea. These days the building’s red concrete balcony pillars are all that remains.

How do I know this? While researching this post I struggled to find any reference to the hotel’s prominent beachfront building. By chance, I stumbled across an image of its remains as shown above. I can only surmise that the structure fell victim to a devastating cyclone. The prime candidate is Oli which swept through the region in 2010. I’ve subsequently learned that ten of the villas were re-leased and reopened as Moorea Fare Miti resort.

The weather for my stay wasn’t as dramatic. Instead it was partially overcast and humid, punctuated by a brief tropical downpour every afternoon. However, the inclement weather matched my mood perfectly. A few months earlier, my first long-term relationship had come to an unexpected end. In the months before we broke up, my former partner and I had talked about visiting Tahiti. I’d decided to proceed with the trip, in part as a defiant form of revenge travel. 

It’ll come as no surprise to learn that traveling alone on a romantic tropical island isn’t a great distraction. Instead, I spent several days largely confined to my bungalow wallowing in self pity. However, despite my mood and the inclement conditions I still found time for some memorable excursions. This included an awesome parasailing ride in the lagoon facing the InterContinental Moorea Resort. 

The sensation of rising into the air behind a surging speedboat was awe-inspiring. As a solo flyer, I was initially harnessed to the parasail onboard the boat, then gently launched into the air from a platform at the rear. As I rose, a second crew member slowly unwound the tow rope sending me higher and higher. The view of the lagoon from my flight’s highest vantage point was spectacular, to say the least. Of course, the boat driver pulled a classic cliche manoeuvre. At one point he slowed the boat, waited until my feet touched the water, then opened the throttle and sent me soaring again.

Sadly, the Intercontinental didn’t survive the COVID pandemic. Its overwater bungalows, restaurants and recreational facilities now lie abandoned on the island’s north coast. However, some of its co-located attractions including the Moorea Dolphin Center continue to thrive. While at the resort, I took time out to watch the center’s trainers put some of its dolphins through their paces.

For my third day on Moorea, I hired a scooter for a half day. I spent time racing along the island’s western coast, soaking in the azure lagoon views, and visiting the island’s more renowned sights including Belvedere Lookout and the photogenic Eglise de la Sainte Famille church. Images of this building’s pristine whitewashed walls and vibrant red trimming are frequently used to promote the best of Moorea.

As I noted earlier, when I wasn’t exploring the island’s coast I hung out in my garden villa. However, with no television, radio or wifi available there wasn’t much to keep me occupied. One afternoon, I walked into the nearby village to source some reading material. Unfortunately, most of the books and magazines on sale were published in French. I eventually found a couple of English language editions of GQ magazine.

On 23 November, I packed my bags and returned to Papeete by ferry. I then made my way to the airport for a midnight flight to Easter Island. Once again, the time zone difference worked in my favour. I landed early the following morning and enjoyed two full days on Easter Island before returning to Papeete. You can read more about my time on the island here.

My return flight arrived mid-morning on 25 November. With time to kill before another late-night flight to Auckland, I decided to spend my final hours in Tahiti enjoying dinner and a cultural show. I booked myself a table at Te Tiare, a restaurant at the InterContinental Resort on the main island of Tahiti. The resort is considered one of Papeete’s finest. It sits on the island’s northwest coast looking over the lagoon towards Moorea.

As I sat down to dine, I noticed an elderly lady sitting alone. I asked her if she was a solo diner and offered to join her for the evening. She was delighted to accept and warmly welcomed me to her table. We enjoyed a delightful evening together swapping traveller's tales, watching fire dancers, and women in grass skirts, whirling their way around the restaurant’s open-air stage.

My overnight flight departed Tahiti at the ungodly hour of 1:00am. I finally arrived in Auckland on 27 November where I enjoyed the company of my parents and my brother Matt and his family for three nights. Mum could tell that time alone in Tahiti had somewhat dampened my spirit. She did her best to cheer me up. I finally arrived back in Sydney late on 29 November.