c u on top - satyabrata dam

I have always believed that what we gain after severe hardships of mind and matter, brushing death kind, etc appears that much sweeter and worthy. Sarara Camp defies that logic; even if I had been dropped by Donald Trump’s private helicopter (not that he ever would despite being such a sweet man) while nursing glass after glass of Dom Perignon, I would still be struck with the same awe and wonderment that was my state when I laid my eyes on the Sarara Camp and its hosts. That is not to say that my passage to Sarara was paved with silk. This is the story of one of the most enchanting spots in Africa I have ever visited, amply cared and catered by Piers and Hillary, who jointly along with the son Jeremy and other staff truly make it a home. So let’s begin our journey to the Oases of Peace and Harmony. After braving matatus, marauding drivers, scorching sun, bandits and blizzards of burning dust (you can read about my passage to Sarara in my earlier post titled ‘Batting with Bandits’) whe...

I am not a primatologist (I guess that’s what they call themselves!), not by far, even then I must write about primates in this post, and about a particular sub species of monkey. I don’t know anything about them but I am closely related to them as you all probably are. Those of you who aren’t, my apologies – this post may not be suitable for your consumption. But to the rest, who continue reading this, my heartiest welcome, after all who doesn’t wish to go back on family tree and discover things (even if they are not very flattering) about their ancestors. Well then what are my qualifications for writing about them; quite a few actually. I love monkeys and I love monkeying around and most of my friends say I behave like one as well – my climbs have often been compared to the elegance of a monkey slithering up and down a coconut tree, and I do love eating and am always eyeing the ripe yellow bananas and the pretty ladies in reverse order. And then being wild, unruly and cute like them,...

It is said (I have no idea by whom) that if you are lucky you die (which means everyone is at least lucky), if you are luckier then you almost die before finally dying, and if you are luckiest (like I always am) then you not only almost die but actually shake hands with death, smell her heady fragrance, embrace her if you may and then return before one day you finally die. This is actually a funny story (aren’t all stories are!) and has nothing to do with dying at least not of anyone I am aware of, but I thought this would make a good preamble to a tale where bandits would eventually drop down from out of African bushes. If I would listen to even one hundredth of safety advices that my friends and strangers throw my way all the time then I would still be a simple boy from the backyards of some obscure Himalayan village and wouldn’t even dream of going out anywhere outside the precincts of my grazing goat-land. So when I declared that I was heading on my own astride a matatu for the Nor...

Just today I returned from Camp Sarara in the Mathew Ranges, the only eco-lodge within the vast 850,000 acres Namunyak Conservancy Trust. It is managed by Piers and Hillary Bastard along with the son Jeremy. I am not going to write my post on Sarara as of now since that will be akin to riding a time machine and fast forwarding my entire Kenyan safari as I have so many more experiences to share that happened before Sarara. While departing from the lodge when Hillary handed me over the visitor’s book, the following rhyme came to my mind out of the neighboring hills and I jotted it down in the book. It might sound and seem incredibly silly but I thought that to pay my immediate tribute to this wonderful piece of paradise on earth and to acknowledge the grace, charm and hospitality of Hillary, Pierce and Jeremy I must at least post this poem that in its simplicity depicts what Sarara experience is all about. It is a place like none other I have visited before. Here’s to you the trio of PHJ...

I fully agree the above title is rather on the face, as I am already in a wild place, looking for wild things and going even wilder than I was intended to become, but even then this is the best I could come up with. I am deliberately skipping the first day at Kenya since it was spent at Swara Plains Ranch, where I shall return soon and would get to experience it in a more leisurely manner. For now, let’s dive right into the wild wagon and swing free like a chimpanzee straight into Born Free office Nairobi. Even before I had arrived I had done some amount of digging into Born Free, a UK based NGO that is proactively working towards wildlife conservation. They have a huge presence in Kenya and are doing commendable work across all fields of conservation and related community outreach programs. Born Free Kenya had graciously offered me a field trip with their country manager, Iregi Mwenja, into the far flung reaches of Samburu Region in the Northern Highlands. Sandy drove me to Born Free ...